MxF 𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐕𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 | 𝘢 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥

[chap]

OBLIGATORY GREETINGS

Well, hi. For all intensive porpoises, you can call me chap. I'm a guy in my mid-thirties. I live in the Southern United States, but I hope you won't hold that against me. I've been doing this whole roleplaying thing for way longer than I thought I would and even longer than I care to admit. Funny how that works out, huh? As a TL;DR right here and now, I like weird stories that resemble fever dreams, I don't really write smut anymore, and I probably fall under the 'advanced lit' umbrella of roleplaying, but I think that's an incredibly dumb term, so we're not going to focus on that. I also make art, write music, do a bit of coding, and basically latch onto any creative pursuit that seems interesting.

I'm a sweetheart, basically.

AVAILABILITY

Right, so! Availability! Now that I've settled in on Inner Sanctum, I guess it's time that I open up shop. I recently started working from home, so I have a lot of extra time these days. That being said, I'm the skittish sort and still dipping my toes back into roleplaying as a whole, so we're not going to go too crazy just yet. Just to reiterate what we'll be getting into later in this thread, I'm not the fastest writer in the world, so you may not get quick responses out of me; expect a couple days in between posts, maybe more and maybe less. I'm usually around throughout the day, but most of my time falls somewhere in the range of Monday through Saturday from 8AM to 6PM EST. Sundays are a crap shoot at best.

SO, HERE'S THE THING...

I'm particular. Picky, I mean. Persnickety, even. That's especially true when it comes to one on one roleplays. I decided a long time ago that the best course of action was to just lean all the way into it. That being said, I think it's only fair to let prospective writing partners know exactly what they're getting themselves into before they start prospecting too hard. Expectations are important, right? So! Gathered below, you're going to find all sorts of bits and pieces that will most likely dictate whether or not we'd make for a good match. As I'm sure you can imagine, this part is a bit boring. Bear with me, okay?

WRITING WITH STRANGERS

When seeking new writing partners, chemistry is pretty much everything to me. Chemistry is one of those 'you-know-it-when-you've-got-it' vagaries everyone looks for, but nobody really defines. Basically, my take is, if we're not cut from the same cloth, we should at least be manufactured in the same textile factory.

Plotting and planning are requirements. I'm not the type to dive right into writing with someone new without having a long discussion about our story, our characters, and where we'd like to see the whole thing go. If you're looking for something quick and painless, I'm probably not your guy.

This may be a good place to point out that I mostly write Male characters against Female characters and that's trans inclusive. While writing against other Male characters is perfectly fine in certain stories and situations, any romantic desire or sexual inclination is reserved for MxF pairings.

IT'S CALLED STYLE, SWEETIE

I write in Third Person Omniscient or Limited by default.

The grand majority of my posts tend to be multiple paragraphs and range anywhere between 500 to 3k words in length. I'm a wordy bitch. It's a habit.

My availability and posting rate can change on the fly. There'll be times when I can post every day and other times where you may be lucky to get a single post out of me a week. Please don't be pushy.

Along those same lines, real life always comes first. No exceptions.

SMUT, EROTICA, AND BANGIN' IT OUT

Wanna hear a joke? A guy signs up for a (predominantly?) smut/erotica oriented writing site. Punchline: He doesn't write smut/erotica. Badum tss! But no, seriously, smut can be fun to write; I know it, you know it, we all know it. That being said, the longer I've roleplayed, the more I've sort of... drifted away from the sexy bits and leaned more towards a fade to black or limited smut approach. I'm very much a story driven writer and, while there may be moments within any given roleplay that can get steamy and/or sexually explicit, I'm really not the type to write long, drawn out smut scenes. It's not something I'm good at and not something I particularly enjoy. So, if ripped bodices and curled toes are what you're really interested in, I'm probably not the partner you're looking for.

WRITING SAMPLES

If you've made it this far, you might be a little curious what my actual writing looks like. Your best bet is to look at my post history or the links I have to current stories, but if you just want a quick and easy preview, here's a couple samples pulled from other roleplays I've done in the past. Feel free to give them a skim.

Sample 1

Out past the city with its skyline like headstones, past the suburbs and the blacktop and the hissing telephone wires and the spinning plates of modern life, past where the river flows beneath that rust red bridge and where the steepled church sits with the sign out front announcing the world to come, past where the sunspots gleam against those old tin roofs, past where the interstate hums its dirge against the natural world, past the unpainted billboards and the abandoned storefronts, the overgrown lawns and all the absence therein, past where the cows bawl against the morning light with clumps of half chewed cud hanging from their dirty mouths, past the empty main street where no cars go and the pockmarked fields and the barbwire fences and the false foxglove and ragweed and chigger lace and goldenrod and blooming dogwoods. Out there, past all the ephemera of simple existence, an old farmhouse sat on an acre of bones.

Sun peeled paint and creaking floorboards. An unused chimney and a screen door full of holes. A backyard given back to nature like a gift and the farmhouse itself and the darkness within; the death of man writ large in its shadow. Look at it. You wouldn't have even noticed if I hadn't told you, would you? It sat only ever in the periphery, living in some romanticized version of rural America; unseen and unnoticed, lacking importance, a relic from a bygone era. See it now. The gravel strewn driveway, the old sky-blue pickup truck with the engine already running, the man sitting inside with his disheveled hair and unkempt beard smoking his tenth morning cigarette. See it all. Those deep wells beneath his eyes, those nicotine stains on each of his nails, the way his chest heaves and lifts beneath the weight of endless, constant, limitless grief.

Grief. That's the only word that fits him and no amount of poetry can put that into perspective until you've experienced it for yourself.

