"A note was found in the wasteland:
'Beware. This endeavor is full of fear, and contentment. Though you walk through the shadows and the mire, your surroundings will reveal to you a truth in full. But you must look closely. Those around you will not know such things and will balk and shame at your very inspection. But worry not. This is not about them. This is about the land you are, and you are from. Welcome to the wasteland.
At first, you will not notice such things. Your life will be content, and dull, and full of false remembrance. Then, perhaps, you will awaken. The treacherous nightmare will reveal itself, and a knowing you never had will enter your mind. You will see them. The smoke clouds, the mutants, the toxic ooze pouring in and out of everything imaginable. The hate, the senselessness, of a world you thought you knew will ravage through your mind. Then it occurs to you. This is not a real world. This is a wasteland.
How to survive. The vivaciousness, the soul, and the need for such things will come screaming right at you. All worlds, everywhere, will know this one rule. Do not conform, or die. The death is in everything, every living being, every trace of society around you will reek of this. Find your way. Find your own sobriety, essence, and wisdom in a world that does not condone such things. Do not fight with your body unless you have to, but you will have to fight with your mind every step of the way. Or you will not survive.
How to win. Courage, triumph, and never give up. See light in the freaks of the wasteland dying in front of you. Find merriment in their conformed suffering, and know it is there. The victory of the mind is the victory of the soul. So, feed your mind. From neoclassical music to neoclassical literature, learn to think and feel again. Make conclusions and think for yourself. And for the love of God, smoke tobacco. Find a reason to live in these words and know the mutants of this wasteland will not last long. And you want to see them die, don't you?
Wreckage. Steel. Wires. Smoke. Desolation. There is not much beauty left to absorb. But find a natural spot, a shady tree, an outside porch or garage, anything to put you back in nature again. The fresh air will do you better than you know, and the leaves and trees, the very grass, will sing a song to you of survival and omnipotence against the damned. Especially with that cigarette hanging from your lips.
Farewell, my friend.
-From the wasteland'"
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