Imagine them, coming in from the skies in the tens of thousands: Miss Shirley Bassey after Miss Shirley Bassey after Miss Shirley Bassey, gleaming steel-skinned and riding on head-mounted propellers and bombarding the city below with high frequency renditions of "History Repeating" until buildings shake and crumble, until streets crack and give way to vast fissures. Tens of thousands of Miss Shirley Bassey Robots landing in sheer black satin evening gowns, perfect for cocktail parties or smoky bars or unleashing wave after wave of electrosex onto a waiting, screaming, population. Crushing the audience beneath their boots.