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<img src="images/planet.png" alt="Drawing of Gala Town Center" />
<div><h1 class="right">THE COLONY OF GALA</h1>
2.100 AD.BC.EG
Somewhere in the deep labyrinth of space, there is a colony known as Gala.
Formerly the Galesian Empire's premier central marketplace, Gala is now regarded as a bit of an intergalactic dump. A space-age junkyard. A civilization on its last, trembling legs. Its biggest exports? Failed comedians and petty thieves.
It is hard to say that Gala exports anything at all. It is not capitalistic, nor is it socialistic. It simply is. On Gala, there is simply being, and existing, and falling asleep, and [[waking up]].
</div>
<H1 class="right">BEDROOM</h1>
You wake up, restlessly, to the smell of burning fuel.
Not a totally worrying smell.
Not totally benign either.
Eugh. Is it worth crawling out of bed to investigate?
[[Leave bed.->LEAVE BED]]
[[Delay the inevitable.->DELAY THE INEVITABLE]]
<h1 class="gala-type"> GALA </h1>
Proudly presented by the Galesian Empire’s Museum of Natural And Unfortunate Histories.
With sponsorship by the Council for Covered Up Affairs.
<h2>[[Enter Exhibit->start2]] </h2>
<H1 class="right">BEDROOM</h1>
You stumble groggily out of bed, falling like a lump of coal onto the floorboards.
Looks like your legs are out of charge this morning. Excellent.
How could you really be surprised? Your bed expired over five years ago.
The cogs and wires stick out like jutting bones. It’s like sleeping in a hornet’s nest.
[[Growl at your bed.->GROWL AT BED]]
[[Drag yourself across the floor.->DRAG YOURSELF ACROSS THE FLOOR]]
<H1 class="right">BEDROOM</h1>
You shut your eyes, tight, and pretend to be dead. It’s immensely comforting.
Unfortunately, God is not kind: your stomach rumbles, and you’re reminded of the hunger pangs you fell asleep writhing in. If you don’t get out of bed, you don’t make any money. If you don’t make any money, you can’t buy any burritos.
[[Ah, the sweet motivation of a good burrito.->LEAVE BED]]
<H1 class="right">BEDROOM</h1>
You scream at your bed. You’re not sure why. It accomplishes nothing.
Feels kind of good though. Stupid, useless bed.
[[Drag yourself across the floor.->DRAG YOURSELF ACROSS THE FLOOR]]<H1 class="right">BEDROOM</h1>
You drag yourself across the floor by your arms, digging your fingers into the gravelly base of the RV.
The car rumbles beneath you, the wheels creaking in place.
No. It better not. <em>It better not</em>.
[[Find something to grab onto!->GRAB ON TO SOMETHING]]
[[Eh. Whatever.->WHATEVER]]
<H1 class="right">BEDROOM</h1>
You launch yourself at your lamp, holding on for dear life. The wheels of the RV hiss and screech against soil, the vehicle wobbling left and right. You mutter as many profanities as you can manage under your breath.
The tires halt, seemingly caught in the mud.
Would you look at that. Is this what having luck [[feels like]]?
<H1 class="right">BEDROOM</h1>
You shrug. What’s the use? If you had a cigarette, you would light it. Just to rub your apathy in the face of the uncaring universe. The wheels of the RV hiss and screech against soil, the vehicle wobbling left and right. You mutter as many profanities as you can manage under your breath.
The tires halt, seemingly caught in the mud.
Would you look at that. Is this what having luck [[feels like]]?
<img src="images/TownCenter.png" alt="Drawing of Gala Town Center" />
<div><H1 class="right">FRONT DOOR</h1>
You grumble your way to the front door of your RV and ram it open with your elbows, swinging your deadweight legs over the steps.
You’re greeted immediately by the sharp winter air and the low hum of bickering villagepeople. Ah, to live in the glorious Galesian marketplace. A utopia of peace, calm, and quiet.
[[Just kidding.->JUST KIDDING.]]
</div>
<img src="images/TownCenter.png" alt="Drawing of Gala Town Center" />
<div><H1 class="right">FRONT DOOR</h1>
You're startled within an inch of your life when a bicycle screeches past you, does a tight circle, and lands directly in front of your doorstep. One of the bike's red-hot chains flings off into the forest.
