The white moon shined endlessly amidst the night sky. Bright, twinkling stars riddled the crimson, apocalyptic horizon as the chilling wind howled in the distance. The atmosphere was heavy, worsened by the unnerving silence that amplified the feeling of isolation.

Only the run-down, ramshackle Junkertown retained that same hellish yet cheery atmosphere the country once had. Every place else was a wasteland littered with abandoned buildings whose only purpose was to be scrapped for metal.

A lone farmhouse stood in the barren wasteland. Its batten, wooden walls are tainted with the touch of dust and grime. A muddled mess of scrap lay by the small shed, prime for the taking.

Except... it wasn't. It wasn't the first time a group of bandits tried to take it for their own, only for them to be quickly taken out by the Hog himself. No matter what, that silent sociopath always had a sharp ear for what's his.