Casino games, offer a valuable form of entertainment that stimulates the mind and provides social interaction. These games require strategic thinking, risk assessment, and quick decision-making, which can enhance cognitive skills. Moreover, the thrill of potential big wins injects excitement into players' lives, offering a temporary escape from daily drag. Gaming also contributes significantly to local economies, providing jobs and generating wealth. There's nothing to lose except a life of mediocrity.

A lot is on my mind but im currently churning out more super fantastic art for this or other projects, no official cards yet tho, which is part of the process in finding that path again.

### Chapter 1: The Hunt

Dusk was slowly but steadily engulfing a crumbling skyline of what was once the cascadian enclave of Seattle. The remaining bronze-orange glass reflected back just another days end to any bystanders on foot but to those who had lived their lives in starships of towering towers might of started to panic night was falling. Sheltered they might of been but housed a rare breed of intelectuals no doubt. If they were the true genius type then they might just try rebuilding this place someday. As skeletal remains of their former glory though found but worm castings, rusting steel rebar, concrete rubble and the grassroots as their final resting place. A church cathedral cast long jagged shadows across the cracked and broken sidewalk at my feet. The air here was pungent with a thick cedar smoke, the dust had settled and now with the acrid scent of decaying bodies. Remnants of a city bus blocking the sidewalk off was like a scene from dresden world war two. This was such a desolate wasteland to wander, bearing the scars of countless martial law clashes and with the gangs left to their ignorant relentless march of death. After awhile I got my bearings and then I actually knew where the hell I was. Perhaps, I may have hit my head somehow and got slight amnesia.

In the heart of this ruined metro, Bill Gates moved silently, his footsteps barely a whisper against the debris-strewn pavement. His iconic glasses were splattered and crusty with sweat droplets, his clothes were tattered a bit and he had gotten grease stains from hiding and fighting around city park. He had been a titan of technology with vast wealth and nothing to lose. Just a garage nerd whose love of science fiction and computers set forth such innovation thay had almost shaped the world into a technocratic society. 

Now, he was a hunted man. The government, once a symbol of order and stability, had devolved into a ruthless militia of reservists. Their ranks were filled with rag tag soldiers clad in surplus military gear from the 1980s, their equipment was also a patchwork of outdated but deadly machinery. They had their orders: find the bag boy Bill Gates and bring him in. Alive, certainly if possible. Dead, or otheewise necessary.

Bill knew that staying in one place for too long was a death sentence. The government had dispatched their state of the art drones, automated semi-sentient machines equipped with advanced surveillance systems and deadly weaponry, to track him down. With infrared sensors and high-powered cameras that could be able to spot targets from miles away. His only hope lay in reaching the mason sanctuary hidden on the outskirts, a place whispered about in the detention facility. All the remaining pockets of mason resistance had left their foxholes and defensive positions, they had left some cryptic mesasage scrolling on one of the last bus terminal displays to ponder while I entered the metro and hopefully was a welcome to me and those fleeing the city .

As he moved through the abandoned streets, his eyes constantly scanned the sky for any sign of the drones. The setting sun cast an eerie orange glow over the city, making it difficult to see clearly. His heart pounded in his chest, a steady reminder of the danger that lurked around every corner.

The sound of distant engines sent a shiver down his spine. He pressed himself against a crumbling wall, listening intently. Sandhog vehicles, heavily armed and armoured, patrolled the countryside, their crews always on the lookout for any sign of movement. He had to stay off the roads and stick to the forest trails if he wanted to avoid detection.

Bill's thoughts drifted to his old life, the world he had known before everything fell apart. He had been a visionary, a leader, a philanthropist. But now, all of that was meaningless. Survival was all that mattered. And survival meant staying one step ahead of the militia, outsmarting their drones, and finding allies in a world where trust was a rare commodity.

As night began to fall, Bill found temporary refuge in an old library. The building, once a bastion of knowledge and learning, was now a shell of its former self. Shelves were overturned, books scattered and torn. He made his way to the back, where a small cluster of blackberries had managed to grow through the cracks in the floor. He plucked a few and ate them slowly, their tartness a small comfort in the midst of his despair.

Exhaustion weighed heavily on him, but he knew he couldn't stay here for long. The drones would be out in full force, their sensors sweeping the city for any sign of movement. He needed to find a safe place to rest, to gather his strength for the journey ahead.