You recognize the rider immediately. The infamous entrepeneur. He most infamously has a monopoly on the colony's toilet paper supply. He shells it out for modest prices at his RV just around the corner.
Brushing off dirt from his shirt, he grins demonically at you.
[[It's way too early for this.->Oh God, he's speaking.]]
</div>
<img src="images/tan.jpg" class="portrait" alt="the boy, Tan" /><div><H1 class="right">FRONT DOOR</h1>
The boy looks at you quizzically, as if you were speaking in tongues.
<span class="c">“Sure you are,”</span> he laughs, flinging the newspaper straight at your face, <span class="c">“everyone in Gala is my customer, tcha. Haven't you been by my place before? Where else are tcha buying your toilet paper? Anyway, the old paper boy’s sick with cyber-warts. I’m making an extra buck. Take your paper.”</span>
</div>
<img src="images/tan.png" alt="The boy Tan" />
<div><H1 class="right">FRONT DOOR</h1>
"I mean exactly what I mean, tcha," he says, brows furrowed, "you only got three wheels left on that home of yours. One of them's currently burning a real mess into the ground right now."
Tan points towards one of your tires. You reluctantly eye it. Oh. Great. It has indeed been bludgeoned by a tree limb and is now leaking oil.
[[Go patch it up]]
[[Ignore it and it will go away]]
</div>
<img src="images/tan.png" alt="Picture of Tan" />
<div><h1 class="right">FRONT DOOR</h1>
He screams at the top of his tiny, sickly lungs:
"HEY THREE-WHEELS!!" he shrieks, then nearly coughs up half a lung.
"GOT YOUR PAPER. HOT OFF THE PRESS. ONLY THE BEST FOR MY TRUSTED CUSTOMERS."
[["Why are you screaming?"]]
[["What do you mean by three wheels?!"]]
</div><img src="images/tan.png" alt="the boy Tan" />
<div><H1 class="right">FRONT DOOR</h1>
"Oh, because you're old. I thought you might not be able to hear."
You frown, extremely offended. You're not that old.
He doesn't seem to care that you're offended, his eyes straying to something to the side of your RV. Your nostrils are suddenly full of that burning oil scent from before.
"You should really fix up your tire, tcha. Might start a forest fire if you're not careful."
You trace his gaze and find the tire in question. Oh.
Shit. It's completely destroyed.
[[Go patch it up]]
[[Ignore it and it will go away]]
</div>
<H1 class="right">SIDE OF THE RV</h1>
You drag your legs around the side of the RV to check out the damage. The wheel is seeping oil at alarming speeds, drenching everything. You carelessly remove the tree branch and stare as the oil stream gushes into the soil.
Your electricity bill is about to skyrocket.
It's not like you have any supplies, so you stuff the hole with grass and dirt. It seems to stop the leak.
[[You're an engineer now.]]<img src="images/tan.png" alt="The boy Tan" />
<div><H1 class="right">FRONT DOOR</h1>
"It'll fix itself," you shrug. He does not seem convinced.
"That's a terrible mindset."
You ignore him.
"Thanks for the paper."
"Fix that tire, tcha. All that oil seeping everywhere, someone might slip. Don't go being a public menace. I got some patches by my stand if you need some supplies. See ya."
He pedals away before you can think of anything dignified to say in response. Oh well. Next time.
[[Open the paper->open the paper]]
</div>
<H1 class="right">NEWSPAPER</h1>
You tap the silicone tablet labeled NEWSPAPER and immediately toggle off all the news, leaving open only the job listings. You don't have time for people saving cats stuck in trees, you've got bills to pay. And judging by the state of your tire, you have one very specific bill to pay.
Surprisingly, there is only one listing for today. On most days there are at least six or seven. The money's not bad, a solid 123c. Something something about fixing up a skooter. That couldn't be so hard.
What was a skooter, really? Just a flimsy vehicle held together by two (to seven) wheels.
You have to admit, skooters are a weird breed. You prefered when everyone just had plain old bicycles.
The cybernetic surface of the paper shutters as you hover your hand over it. You scroll to the bottom of the listing to find out who the poor sucker was that needed help today.
Oh. Ohhhhhhhhh. Oh great. Nope. Absolutely not.
