Quote:
You have a den, a secret(ish), secure(ish) place you can live and hide in. In it, you have
(choose 3):
-The gutted shell of a Cessna, Piper, Cirrus, or some other single-engine plane.
-Hundreds of dead smart phones, cemented as tiling into the walls.
-Crooked, labyrinthine, interconnected tunnels and boltways.
-A calendar, perfectly preserved, showing beautiful people in beautiful places.
-An unexploded artillery shell. It is (circle 1): live, not live, who knows.
-A carefully-kept stockpile of canned and shelf-stable food, worth 5-barter in sum:
-A radio that still works, hand-cranked, if anyone’s broadcasting.
-A radio that speaks only to you.
-A pipe that drips clean water into a polished basin.
-Some uncertain number of your siblings and kind, no two alike.
-A way into ancient underground vaults, cavernous, echoing, and endless.
-A way into a terrifying place of death, where countless skeletons lie.
-A way into an alien place of unscratched glass, shifting luminosity, and symbols of unguessed
meaning.
-Ways into basically everyone’s spaces, even if they’ve taken pains to close them of