Bill's mind raced with plans and contingencies. The sanctuary was still miles away, and the path to it was fraught with danger. But he had come this far, and he wasn't about to give up now. He had a mission, a purpose that went beyond mere survival. He was determined to find the sanctuary, to connect with others who still believed in a future free from tyranny and oppression.

The night was dark and silent as Bill slipped out of the library and back into the shadows. His journey was just beginning, and he knew the road ahead would be long and treacherous. But he was ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead. He was no longer just Bill Gates, the tech mogul. He was a symbol of resistance, a beacon of hope in a world that had lost its way.

As he made his way through the desolate streets, the city a ghostly echo of its former self, Bill Gates steeled himself for the fight to come. The sun had set on the old world, but a new dawn was just over the horizon. And he was determined to see it rise.

### Chapter 2: The Night of the Drones

The twilight hours had always been Bill Gates' worst enemy. As the sun dipped below the horizon, the remnants of its light were swallowed by the encroaching darkness, casting eerie shadows that danced and flickered like ghosts across the ruins of Seattle. The city, once bustling with life and innovation, now lay silent and foreboding, a labyrinth of broken dreams and shattered hopes.

Bill had managed to get a few hours of restless sleep in the dilapidated library, but now it was time to move. The darkness provided cover, but it also brought dangers that the light kept at bay. The city's quiet was oppressive, broken only by the distant, mechanical hum that sent chills down his spine. The drones were on the hunt.

He slipped out of the library, his movements quick and deliberate, every sense on high alert. The night air was cold, and a thick fog had rolled in from the bay, blanketing the city in an impenetrable shroud. It was perfect for hiding, but it also made it easier for the drones to sneak up on him.

Bill moved through the backstreets, avoiding the open roads. He stuck to the shadows, his breath visible in the frigid air. Every sound seemed amplified in the stillness – the crunch of gravel underfoot, the rustle of leaves, the distant creak of a rusting sign swaying in the breeze. He could feel his heartbeat in his throat, each thump a reminder of how fragile his life had become.

A sudden whirring noise overhead made him freeze. He pressed himself against the wall of a crumbling building, his eyes scanning the sky. There it was, a sleek, black drone hovering above, its red eye scanning the ground below with cold, unfeeling precision. Bill held his breath, willing himself to become invisible. The drone's spotlight cut through the fog, illuminating the street in stark, white light.

Time seemed to stretch endlessly as he waited, every second an eternity. The drone hovered for what felt like hours, its searchlight methodically sweeping the area. Bill's muscles screamed in protest, but he didn't dare move. Finally, the drone's light shifted away, and it resumed its patrol, drifting silently into the night.

Bill exhaled slowly, his breath trembling as it left his lips. He couldn't afford another close call like that. He needed to get out of the open. He continued moving, ducking into alleyways and slipping through narrow passages. The city's layout was etched into his memory, but even the familiar paths seemed alien and hostile under the cover of darkness.

He reached an abandoned office building, its glass façade shattered and the entrance yawning open like a mouth ready to swallow him whole. He hesitated for a moment, then darted inside. The interior was a maze of overturned furniture, broken glass, and scattered papers. Bill navigated through it carefully, his eyes and ears attuned to any sign of danger.

A loud crash echoed from somewhere deeper in the building, making him jump. He drew his gun, his grip tight and his finger hovering over the trigger. He edged forward, the beam of his flashlight cutting through the gloom. The sound came again, closer this time – a metallic clatter followed by a low, guttural growl.

Bill's mind raced. Was it an animal? A scavenger? Or worse, a patrol? He advanced cautiously, every step calculated. As he rounded a corner, the flashlight beam fell on a horrific sight. A figure, hunched and emaciated, was feasting on something on the floor. Its eyes glowed in the light, reflecting a predatory hunger.

The figure looked up, revealing a gaunt face twisted in a snarl. It let out a feral scream and lunged at him. Bill fired instinctively, the gunshots echoing through the empty building. The figure crumpled to the ground, its body convulsing before going still. Bill approached it warily, his flashlight revealing the ragged clothes and pallid skin of what had once been a human.

His stomach churned as he realized the figure had been eating another person, the mangled corpse lying in a pool of blood. He turned away, fighting the urge to vomit. The world had gone mad, and humanity was unraveling at the seams.

