Lexicon:Greed: Difference between revisions
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{{Lexicon|Survival}} | {{Lexicon|Survival}} | ||
I am modern man. Homo Denarius. I am nothing more than what I own. I do not propagate – I acquire. Even today, in these dark times, I loot, I pillage, I feather my nest. My life means less than my possessions, and I risk it accordingly. As such, my body lies gutted in the street, or trapped under debris, or eviscerated across the detritus of shopping centres and complexes, sacrificed to sate my purpose, to appease my meaning in life. I pay in blood for my greed, and I deign it worthwhile. The meek shall not inherit my earth, not while I still draw enough breath to claim its ownership. | I am modern man. Homo Denarius. I am nothing more than what I own. I do not propagate – I acquire. Even today, in these dark times, I [[Lexicon:Loot|loot]], I pillage, I feather my nest. My life means less than my possessions, and I risk it accordingly. As such, my body lies gutted in the street, or trapped under debris, or eviscerated across the detritus of shopping centres and complexes, sacrificed to sate my purpose, to appease my meaning in life. I pay in blood for my greed, and I deign it worthwhile. The meek shall not inherit my earth, not while I still draw enough breath to claim its ownership. | ||
Not for me. My meagre riches do not mean a thing, my last belongings used to barricade windows and doors I do not even own. I carry nothing which I cannot use. An axe, a knife, a splitting maul, a length of pipe, a video player – anything close at hand is used for whatever it can be and discarded unless vital. I need no baggage to weigh me down. Coinage and property means less to me than the moon to a worm. I measure my worth in caved skulls and shattered ribs, in torrents of blood and sprays of gore. My station, the status to which I have risen, has been reached on a ladder of broken bones, snatched violently from the snarling teeth of a race of monsters. I shall drive this swarm to extinction, one blow of the hammer or swing of the axe at a time. My wealth now lies rotting, gas-bloated and maggot-infested, in streets and darkened rooms, thrown from windows or clubbed to death. As some crazed Croesus, I dole out charity with cold steel. Alone, but alive, I am the next stage in the evolution of humanity, the post-modern man. | Not for me. My meagre riches do not mean a thing, my last belongings used to barricade windows and doors I do not even own. I carry nothing which I cannot use. An axe, a knife, a splitting maul, a length of pipe, a video player – anything close at hand is used for whatever it can be and discarded unless vital. I need no baggage to weigh me down. Coinage and property means less to me than the moon to a worm. I measure my worth in caved skulls and shattered ribs, in torrents of blood and sprays of gore. My station, the status to which I have risen, has been reached on a ladder of broken bones, snatched violently from the snarling teeth of a race of monsters. I shall drive this swarm to extinction, one blow of the hammer or swing of the axe at a time. My wealth now lies rotting, gas-bloated and maggot-infested, in streets and darkened rooms, thrown from windows or clubbed to death. As some crazed Croesus, I dole out charity with cold steel. Alone, but alive, I am the next stage in the evolution of humanity, the post-modern man. | ||
{{User:Misanthropy/Sig}} 21:18, 24 December 2009 (UTC) | {{User:Misanthropy/Sig}} 21:18, 24 December 2009 (UTC) | ||
'''Citation:''' [[Lexicon:Loot|Loot]] -- [[User:MHSstaff|MHSstaff]] 05:54, 8 January 2010 (UTC) | |||
Latest revision as of 05:54, 8 January 2010
This page is a part of the Survival Lexicon. The information here is fan-created and should not be considered in-game canon. Please do not edit this page unless you are certain that the Lexicon has been completed.
I am modern man. Homo Denarius. I am nothing more than what I own. I do not propagate – I acquire. Even today, in these dark times, I loot, I pillage, I feather my nest. My life means less than my possessions, and I risk it accordingly. As such, my body lies gutted in the street, or trapped under debris, or eviscerated across the detritus of shopping centres and complexes, sacrificed to sate my purpose, to appease my meaning in life. I pay in blood for my greed, and I deign it worthwhile. The meek shall not inherit my earth, not while I still draw enough breath to claim its ownership.
Not for me. My meagre riches do not mean a thing, my last belongings used to barricade windows and doors I do not even own. I carry nothing which I cannot use. An axe, a knife, a splitting maul, a length of pipe, a video player – anything close at hand is used for whatever it can be and discarded unless vital. I need no baggage to weigh me down. Coinage and property means less to me than the moon to a worm. I measure my worth in caved skulls and shattered ribs, in torrents of blood and sprays of gore. My station, the status to which I have risen, has been reached on a ladder of broken bones, snatched violently from the snarling teeth of a race of monsters. I shall drive this swarm to extinction, one blow of the hammer or swing of the axe at a time. My wealth now lies rotting, gas-bloated and maggot-infested, in streets and darkened rooms, thrown from windows or clubbed to death. As some crazed Croesus, I dole out charity with cold steel. Alone, but alive, I am the next stage in the evolution of humanity, the post-modern man.
21:18, 24 December 2009 (UTC)