[[She's going to kill me.->No way. She'll punch me on sight.]]
<img src="images/SamaRV.png" alt="Drawing of Gala Town Center" />
<div><H1 class="right">SAMA'S RV</h1>
You could get to Sama's RV blindfolded. Drugged. Incapacitated in any way, shape, or form, you'd been there so many times. The light pink RV is the only one like it in town. No one really had the money for flashy paint jobs anymore.
Not that Sama was swimming in riches. Her only income came from growing vegetables and catching exotic (and mostly intensely gross) bugs.
[[What a weirdo.]]
</div>
You find Tan's shack easily. You've been there a hundred times to buy toilet paper. He's the #1 supplier in all of Gala, meaning the only supplier. Makes no sense that he has to bus around the newspaper when he has a monopoly over the bathroom essentials.
You find him giving a very loud sales pitch.
[[interrupt him]]<img src="images/tan.png" alt="The boy Tan" />
<div><H1 class="right">FRONT DOOR</h1>
"All fixed," you say, hoisting yourself back up to your steps.
"Looks like it. Aye, what's up with your legs?"
You laugh. "They gave up."
"Mm. I got some recharges at my store if you need 'em. Only 25c a pop."
You mentally recount the money in your wallet. Probably about half of that. Living large.
Before you can crack a joke at the expense of your current financial situation, he's already pedaling away towards the city center. Oh well. Next time.
[[Open the paper->open the paper]]
</div>
<img src="images/sama.png" alt="sama" />
<div><H1 class="right">SAMA'S RV</h1>
You walk up behind her and tap her on the shoulder. She jolts and screams.
"Oh my god, who the fu--"
Her face falls.
"You can't be serious."
[[You are very serious about making a dollar.]]
[[On second thought, maybe you should go.]]
</div>
Double-click this passage to edit it.<img src="images/sama.png" alt="sama" />
<div><H1 class="right">SAMA'S RV</h1>
She studies you for another agonizing second until she gives in, turning to the bike. She runs her hand over it reverently and carefully, as if she was touching her own child.
"She's a <em>total</em> mess right now. Having a serious tantrum. I can't even ride into town without one of the wheels popping off or the gears screaming bloody murder. Not exactly doing wonders for my reputation."
Reputation? People loved Sama. Pretty much universally. You doubted a noisy bike could change that. But hey, this was Gala.
[["How can I help?"]]
[["Sounds beyond repair. Can't you just get a new one?"]]
</div>
<img src="images/sama.png" alt="sama" />
<div><H1 class="right">SAMA'S RV</h1>
You inform her that you're just there because you're extremely poor, and she put an ad in the paper. Anyone is allowed to answer an employment ad.
"I guess so," she sighs, "Yet I was kind of hoping with a population of 2,000 I might hire someone who hasn't been avoiding me for the past 4 years. Foolish of me."
"I haven't been avoiding you," you defend. It even sounds pathetic on your own ears.
"Don't even bother. You go running to the forest everytime I walk up behind you at Tan's toilet paper line."
You have nothing to say to that.
[["So, what are we working on?"]]
</div>
<img src="images/sama.png" alt="sama" />
<div><H1 class="right">SAMA'S RV</h1>
Your face turns as white as plaster. This was a bad idea. Very bad. Terrible.
"I'm dumb," you confess, "this was dumb. I'll get out of your hair."
A look of regret passes over her face.
"Wait!" she says, halting your instant impulse to flee, "You can't just... go. You already signed up for the gig. If you leave now, I'll have to pay for another ad."
[[Escape plan: failed.]]
</div>
<img src="images/sama.png" alt="sama" />
<div><H1 class="right">SAMA'S RV</h1>
She seems surprised at your eagerness. She shouldn't be. Facing her after 4 years was making you absolutely miserable. You felt like jumping out of your body and doing a few laps around the spirit realm. The sooner this was finished, the better.
"Hm. Good question. You were never very good at mechanics," she mumbles.
You feel unjustifiably offended.
[["Seriously? I'm super good, actually. I patched up one of my RV wheels like fifteen minutes ago."]]
[["Well that's rude."]]
</div>
<img src="images/sama.png" alt="sama" />
<div><H1 class="right">SAMA'S RV</h1>
She looks at you with silent murder in her eyes.
