"This is a land of few citrus fruits. Like the seas of yesteryear, we need you limes to keep scurvy away."
With a sniff Survivor 2 pulls the rifle off his back and aims it towards the magical lime.
"Now, are you going to come quietly and make some nice mutated-rat ceviche, or are you going to be a bad lime?"
I give, I....wait. I'm going to die either way, I'll take my chances dodging your bullets!
"I've been hitting the chems too hard lately."
With a grunt Survivor 2 rubs the back of his head and wonders if the talking limes were actually real to begin with.
"Nah. I just need more chems."
(lime 1 sneaks away)
"Ah man, I- I haven't had withdrawal this bad since Ol' Bertha went and got in my psych-nite stash three years ago. Talking limes. Making me question my reality. Fu-u-u-ck!"
With a scream into the wasteland, Survivor 2 runs off and abandons the limes in search of a fix.
(lime one shouts from a hidden corner)
Far ahead of me three unhinged Survivors in an empty wasteland squabble over Limes that do not exist. I adjust my scope for factors accuracy and luck. My friend Patience reassures me with the same old advice... Is it the way sound echoes? It sounds like what bad friends Hunger and Loneliness say, words that make my finger tremble.
I pull the trigger.
The shot missed...The shot missed...The shot missed...
It was the mirage, I had it calculated but then it suddenly shifted as if light itself protected them.
Regardless now I am a Sniper without bullets. Patience reassures me with the same old advice... or was that Hunger or was that Loneliness.