Westworld
An abrasive train whistle cuts through your gentle sleep. As you groggily open your eyes, you see the familiar antique decor of your private train compartment. The bench across from you is empty. You sigh: it's been a while since you've had any kind of company, human or otherwise. Hopefully, those administrative privileges and the sexual endurance pill the park gave you will remedy that problem. As you turn and peer out of the crystal window, a small town slides into view: Sweetwater. It looks...