"Get a new one?" she seethes.
That was obviously not the correct solution to the problem. Good thing you have literally nothing to lose.
[["Nevermind. This one's fine. Absolutely perfect."]]
</div>
<img src="images/sama.png" alt="sama" />
<div><H1 class="right">SAMA'S RV</h1>
She laughs loudly, then looks a bit sheepish about it. She clearly hadn't meant to do that. You haven't laughed together in years.
The sound of it sends a chill down your spine. A nice one.
"I'm not rude," she shrugs, "just correct."
She hands you some gloves.
"I don't trust you with any of the tools. Just hold down the spinner while I fix the differential."
[[Put on the gloves.]]
</div>
<img src="images/sama.png" alt="sama" />
<div><H1 class="right">SAMA'S RV</h1>
You apologize for taking the gig. You know it wasn't exactly the most... artful way to make a re-appearance in her life after 4 years.
Anyway, you're just there because you're like, extremely poor, and she put an ad in the paper. Anyone is allowed to answer an employment ad.
"I guess so," she sighs, "Yet I was kind of hoping with a population of 2,000 I might hire someone who hasn't been avoiding me for the past 4 years. Foolish of me."
"I haven't been avoiding you," you defend. It even sounds pathetic on your own ears.
"Don't even bother. You go running to the forest everytime I walk up behind you at Tan's toilet paper line."
You have nothing to say to that.
[["So, what are we working on?"]]
</div>
<img src="images/sama.png" alt="sama" />
<div><H1 class="right">SAMA'S RV</h1>
The gloves are a bit big for your hands, but you're not about to complain. She positions the wheel so you can grab onto it. You thread your fingers over the rubber surface and hold on like your life depends on it.
"Jeez, you're going pale. Lighten up a little bit. This isn't rocket science," she smirks. She takes a wrench and twists at the differential. At least, that's what you think she's doing. You have literally zero idea what a differential is.
[[Loosen your grip a bit.]]
</div>
<img src="images/sama.png" alt="sama" />
<div><H1 class="right">SAMA'S RV</h1>
The process takes longer than you thought it would. You're not sure why you thought it would be a fast job to begin with. Herupa skooters have five whole wheels.
She was right, of course. You know literally nothing about mechanical engineering. You're barely proficient at wearing these slippery gloves.
"Have you heard?" she asks, dragging you away from your pitiful internal monologue. Her face is contorted in concentration, eyes barely looking up at you.
[["Heard what?"]]
[["Sure. My ears are Model 3. I'm great at the hearing thing."]]
</div>
<img src="images/sama.png" alt="sama" />
<div><H1 class="right">SAMA'S RV</h1>
She looks up, briefly, from her work. She seems concerned.
"Didn't you read the paper to get this gig?" she asks.
"I just skip to the job section. Who has time for reading?"
Sama shakes her head at you, like always, "It was like, the literal headline. You could not have missed it without deliberately closing your eyes."
You shrug. You pay selective attention to the things that make you money.
She pauses, and her eyes return to her work.
"They're retiring Gala," she mumbles.
[["Retiring? Does she at least get a pension?"]]
</div><img src="images/sama.png" alt="sama" />
<div><H1 class="right">SAMA'S RV</h1>
She rolls her eyes.
"I know you're about as thick-skulled as a great ape, but I didn't think you'd joke about a thing like this."
Your eyes go wide. Four years of tactful avoidance, and here you are throwing conversational grenades left and right. It wouldn't be long before she sent you packing.
But no--you hadn't heard anything. You didn't exactly talk to many people outside extracting money from their pockets.
[["Huh?"->"Heard what?"]]
</div><div class="eye"><img src="images/eye.jpg" alt="Eye" />
<p class="nametag">JEFFREY</p>
<p class="stats">MUSEUM GU(EYE)ID</p>
</div>
<div class="eye-text"><span class="c">WELCOME VALUED CUSTOMER</span>,
Thank you for your continued patronage of the Galesian Empire’s PREMIER HISTORY MUSEUM. We are excited to present a BRAND NEW EXHIBIT, a totally immersive simulation forged from the memories of a citizen of <strong>GALA</strong>, the Galesian Empire's disgraced former capital, right on the brink of the megacity's collapse.