He had to keep moving. The gunshots would have attracted attention, and the drones would be closing in. He exited the building through a side door, emerging into a narrow alley. The fog had thickened, the city's ruins now little more than shadowy outlines. He felt the oppressive weight of the night bearing down on him, every step forward a battle against the fear gnawing at his mind.

The hum of another drone reached his ears, this one closer than before. He quickened his pace, darting through the maze of alleys and side streets. His goal was to reach the forest on the city's edge, where the thick canopy would offer some protection from the drones' prying eyes.

As he neared the forest, the hum of the drone grew louder, its spotlight piercing the fog behind him. He broke into a run, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The trees loomed ahead, dark and foreboding, but they were his only hope.

The drone's searchlight swept over him, and he felt the heat of its sensors locking onto his body. He dove into the underbrush, branches tearing at his clothes and skin. He crawled through the dense foliage, trying to put as much distance between himself and the drone as possible.

He could hear the drone hovering above, its sensors scanning the forest. He stayed perfectly still, every muscle tense, as he listened to the mechanical whirring and the occasional beep of its instruments. Minutes passed like hours, but finally, the drone moved on, its hum fading into the distance.

Bill allowed himself a moment to catch his breath. He was deep in the forest now, the dense canopy providing some semblance of safety. But he knew he couldn't let his guard down. The drones were relentless, and the militia would stop at nothing to find him.

He pressed on, moving deeper into the forest. The trees closed in around him, their gnarled branches creating a labyrinth of shadows. The night was alive with the sounds of unseen creatures, the rustle of leaves, and the distant cries of nocturnal predators.

Bill's journey was far from over, but for now, he had evaded the drones. The night was still young, and the horrors of this new world were ever-present. But he was determined to survive, to find the sanctuary and the hope it promised. As he moved through the darkness, he steeled himself for the battles to come, knowing that each step brought him closer to his goal – and further into the heart of the nightmare that the world had become.

### Chapter 3: The Suburban Refuge

Dawn broke over the forested expanse of the BLM land, casting a soft, golden light through the thick canopy. Bill Gates emerged from the underbrush, his clothes tattered and his face drawn with exhaustion. He had spent a restless night evading the drones, their relentless hum a constant reminder of the dangers that lurked in the shadows. The forest had provided some cover, but he knew he couldn’t stay hidden here forever. He needed a place to rest and regroup.

Bill's journey led him to the outskirts of an old suburban neighborhood perched on a mesa. The houses, once symbols of middle-class comfort, now stood silent and abandoned, their windows shattered and doors hanging ajar. Nature was slowly reclaiming the area, with vines crawling up the walls and weeds sprouting through cracks in the pavement. Despite the decay, the neighborhood offered a glimmer of hope. He needed shelter, and this place seemed like a temporary refuge.

As he approached one of the houses, a figure emerged from the shadows of the porch. It was an elderly woman, her silver hair tied back in a loose bun. She eyed Bill warily, but there was a flicker of recognition and empathy in her gaze.

“You look like you could use a meal,” she said, her voice raspy but kind.

Bill nodded, too tired to speak. The woman beckoned him inside, and he followed her into the dimly lit house. The interior was a stark contrast to the outside world. It was tidy, with faded but well-kept furniture and an air of stubborn normalcy. The scent of cooking filled the air, and Bill's stomach growled in response.

“I’m Margaret,” the woman said, guiding him to a small dining table. “Been living here since before everything went to hell. You’re safe here, for now.”

Bill sank into a chair, the weight of his fatigue pressing down on him. Margaret busied herself in the kitchen, and soon, she placed a steaming plate of pasta in front of him. The simple meal was a luxury in these times, and Bill ate slowly, savoring each bite. The pasta was slightly overcooked, the sauce thin and watery, but it was the best thing he had tasted in weeks.

As he ate, Margaret watched him, her eyes filled with a mix of curiosity and concern. “You’re Bill Gates, aren’t you?” she asked quietly. Bill nodded, swallowing a mouthful of pasta.

“I thought so. We don’t get many visitors out here. The drones and cyber dogs keep most folks away.” She sighed, a deep, weary sound. “This place used to be a haven. Now it’s just a waiting room for the end.”

Bill glanced out the window. The neighborhood was eerily quiet, but he knew that danger was never far away. He had seen the small RC drones, their sleek bodies capable of carrying and deploying bombs with deadly precision. The cyber dogs, mechanical beasts with enhanced tracking capabilities, roamed the area, their glowing eyes scanning for any signs of life. This suburban refuge was a temporary respite, but it was not safe.

