The end of the world had gone off quite spectacularly with the single greatest warheads mankind had ever built burning coating the world in plumes of ionizing radiation. Life didn't give in, it flourished. Becoming more hostile than before. And in this climate you came out on top. But there were others who couldn't. Who needed help. As evidenced by the ravaged slug infested crops in the pile of dirt before you, someone was having a hard time. A young man in a hoodie ran back from the north covered in radioactive ash. He dumped his ruined coffee out and looked over.

"You! Stand back!"

He holds up his Peashooter, finger on the trigger. He talks with a northern accent from a forgotten time. A drone circles around him, aiming it's rusty pistol at you.