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The raiders catch us away from base, away from cover, out mining for desperately needed steel. I raise my revolver with shaking hands, knowing I should have practiced shooting more. Lips, the pacifist, tries to run, but he won't get far on his bad leg. I take a deep breath. All right. They're only armed with clubs. Hopefully I can--
Wait, what's that sound in the bushes? I spare a glance from the people I keep failing to shoot to look. Squirrels, a pack of them, eyes red with manhunter madness, sharp teeth bared. God, how humiliating would be be to die to a pack of squirrels? Well, all right, maybe--
It begins to rain. And wait a minute, even with the rain, should it be getting this dark? No, one of this planet's giant moons is passing in front of the sun. Again. Dammit, I knew this day was going downhill when I had to eat my lunch with no fucking table.
I lift my face to the sky and curse the name of the great god Randy.
Maybe I'll just give up, give in to the insanity, and wander off into the wilderness. Yeah, that sounds really good...