“Why do you stay here?” Bill asked, his voice hoarse from disuse.

Margaret shrugged. “It’s home. Or it was. My husband and I lived here for fifty years. He passed before the world fell apart. Now it’s just me.” She gave a sad smile. “I guess I’m too old to run.”

They sat in silence for a while, the quiet broken only by the sound of Bill’s fork scraping against the plate. The meal finished, Margaret stood and cleared the table. “You can rest here for a bit,” she said. “But you’ll need to move on soon. They’ll come through here eventually.”

Bill nodded, grateful for the brief respite. He moved to a small living room, collapsing onto a worn sofa. The past few days had been a blur of fear and exhaustion, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he allowed himself to relax. His eyes grew heavy, and he drifted into a fitful sleep.

He woke to the distant sound of engines. Heart pounding, he sat up, straining to listen. The familiar hum of drones filled the air, growing louder. He glanced at Margaret, who stood at the window, her face pale.

“They’re coming,” she said, her voice trembling.

Bill sprang to his feet, grabbing his gear. Margaret handed him a small bundle. “Food for the road,” she said. “Good luck.”

With a nod of thanks, Bill slipped out the back door, moving quickly and quietly through the overgrown yard. He ducked into the trees at the edge of the property, using the thick foliage as cover. The hum of the drones was now accompanied by the mechanical growls of the cyber dogs. He knew they would be relentless in their search.

As he made his way deeper into the forest, Bill heard an explosion behind him. He turned to see one of the houses in the neighborhood engulfed in flames, the result of an RC drone’s bomb. The sight steeled his resolve. He had to keep moving, had to survive.

Hours passed as Bill navigated the forest, staying off the main paths and moving in a zigzag pattern to avoid leaving a trail. The drones and cyber dogs continued their search, but the dense forest provided some protection. As night fell, he found a small cave nestled in the side of a hill. It wasn’t much, but it offered shelter and a place to rest.

Bill settled in for the night, his mind racing with thoughts of the days ahead. The brief respite at Margaret’s house had given him the strength to keep going, but he knew the journey would only get harder. He had to find the sanctuary, had to connect with others who still believed in a future free from the tyranny of the government militia.

As he drifted off to sleep, the distant sounds of drones and cyber dogs continued to haunt the night, a constant reminder of the relentless pursuit. But for now, he was safe, and that small comfort was enough to fuel his determination. The fight for survival was far from over, and Bill Gates was ready to face whatever horrors lay ahead.

### Chapter 4: The Abandoned Sandhog

The early morning sun broke through the forest canopy, casting dappled light on the path ahead. Bill Gates had barely slept in the small cave, his dreams haunted by the sound of drones and the glow of cyber dogs’ eyes. He knew he couldn’t stay in one place for long. The pursuit was relentless, and he had to keep moving.

He continued through the forest, the terrain becoming rougher and more uneven. He followed an old two-track trail, overgrown with weeds and lined with the remnants of civilization’s past. Bill’s mind raced as he tried to plan his next move. He needed transportation, something to put more distance between himself and his pursuers.

As he emerged from the thick forest, the landscape opened up to reveal the Cooperstown Dam in the distance. The dam stood as a monument to a time when humans controlled nature, now a stark contrast to the wilderness reclaiming the land. Across the way, on the two-track trail, Bill spotted something unusual: a sandhog vehicle, abandoned and sitting at an odd angle with two flat tires.

Cautiously, he approached the vehicle. The sandhog, a hulking behemoth from the government’s arsenal, was covered in dust and dirt. It looked like it had been left here for some time. Bill’s heart quickened with a mix of hope and caution. If he could get this vehicle running, it could be his ticket out of here.

He scanned the surroundings, looking for any signs of an ambush. Satisfied that he was alone, he climbed into the sandhog’s cab. The interior was cramped and smelled of oil and sweat. He quickly checked the controls; the power seemed to be intact, but the flat tires were a major issue. He would need to find a way to repair them if he wanted to use the vehicle.

As he rummaged through the sandhog’s compartments, looking for anything useful, the sound of voices drifted through the air. Bill froze, listening intently. The voices grew louder, and he could make out the distinct tone of authority. Mercenary soldiers.

