You are in a cornfield. Discarded nearby is a broken rifle.
- You dig into the ground, forcing dirt into your fingernails. Something useful, the ground said. You pull at the stock of a rifle. It's free; it's broken. The barrel is bent, the bullets spent. You knew better than to think there was an item for the taking, out here in the land of the optional, the non-causal and non-committable, the impermanent and never continued.
Inventory:
- You carry only a bent knife and a smashed radio. It has been a long ride. Your blue jeans are shredded; the T-shirt, stretched 2 sizes larger, is more red than white, and your shoes are unaccounted for. You wear a crumpled paper party hat.
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