Thread: Supply and Demand ( Sanoci x Xanaphia)

This desolate world was one despoiled first by the hubris of governments, its politics, and those succumb to the vast volume of wealth whether its currency, technology, sustenance, or the vices they gladly indulge themselves with candidly. Society was gradually going down the shitter or at least that was what his Father Nicolas foretold of the days of greatness as many dubbed or the Pre-Wasteland days. Eventually, civilization imploded on itself over resources, wars of terrorism, and ideologies clashing. Ironic that one of the world's wealthiest businessman whom transformed into the President of this former superpower caused the beginning of the end. Relations soured, egos prevailed, and within a two year span nuclear holocaust reign supreme costing the world its progress. Acculturation was an onerous endeavor to fan the flames, plenty taking a meticulous glance at the clean slate since the days of old. Territories claimed, societies established, and a few clinging to the remnants of the days of old for sentimental value, riches, or maybe simply comfort of days no longer in existence. Meager sustenance was a perpetual state of mind with the small pockets of civilizations or settlements those echoes of some semblance of normality and naturally stability. Guns became forsaken tools if only for the far fetched, yet successful ploy of transforming ammunition into currency which brought staggering popularity into crossbows and other innovative weaponry with those whom can afford it to utilize guns completely carefree. Cultivated by the ensuing bloodshed now heavily unregulated within this appalling apocalyptic world, he was thankful for what lessons his previously ordinary father with an occupation in engineering was capable of articulating into his bewildered mind caught trapped, caught hostage literally in a world with few virtues. Vas Xenos or at least he christened himself such after entering the mercenary line from the bland name of Christopher Cruz. Persevering by a combination of sheer luck, what marvels he summoned from the vast cogs of knowledge from his father, and pure pragmatism left the seasoned bullet for hired a commodity for protection detail for water caravans, haulers with scrap metal, and merchants whom to some outposts as this version of nobility depending on what they were lugging about. How did I get my lucky bullets on an oasis like you? A tender, playful grope without its sting clung to the body of the passenger strolling along with him. Bagging along a beauty belonging to an illustrious bartertown by the name of Sanctorium. As humanity slowly started to crawl its way out from disaster, many returned to former large cities to reclaim the remnants of technology they had lost. Many died in the process, falling victim to radiation or mutant beasts, but those who escaped danger found wonders from the old world and prospered. Sanctorium was the result of such a daunting gamble and this one belonged to one of its founding families whom became akin to Merchant lords or nobility. Members at the upper echelon live comfortable lives. Not only do they never worry about their next meal, they enjoy luxuries like books, guns, and even the occasional use of a gas-powered generator. It was love at first site, bodies glistening of sweat of the passionate nights they had. This made him think of it while on the unpaved roads, traversing in an decrepit Ford Mustang with a heavier frame, desert like paint job though rusted, and fenced shielding on the front glass to grant it protection. Regardless it was all they could be allotted and not to mention that little fact it was stolen. Who could dare declare things were not entertaining in the wastes?