You will occupy the role of Gala's typical GRIFTER, DOWN ON YOUR LUCK, trying to live through the CONSTANT HARDSHIP of a POVERTY-STRICKEN CITY.
We do sincerely hope you enjoy your time. And remember, none of this is real! If you feel uncomfortable, simply remove your headset. If you are no longer able to discern past from present, you are also permitted to begin loudly screaming, at which point a member of the staff will remove it for you.
<center><span class="btn">[[ENTER SIMULATION->Beginning]]</span></center>
</div>
<img src="images/sama.png" alt="sama" />
<div><H1 class="right">SAMA'S RV</h1>
She nods at your response, satisfied. You feel like jumping out of your body and doing a few laps around the spirit realm. The sooner this was finished, the better.
"You know, I'm not exactly sure how you're supposed to help. You were never very good at mechanics," she mumbles.
You feel unjustifiably offended.
[["Seriously? I'm super good, actually. I patched up one of my RV wheels like fifteen minutes ago."]]
[["Well that's rude."]]
</div>
<img src="images/sama.png" alt="sama" />
<div><H1 class="right">SAMA'S RV</h1>
She laughs loudly, then looks a bit sheepish about it. She clearly hadn't meant to do that. You haven't laughed together in years.
The sound of it sends a chill down your spine. A nice one.
She hands you some gloves.
"Dirt and leaves certainly aren't going to fix this. No way am I trusting you with any of the tools. Just hold down the spinner while I fix the differential."
[[Put on the gloves.]]
</div>
<img src="images/sama.png" alt="sama" />
<div><H1 class="right">SAMA'S RV</h1>
"Right" she shakes her head, hiding a smile, "that's what I thought."
She hands you some gloves.
"I don't trust you with any of the tools. Just hold down the spinner while I fix the differential."
[[Put on the gloves.]]
</div>
<img src="images/sama.png" alt="sama" />
<div><H1 class="right">SAMA'S RV</h1>
Hues of green and blue mesh messily back together forming trees and sky. You regain sensation in your knees, shins, fingertips; you find them gripping tightly around a rubber wheel. You hear someone snap fingers agressively in front of your face.
"God, am I paying to babysit you or something?"
You blink. Sama looks agitated.
But she also looks... kind of concerned?
[["Sorry. Weird daydream."]]
</div>
<img src="images/sama.png" alt="sama" />
<div><H1 class="right">SAMA'S RV</h1>
You lose your grip on the wheel and it pops off with a shriek, sailing over your head and into the bush behind you. Sama groans loudly and goes running after it.
She returns after a minute and lodges the wheel back into place.
"You're useless. And they're retiring the planet, idiot. Killing it. Putting us in the ground. Pulling the power cord."
[[What?]]
</div>
<div class="eye"><img src="images/eye.jpg" alt="Eye" />
<p class="nametag">JEFFREY</p>
<p class="stats">MUSEUM GU(EYE)ID</p>
</div>
<div class="eye-text"><span class="c">HELLO AGAIN, VALUED CUSTOMER</span>,
We want to remind you that this simulation is told from a SINGULAR PERSPECTIVE. AN UNCENSORED PIECE OF HISTORY. As such, we cannot moderate who you interact with, or what they say. Due to these restrictions, we would like to remind you that PEOPLE ARE LIARS. Please do not feel inclined to believe the words that you hear. In fact, we encourage you to question them.
After finishing the simulation, please exit to your right to be directed to the next section on GALA, where you will learn the colony's true and unfortunate history, ruined by the very people who inhabited it.
<span class="btn">[[RETURN TO SIMULATION->next next]]</span>
</div>
<img src="images/sama.png" alt="sama" />
<div><H1 class="right">SAMA'S RV</h1>
She raises her eyebrows in shock.
"You? Fix something?"
The eyebrows immediately lower into skepticism.
"What did you fix it with?"
You freeze. Well..
[[Dirt and leaves, obviously.]]
[[Nevermind.]]
</div>
<H1 class="right">?????</h1>
<center>Your vision blurs. The color of Sama's face falls away, the environment around you ebbing and flowing like ocean waves.
