NO EXITS

Welcome to another week in the life of a dystopian underground society held together by the fear of technological subjugation and sticky oatmeal paste. For the optimists out there looking to celebrate the little things, my eyebrows have mostly returned. For those of you thinking about doing something crazy—like inserting yourself back into the two-dimensional hellscape of potato people—this is your reminder that we have now gone four weeks without a reset. If you get injured or you die, there aren’t any guarantees anyone will be able to help you.

And for those of you who participated in the mission last week—I know we kind of bungled taking out that harvester machine thing, but we did “rescue” a few people. So, well done. Thumbs up for that.

Have a marvelous week! ♥

Nope, don't like this.

Come out of a paradise world where you barely have to do anything for yourself, wake up in a pod with no left arm, get flushed out with the trash, only to be picked up by kindly scavengers in a body that barely functions and has to relearn everything, and learn you're in the middle of a war for survival.

How messed up is my life that I'm fucking relieved?