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here we are, in the year 2019 in post-apocalyptic california. the whole world has just gone to absolute crap, ever since better li
ving industries took over. everyone is forced to be happy, all the residents of battery city get pleasant thoughts shoved down their throats in a plastic capsule. they used to market emotion-elimin
ating medications as something to make our lives better, but it quickly turned into something mandatory for everyone within city limits. the 'utopian' battery city is central, corporate, clean, and the center of manufacturing. surrounding the city is what we call 'the zones,' which are a more lawless, desert terrain. once the drugs started getting forced, we ran out here to an abandoned diner nestled within the vast wastelands of zone four, nearby the dusty old route guano. back in the day it was a busy highway, but now it serves as nothing but a footpath going to and from battery city. in this place, we hide from the scarecrow unit- a sort of po
lice force employed by bl/ind. their puppets are called draculoids [though we just call them dracs] and they're led by korse, a fli
pping crazy half-robot, half-pirate man whose only goal in life is to eliminate clean up the rest of the killjoy movement. but we won't stop until every single person they've brainwashed is out, until everyone has their voice, until the world is free of better living industries' 'happy tomorrows.' since the great fires of 2012, the pig bomb of 2017, the helium wars- we remember it all, and you can damn sure bet that we're not going to stay silent about it. remember- the future is bulletproof, the aftermath is secondary.
ving industries took over. everyone is forced to be happy, all the residents of battery city get pleasant thoughts shoved down their throats in a plastic capsule. they used to market emotion-elimin
ating medications as something to make our lives better, but it quickly turned into something mandatory for everyone within city limits. the 'utopian' battery city is central, corporate, clean, and the center of manufacturing. surrounding the city is what we call 'the zones,' which are a more lawless, desert terrain. once the drugs started getting forced, we ran out here to an abandoned diner nestled within the vast wastelands of zone four, nearby the dusty old route guano. back in the day it was a busy highway, but now it serves as nothing but a footpath going to and from battery city. in this place, we hide from the scarecrow unit- a sort of po
lice force employed by bl/ind. their puppets are called draculoids [though we just call them dracs] and they're led by korse, a fli
pping crazy half-robot, half-pirate man whose only goal in life is to eliminate clean up the rest of the killjoy movement. but we won't stop until every single person they've brainwashed is out, until everyone has their voice, until the world is free of better living industries' 'happy tomorrows.' since the great fires of 2012, the pig bomb of 2017, the helium wars- we remember it all, and you can damn sure bet that we're not going to stay silent about it. remember- the future is bulletproof, the aftermath is secondary.