He cautiously peeked out of the cab. Down the trail, near the banks of the reservoir formed by the dam, a small group of mercenary soldiers were detaining a handful of locals. The locals, dressed in simple, worn clothing, looked terrified. They had probably thought it safe to enjoy a bit of leisure time by the water, only to be caught in the crossfire of the new regime’s strict control.

Bill’s mind raced. He needed to help those people, but he also needed to avoid drawing attention to himself. He watched as the mercenaries barked orders, pushing the locals into a rough line. One of the mercenaries, a burly man with a scar running down his cheek, seemed to be in charge. He brandished his weapon menacingly, ensuring compliance through fear.

Bill silently climbed out of the sandhog and moved closer, keeping to the cover of the trees. He needed to think quickly. The mercenaries were distracted, focused on intimidating the locals. If he could create a diversion, he might be able to give the locals a chance to escape.

He spotted a stack of old tires and metal debris near the edge of the dam. With careful movements, he crept over and began to rig a makeshift trap using the debris and a length of rope he found in the sandhog’s storage compartment. It wasn’t much, but it might buy some time.

Taking a deep breath, Bill pulled the rope, setting off his improvised trap. The metal debris clanged and tumbled down the slope, causing a loud commotion. The mercenaries turned in unison, their attention diverted by the sudden noise.

“Go!” Bill shouted to the locals, waving them towards the forest. The locals hesitated for a moment, then bolted towards the trees, seizing their chance for freedom. The mercenaries, caught off guard, scrambled to react.

Bill fired a few shots from his handgun, aiming to keep the mercenaries off balance. The burly leader shouted orders, trying to regain control, but the locals had already disappeared into the forest. Bill knew he couldn’t stay and fight. He turned and ran, heading back towards the sandhog.

He heard gunfire behind him, bullets whizzing past, but he didn’t stop. He reached the sandhog and climbed into the cab, slamming the door behind him. The mercenaries were closing in, their shouts growing louder.

Bill frantically worked the controls, praying the engine would start. With a loud rumble, the sandhog roared to life. He glanced at the flat tires, knowing they would slow him down, but he had no choice. He needed to move.

The sandhog lurched forward, the flat tires flapping against the ground. It wasn’t fast, but it was moving. Bill steered the vehicle towards a more overgrown part of the trail, hoping to lose the mercenaries in the dense foliage. The sandhog crashed through the underbrush, branches scraping against the metal exterior.

The mercenaries fired at the vehicle, their bullets pinging off the reinforced armor. Bill gritted his teeth, pushing the sandhog as hard as he could. The vehicle plowed through the forest, the terrain rough and unforgiving.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the sounds of gunfire faded. Bill continued driving, putting as much distance as possible between himself and the mercenaries. He knew he couldn’t stop until he was sure he was safe.

Hours later, the sandhog sputtered to a halt. The flat tires had taken their toll, and the vehicle was no longer operable. Bill climbed out, taking a moment to catch his breath. He was deep in the forest now, far from the dam and the mercenaries.

He gathered his gear and started walking, his mind already focused on the next leg of his journey. He had survived another day, but the road ahead was still long and dangerous. As he moved through the forest, he steeled himself for whatever challenges lay ahead. The sanctuary was out there, and he was determined to find it.

### **Chapter 3.5: The Storm**

**Day 1: 5:00 PM - The Downpour**

As Bill trudges deeper into a black timber forest, the sky darkens, the first drops of rain begins to fall. At first, it’s a light drizzle, but eventually the thunder cracks open the floodgates. It drenches Bill's, the sandy soil of the forest, slowly turning into a slippery, muddy mess. Visibility drops as the rain forms a thick blanket around him, making it difficult to see more than just a few feet ahead.

Bill knows that the rain is both a blessing and a curse. Moats begin to form around the base of the trees. 

**5:30 PM - The Misstep**

The rain-soaked ground is uneven and filled with hidden roots and rocks. Bill's boots sink into mud with almost every step, and he has to carefully pick his way through the underbrush bushwhacking to avoid slipping.

As he steps over a particularly large root, his foot slips on a patch of wet needles. He loses his balance and falls down and thus twisting his ankle with a sharp, searing pain. He bites back a scream, not wanting to draw any attention, but the pain is so intense unlike anything he has felt before. He tries to stand, but his ankle won’t support his weight. It’s either sprained or worse.

Bill knows that he can’t afford to stop, but the pain makes it difficult to think clearly. He grits his teeth and forces himself to keep moving, breaking off a nearby branch as a makeshift walking stick atleast helps him keep moving. Every step is agony, but he pushes on, driven by stubborness.