<span class="btn">[[A BRIEF INTERMISSION]]</span></center><img src="images/SamaRV.png" alt="Drawing of Gala Town Center" />
<div><H1 class="right">SAMA'S RV</h1>
She was just one of those people who refused to "let money be an obstacle." It was kind of her catch-phrase. Peh. You had never understood it. Money had been the most predictable and constant brick wall in your life. Pretending the wall wasn't there only made you slam into it harder.
You managed to find a half-charged cord lying around your RV and juiced up your legs just enough to make the trip and (hopefully) back. You find Sama greased up, completely in her own world. She's tinkering with the wheel of her Herupa skooter and yelling at it. Wheel problems, man. You can relate.
[[Surprise her. Why the hell not.->surprise her]]
</div>
<img src="images/sama.png" alt="sama" />
<div><H1 class="right">SAMA'S RV</h1>
She groans loudly and lets go of the wheel, tossing her tools aside.
"Alright, this is no use."
You move to apologize, but she shushes you with a glare.
"Don't. If you're going to apologize to me, it's not going to be for this."
You wince. That one hurt. You should apologize. You want to apologize. But your tongue feels like cement, your mouth refuses to form the words. You can barely remember what it was that you did. It all felt so distant, aged by time.
"These wheels are useless anyhow with a busted up differential," she continues, pulling at her hair in frustration.
[[You want to help.]]
</div>
<img src="images/sama.png" alt="sama" />
<div><H1 class="right">SAMA'S RV</h1>
"I'll get one," you say, dumbly. You wouldn't be able to recongize a differential if it hit you straight in the face.
Even so, she studies the idea. Maybe this was your chance at some sort of redemption.
"That's not a terrible idea, actually. I don't have any money for a new one, but I have an ongoing deal with old Xax that might allow you to weasel one out of her. Why don't you run over to hers and see if you can't use your smart-ass mouth to actually help me."
[["I won't let you down."]]
[["No promises."]]
</div>
<img src="images/sama.png" alt="sama" />
<div><H1 class="right">SAMA'S RV</h1>
That statement seems to have the unintended effect. She glowers at you with a soft pain in her eye. It's a familiar kind of pain: raw, unfiltered disappointment.
"Right," she says grimly.
[[Time to skedaddle.]]
</div>
<img src="images/sama.png" alt="sama" />
<div><H1 class="right">SAMA'S RV</h1>
The joke doesn't seem to land. She looks at you meaningfully, and shakes her head.
"There never are any, are there?"
You swallow.
[[Time to skedaddle.]]
</div>
<img src="images/GardenRV.png" alt="Xax's RV" />
<div><H1 class="right">XAX'S RV</h1>
You head off to Xax's RV, guilt and hunger equally oppressive on your stomach. The RV is immediately distinguishable by its sprawling garden of foreign flora. Your mother took you to Xax's a few times as a kid. It used to be a floral emporium, a menagerie of exuberant plants and domesticated forest animals.
The garden still had the same joyful spirit to it, but it was considerably downsized. Critically underfunded. Less a gathering place, more a forgotten oasis.
In many ways, it was Gala incarnate.
She spots you from behind a pair of plant shears and flashes you a small, tepid grin.
[[Approach her.]]
</div>
<img src="images/xax.png" alt="Xax's RV" />
<div><H1 class="right">XAX'S RV</h1>
She looks you up and down, patiently evaluating her guest. You feel a bit awkward being blatantly gawked at.
"That can't be you, is it?" she says, surprise evident in her expression, "Oh dear, your face!"
You cringe. Great, that's insult number 3 for today.
[["Yup. Don't worry, plastic surgery is on the to-do list."]]
</div>
<img src="images/xax.png" alt="Xax's RV" />
<div><H1 class="right">XAX'S RV</h1>
She laughs heartily, head thrown back. You can't remember the last time you made someone laugh like that and they didn't immediately regret it.
Jeez. When did your life get so depressing?
"You misunderstand me, dear. You look beautiful. You have skin just like your mother's--like brown dahlias. I always did want to get her a basketful of those. But the traders never delivered them all the way to Gala. A shame."
Talk of your mother makes your lips twitch. Your memories of her feel like fog.
[["Do you have a differential?"]]
</div>
<img src="images/xax.png" alt="Xax's RV" />
<div><H1 class="right">XAX'S RV</h1>
She laughs again.
