>>6325710
>>6325762
>>6325772
>>6325811
>>6325922
>>Outfitters/Lifestyle Store (Standard Clothing and Domestic Goods)
>>PharmaCare Wellness (Medical Distribution and Controlled Substances)
The good news is that there’s more than you or Harper could carry out on your backs. Which – as far as bad news goes – you suppose isn’t that bad. It still breaks your heart something terribly as the day draws to a close.
“Yes, we have enough room for both the air fryer and the rice cooker,” grumbles Harper, finally relenting after your impassioned pleas and appeals to your shared humanity. “But there’s no way in hell we’re taking even a single sack of rice. At least not until we get a full salvage team and the security guards to keep us safe lugging it all out of the PRC.”
You gesture helplessly at the growing pile of perfectly good cookware, blankets, shoes and denim pants. The pile of “non-essentials” is distressingly larger than the “must-haves” you’ve triaged together on a salvaged dolly.
“We’re leaving behind civilization itself,” you protest.
“I thought civilization was antibiotics, power cells, and bullets.”
Easy for him to say when he remembers a world where food tasted something other than compressed protein slurry. And wasn’t he the one who gave you pancakes, hashbrowns and real pork sausages? It’s his own damned fault for expanding your horizons and elevating your standards beyond rehydrated proteins.
You pick up a blender. “This could change lives.”
“That thing barely changed lives before the sun exploded.”
“Some of us didn’t get to enjoy…” You pause, squinting at a garishly, over-saturated photo of something on the side of the box. “…kombucha?”
Harper visibly shudders. “Oh, trust me when I say you aren’t missing out on that one. You’d be better off getting that electric kettle.”
You cradle the blender protectively. “The kettle doesn’t have twelve preset blend modes.”
“It has one preset: boil. Which is everything a good kettle (and not some overengineered and overpriced boondoggle) needs.”
“Spoken like a man who fears progress.”
“Tea bags are lighter than sacks of rice by an exponential margin."
At the height of its function, the Strip theoretically had enough dry goods, wares and supplies to support the spending habits of all thirty-thousand people living within the PRC. Most of that had been understandably looted by fleeing civilians and opportunistic raiders, or had otherwise spoiled when power failure killed refrigerators and freezing units.
It stood to reason it didn’t have the military bend of the Watchtower, but it still had a large amount of supplies protected in vaults and storage units impervious to all but netrunners and admin key holders. Spare parts, clothing, domestic goods, medicines and tonics, anything and everything that those beneath welfare could reasonably afford and generate taxable revenue.
(cont.)
4chan Search
2 results for "f4b99dbefdd8c243c7c363fead72f76b"
>>6325710
>>6325762
>>6325772
>>6325811
>>6325922
>>Outfitters/Lifestyle Store (Standard Clothing and Domestic Goods)
>>PharmaCare Wellness (Medical Distribution and Controlled Substances)
The good news is that there’s more than you or Harper could carry out on your backs. Which – as far as bad news goes – you suppose isn’t that bad. It still breaks your heart something terribly as the day draws to a close.
“Yes, we enough room for both the air fryer and the rice cooker,” grumbles Harper, finally relenting after your impassioned pleas and appeals to your shared humanity. “But there’s no way in hell we’re taking even a single sack of rice. At least not until we get a full salvage team and the security guards to keep us safe lugging it all out of the PRC.”
You gesture helplessly at the growing pile of perfectly good cookware, blankets, shoes and denim pants. The pile of “non-essentials” is distressingly larger than the “must-haves” you’ve triaged together on a salvaged dolly.
“We’re leaving behind civilization itself,” you protest.
“I thought civilization was antibiotics, power cells, and bullets.”
Easy for him to say when he remembers a world where food tasted something other than compressed protein slurry. And wasn’t he the one who gave you pancakes, hashbrowns and real pork sausages? It’s his own damned fault for expanding your horizons and elevating your standards beyond rehydrated proteins.
You pick up a blender. “This could change lives.”
“That thing barely changed lives before the sun exploded.”
“Some of us didn’t get to enjoy…” You pause, squinting at a garishly, over-saturated photo of something on the side of the box. “…kombucha?”
Haper visibly shudders. “Oh, trust me when I say you aren’t missing out on that one. You’d be better off getting that electric kettle.”
You cradle the blender protectively. “The kettle doesn’t have twelve preset blend modes.”
“It has one preset: boil. Which is everything a good kettle (and not some overengineered and overpriced boondoggle) needs.”
“Spoken like a man who fears progress.”
“Tea bags are lighter than sacks of rice by an exponential margin."
At the height of its function, the Strip theoretically had enough dry goods, wares and supplies to support the spending habits of all thirty-thousand people living within the PRC. Most of that had been understandably looted by fleeing civilians and opportunistic raiders, or had otherwise spoiled when power failure killed refrigerators and freezing units.
It stood to reason it didn’t have the military bend of the Watchtower, but it still had a large amount of supplies protected in vaults and storage units impervious to all but netrunners and admin key holders. Spare parts, clothing, domestic goods, medicines and tonics, anything and everything that those beneath welfare could reasonably afford and generate taxable revenue.
(cont.)
>>6325762
>>6325772
>>6325811
>>6325922
>>Outfitters/Lifestyle Store (Standard Clothing and Domestic Goods)
>>PharmaCare Wellness (Medical Distribution and Controlled Substances)
The good news is that there’s more than you or Harper could carry out on your backs. Which – as far as bad news goes – you suppose isn’t that bad. It still breaks your heart something terribly as the day draws to a close.
“Yes, we enough room for both the air fryer and the rice cooker,” grumbles Harper, finally relenting after your impassioned pleas and appeals to your shared humanity. “But there’s no way in hell we’re taking even a single sack of rice. At least not until we get a full salvage team and the security guards to keep us safe lugging it all out of the PRC.”
You gesture helplessly at the growing pile of perfectly good cookware, blankets, shoes and denim pants. The pile of “non-essentials” is distressingly larger than the “must-haves” you’ve triaged together on a salvaged dolly.
“We’re leaving behind civilization itself,” you protest.
“I thought civilization was antibiotics, power cells, and bullets.”
Easy for him to say when he remembers a world where food tasted something other than compressed protein slurry. And wasn’t he the one who gave you pancakes, hashbrowns and real pork sausages? It’s his own damned fault for expanding your horizons and elevating your standards beyond rehydrated proteins.
You pick up a blender. “This could change lives.”
“That thing barely changed lives before the sun exploded.”
“Some of us didn’t get to enjoy…” You pause, squinting at a garishly, over-saturated photo of something on the side of the box. “…kombucha?”
Haper visibly shudders. “Oh, trust me when I say you aren’t missing out on that one. You’d be better off getting that electric kettle.”
You cradle the blender protectively. “The kettle doesn’t have twelve preset blend modes.”
“It has one preset: boil. Which is everything a good kettle (and not some overengineered and overpriced boondoggle) needs.”
“Spoken like a man who fears progress.”
“Tea bags are lighter than sacks of rice by an exponential margin."
At the height of its function, the Strip theoretically had enough dry goods, wares and supplies to support the spending habits of all thirty-thousand people living within the PRC. Most of that had been understandably looted by fleeing civilians and opportunistic raiders, or had otherwise spoiled when power failure killed refrigerators and freezing units.
It stood to reason it didn’t have the military bend of the Watchtower, but it still had a large amount of supplies protected in vaults and storage units impervious to all but netrunners and admin key holders. Spare parts, clothing, domestic goods, medicines and tonics, anything and everything that those beneath welfare could reasonably afford and generate taxable revenue.
(cont.)