I've grabbed you by the nape, dear reader, and I've dragged you straight upwards, vertical, can you dig? Your feet dangle ragdoll-style and your arms swing all defensive, but I've got a damn good grip with a fist as big as god. What's worse, with all that flailing you're doing, you're not stopping to enjoy the view. 'Tis a pity. Up and up I pull you like a madman's elevator, up until you feel the clouds brush against your cheeks, soft as a mother's kiss. I'm done pulling; just bask in this tender moment. All done basking?Alright. Now I drop you.You're still flailing, settle down. Feel the wind rocket past your face. Maybe some music will calm you. Listen to some Children of the Revolution by T-Rex. It's a bitchin' tune and it sets the tone. You're not getting into it. Perhaps...I adjust the wind currents so that you get buffered in time with the music. It's a helter-skelter song, quite jerky, so try not to get motion sick. Look down at the earth. It's not the same as you left it. It's not monochromatic but it seems to be that way. It's broken. There's no other way to describe it. As we get closer you can see that it looks more desolate, more abandoned. More less than it was. While I was dragging you up, the world went and broke itself.A man named Richard Bacchus led the revolution that broke the world, you dig? And then he and his ilk disappeared along with the system they were fighting against, and they left behind this shell-world, inhabited now by people who didn't know what to do next. They dug in to towns and cities and they tried to rebuild. No, that's being kind. They tried to function amongst the rubble. That's the world I'm dropping you on. Slam.
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