"Right to the point, hm? You always have been. It's an excellent quality in a person. Not many here on Gala possess such a directness anymore. Always trying to slither you into a deal, trap you in some sort of money-grabbing scheme."
She frowns, looking at her hands.
"It wasn't always like this, you know?"
She looks back up at you.
"And now the lords on high have had enough it seems. Retirement. Can you believe it?"
[[That word again.]]
</div>
Double-click this passage to edit it.<img src="images/xax.png" alt="Xax's RV" />
<div><H1 class="right">XAX'S RV</h1>
"How are they supposed to retire us, exactly?" you roll your eyes, "are they going to come down here and strap us down to rocking chairs?"
She smiles, but weakly.
"If only. No, by my understanding of it, it's like... displacement. A commandment to leave, or else. Trade to Gala has been strained for years. The Galesians barely send caravans to our planet anymore. But now they've put out an order to all their allies, too, the assholes--no trade to Gala, not a single shipment. Not a rose, not a day-lily."
Holy shit.
[["Seriously? Can't we do something about it?"]]
</div>
<img src="images/xax.png" alt="Xax's RV" />
<div><H1 class="right">XAX'S RV</h1>
She furrows her eyebrows.
"I don't think so, dearie. Not like the protesting has helped much. They say retirement is for our own good. That we'll have a better chance living like sheep on the capital than how we do here. I can't say they're completely wrong."
She stares wistfully at her garden.
"But they aren't right, neither. Gala's been a self-sustaining colony for years. I've lived here my whole life since my parents came over from the Jesip. They say Gala's on its last legs, but it's only because the Galesians have been kicking in our shins for decades."
[["Wow, the Galesians majorly suck."]]
[["Uh, that's nice. But I'm here about a differential."]]
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<img src="images/xax.png" alt="Xax's RV" />
<div><H1 class="right">XAX'S RV</h1>
She shakes her head, embarrassed.
"Of course, I'm sorry. Everybody has to grapple with the news in their own way. I just can't get the image out of my mind--those terraforming Galesians defiling my poor garden. I tell you, I'm not going to some fancy capital. I'll be buried right here in the garden beds."
You bite your lip. She was nearly as prideful as Toilet Paper Tan, and that was saying something.
[["That's... a bit grim."]]
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<img src="images/xax.png" alt="Xax's RV" />
<div><H1 class="right">XAX'S RV</h1>
"Yes, yes they do," she grins, "bet they'll terraform this planet straight into the molten core. They're just salivating at the mouth waiting to tear my poor day-lillies to shreds. I tell you, I'm not going to some fancy capital. I'll be buried right here in the garden beds."
You bite your lip. She was nearly as prideful as Toilet Paper Tan, and that was saying something.
[["That's... a bit grim."]]
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<img src="images/xax.png" alt="Xax's RV" />
<div><H1 class="right">XAX'S RV</h1>
She shrugs.
"The truth often is grim. But it is blissful, too, dear. Believing in something is a joy, even if it's futile."
Before you can reflect on that statement, she shifts her focus. She digs around in her pockets and pulls out a 45c bill. Your eyes go wide. Money. M o n e y.
"Money?" you say, like a five year old.
She laughs, "an accurate deduction! You said you wanted a differential, eh?"
[[Oh, right. Oops.]]
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<img src="images/xax.png" alt="Xax's RV" />
<div><H1 class="right">XAX'S RV</h1>
"It's for Sama. I'm helping her out today," you share, finally remembering that this wasn't some aimless journey to see some pretty flowers.
This puts a smile on Xax's face. Sama had that sort of effect on people.
"Oh, you should have just said so! I was gonna charge you pretty steep for a request like that, retirement looming and all. But Sama is always gifting me such divine creatures. Would be a shame to profit off of such a dear young woman."
She puts the bill in your hand.
"I need an errand run. We'll consider that payment. Run over to Tan's and get me a month's supply of dairy beans. Gonna need it for the retirement bunker."
The... what?
This feels like some elaborate fetch quest. You should ask Sama for a tip.
[["Dairy beans. Gotcha."]]
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<h1>It's time to get some D A I R Y B E A N S.</h1>
Hi, you've reached the end of the game (so far.) (I still have to finish it.) I hope you've enjoyed the experience so far, and thank you so much for playing! This game jam has been a blast.