I need fuel. Goga, my sole friend in City 20 has informed me his generator is empty. I’m crashing in his home, and have just broken down his door so I suppose I owe him one. He shoves a fuel can in my hand and points me in the direction of a nearby town. After a brisk walk I see a petrol station behind a locked fence gate. The people living here must not have heard that I’m somewhat of a savant when it comes to bashing doors open, so I take my trusty mallet and break in for that sweet black iccor. I am swifty beaten into unconciousness. City 20, it seems, does not take kindly to my murder hobo tendencies.
After a futile attempt at revenge ending with a bullet to my head I start again. New save, new me. I again break down Goga’s door, but this time leave my inclination for propety damage behind me. Instead, fuel can in hand, I attempt to talk to the locals. “You best be here to trade” one prompty warns me. Aha, trade. Yes I suppose I can barter with my new neighbors. But what will I barter with? Should I trade my mallet away? No – behind Goga it’s been a reliable colleage over the past three minutes.
Maybe there’s something outside in the wilderness I can use. I leave the settlement, shaking trees and picking up flowers that I’m sure are worth something. I have no idea what I’m doing. Suddenly I’m thirsty. Returning to Goga with no fuel and a backpack filled with flora I fill up a water bottle and am struck with a brilliant idea. Why do I owe Goga a damn thing? I should simply beat him up and make his house a home. He swifty plants me in the ground next to his shattered door.
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