**6:00 PM - The Cache**

After what feels like hours of painful hobbling, Bill stumbles upon a small clearing. In the center, half-buried in the mud, is an old, rusted metal box. Curiosity and desperation get the better of him, and he limps over to investigate.

He pries the box open with trembling hands and finds a treasure trove of old-school weapons inside. It’s a small arsenal, likely hidden by some long-forgotten resistance fighter. There are a pistol, a shotgun, and several boxes of ammunition. There’s even an old Bowie knife, still sharp despite its age.

Bill takes the weapons, grateful for the unexpected find. He pockets the pistol, slings the shotgun over his shoulder, and tucks the Bowie knife into his belt. Armed with these relics of the past, he feels a renewed sense of confidence. The pain in his ankle has gone numb, these weapons give him a small measure of safety.

**7:00 PM - The Cabin in the Woods**

As night begins to fall, the rain shows no signs of letting up. Bill is exhausted, cold, and sore from being hobbled. He knows he needs to find or start making a shelter soon or risk dying of hypothermia. Through the sheets of rain, he spots a faint light in the distance—a rustic, weathered cabin, partially hidden by giant boulders. 

Bill limps toward the cabin, his heart pounding with a mix of hope and caution. The flickering light could mean safety, or it could mean danger. But again he has but little choice. He can’t just spend the night out in the open next to this place now, and not in this storm.

As he creeps closer to the cabin, he notices that it’s nothing fancy. There’s smoke rising from the chimney, and the light inside flickers with the warm embers of a fireplace. Bill pauses next to horse shed, unsure of what to do next. The horse was busy munching on some grass hay.

**7:30 PM - The Cowboy**

The door to the cabin creaked open, and a figure steps out onto the porch. He’s tall and lean, dressed in coveralls and a battered old cowboy hat. In his hands, he holds a large Magnum rifle, the kind that’s likely seen its fair share of hunting game. The man’s eyes narrowed as he surveyed the horse shed, then land on Bill.

“Who’s out there?” God damn Commie sons a bitches better not be fucking around with Ole Daisy! the cowboy calls out, his voice rough and gravelly. He raises the rifle, ready to fire off a shot if needed.

Bill steps out from behind the shed, holding up his hands to show that he means no harm. “I’m just looking for some shelter fella- I mean you no harm” he says, his voice hoarse. “I don’t want any trouble either- ya year me boy?"

The cowboy studies Bill for a long moment, then lowers his rifle slightly. “You look like you’ve been through hell,” he says. “Come on in before you catch hypothermia.”

Relief washes over Bill as he slumps but makes his way towards the cabin. The cowboy steps aside to let him in, keeping a wary eye on him the whole time. Inside, the cabin is cluttered but cozy, with a dying fire in the hearth and a kettle of something warm steaming over the coals.

**8:00 PM - The Packhouse**

As Bill sits by the fire, trying to warm his aching body, the cowboy introduces himself as Jimmy, a former rancher who’s been living off the grid since things went south. Jimmy explains that he’s been able to survive out here thanks to his packhouse—a separate, secure building about a quarter mile east where he stores his supplies and additional weapons. He offers Bill a hot drink and some stew, which Bill gratefully accepts.

“Got a bad ankle there,” Jimmy remarks as he hands Bill a mug of steaming coffee. “You’re lucky you found this place. Not many folks left down in the city anymore, I reckon.”

Bill nods, taking a sip of the coffee and feeling the warmth spread through him. “I was heading for the Second Sun's Mason Sanctuary,” he says, wincing as he shifts his injured ankle. “But I don’t know if I can make it like this and in these conditions.”

Jimmy considers this, then gives a slow nod. “Sanctuary’s a good place. Have a few friends there, if it’s still standing. You’re gonna need some bed rest before you can travel again, though. And we’ll have to be careful. Mechanical drones are thick in these parts cutting off most of the horse trails.”

**9:00 PM - A New Alliance**

As the storm rages outside, Bill and Jimmy settle in for the night. He shows Bill the packhouse on his map.

Jimmy offers to help Bill get to the Mason Sanctuary, seeing in him a kindred spirit—a man who’s lost everything but still has the will to fight. After a few days, they make a plan to move at first light, hoping to stay ahead of the Militia if they were patrolling on foot and the god forsaken drones that would be surely hunting them.