Hwy 87
There’s this 1950’s diner on a thirsty Highway 87 facing a rusty, dated, century old, 2920s style metropolis in the distance. I guess that’s what we get for voting in a totalitarian mayor that spends our city’s taxes on keeping the lights on for his rich buddies up in Lakken Sky leaving the poor to literally live hand to mouth. In which then you’d be forced out here in the wasteland in uncharted territory. No monetarily gluttonous Tryterrah City Security to mistake the victim for an offender. No societal sects or government approved syndicates to keep a look out for. And your money is no good out there. The minute you start flashing T.U.’s (Tryterrah Units), you can say goodbye to everything you worked for and wake up with a severed hand and left to bleed out on the outskirts of Highway 87.
