A time of chaos, ruined dreams, this wasted land

[gominokouhai]

To understand who he was you have to go back to another time, when the world was powered by the black fuel and the deserts sprouted great cities of pipe and steel. Gone now. Swept away. Without fuel they were nothing. They had built a house of straw. The thundering machines sputtered and stopped.

On the roads it was a whitelined nightmare. A whirlwind of looting, a firestorm of fear. Men began to feed on men. The gangs took over the highways, ready to wage war for a tank of juice. And in this maelstrom of decay, ordinary men were battered and smashed. Men like Max. The warrior Max.

I love me a bit of prophetic dystopia, I do.

Happy Stanislav Petrov Day, everyone, but the way things are going I'm starting to think we might all be better off if he'd just pushed that damn button.