He sat in the truck preparing himself for the drive ahead, sipping from a seafoam green thermos and staring through the grit covered windshield at the windbreak trees across the road and the flocking birds that gathered on their limbs. He remembered all of the evanescent beauty that had existed on that very plot of land just a few years prior. He felt the longing trying to pull him back to days he'd already lived out in his head a million times or more, that sepia-toned nostalgia acting as an unwelcome reminder of all the things he had lost and all of the things he still stood to lose.

It went like this.

Planes fell from the sky the first time it happened. Cars went careening over embankments with the baby still in the backseat. The Senate was adjourned. He had been tending to the garden; radishes and turnips and parsley and cucumbers. He was wiping the sweat from his brow when he heard the wailing from inside the house, the slamming doors and crash of panic. He went running across the yard, tilling the ground with his feet. She always made him kick off his dirty boots before he came inside, but that didn't matter in the moment. He trekked mud across the floorboards. He found her standing in the kitchen with a busted nose, all blood and tears in the half light, wide eyed and pale as a specter, clutching their newborn son in her arms. The high chair was overturned next to the dining room table. A bowl of cereal sat uneaten, the milk still rippling. Where was their daughter?

That moment overturned the order of their souls.

This is causality.

From there, she withered from the inside out and he began to drink more than he should. When it happened again, she was gone and he could only hope she was in a better place. He took on the role of a single father until the third wave took that away from him as well. With every new round of disappearances, he began to pray to what ever trickster god might be listening that he would be the next to go, but it never came even as it surrounded him. The fourth wave took his father, the only man on Earth that was worth his admiration. The fifth wave took his brother from a hospital bed in Tucson and there was some small kindness in knowing it got to him before the cancer did. His mother was the last to go and he didn't find out until two weeks after the fact. That night, he took a bottle of sleeping pills, drank a fifth of Jim Beam, and woke up the next morning with his cheek glued to his pillow by vomit.

This is causality.

These are the rules.

There were suspicions. There were questions. There were investigations. The police came calling, searching the property for unmarked graves when the rumors first got out. Gossip as good as gospel and all that. Before it had shut down, someone at the local departure office had called him an anomaly. "Mr. Burroughs, I ain't never heard of anyone who lost someone every time this thing happens," He said. "One or two people, sure. Hell, I lost my cousin and his wife in the second poof. But you? Don't take no offense to this, but it's downright bizarre." It wasn't exactly the best distinction in the world, but he thought he was just ahead of the curve. On a long enough timeline, everyone would lose everybody. On a long enough timeline, there would be no one left at all.

Even though he had made the drive from Buckley to the city a thousand times before, that didn't make it any less of a hassle or any less of a chore. Two hours on the road there and back again with nothing to do but smoke and think. In truth, it wasn't like he did much else anyway after the country decided to put him on a paid leave of absence. Precautions, they said. Liabilities. For your own safety. We're worried about you, Ezra. We can't have you climbing the poles in the state you're in. Take some time off, brother. Catch your breath, you've had a rough old time. We're here for you. Go sit inside your mausoleum and rot. We'll keep sending the checks.

Ezra Burroughs, former husband. Ezra Burroughs, former father. Ezra Burroughs, former son. Ezra Burroughs, former brother. Ezra Burroughs, former county linesman. What are we if not the titles we're given?

Ezra Burroughs, nothing at all.

This is causality.

These are the rules.​

Sample 2

Virgil McCormick had never been a violent man.

A mindful of hornets and a mouthful of liquor; sing the song of violence and watch how the gathering crowds sway and nod like reeds in the wind, wanton and wanting and waiting for the taste of blood on their lips, on their tongue, between their teeth, dribbling down their chins, droplets congregating in a red flood that will surely swallow house and home, mother and child, the natural world and the world of man, everything and all and all and evermore. The milk of human kindness tastes like spite, if you drink enough of it. If you drink enough of it, it tastes like nothing at all.

Virgil McCormick had never been a vengeful man.

Year of her birth, just a few hours from home, the backroom of a gay bar with his cock in another man's mouth. He should have felt guilty, but he didn't, not then and not there. That guilt wouldn't come til later when the tears started flowing down his wife's cheeks, eyes rimmed red and lower lip all a-tremble. After the screaming, after the accusations, after the confessions, after the sighs, after the paperwork, after the divorce, after the shared custody, after the child support, after the rumors, after the trail of shattered dreams left in his wake, after he gave all he thought he had left to give, what was left? A taciturn heart and lust like a plague of locusts, the tick and the tock of every hour, every minute, every second leading him to where he was in the present, in his bedroom, alone, a mindful of hornets and a mouthful of liquor, singing the song of violence beneath ragged breath while a barroom of hungry ghosts feasted beneath his feet.

Virgil McCormick had never been a bloodthirsty man.

Bloodthirsty as in eager, eager as in wanting. Beneath his feet, hungry ghosts feasting on schadenfreude. He'd put each and every one against the wall if that would bring his daughter back. After two decades of playing chicken with oblivion, he'd finally found his purpose, his reason to live. It's the things you take for granted that you miss the most, they say. The way she smiled and said goodbye as he descended the stairs to start his day, how she barely hid her laughter whenever it was at his expense, her lyrical speech patterns or how she crinkled her nose when she was embarrassed. All those moments, crisscrossing his memories, haunted, haunted, haunted. Beneath those stars, the mind wandered and waned, but it never wavered. The seed had been planted, the decision had been made. Quentin Severin would die, if that's what it would take. He'd streak that man's blood across his face and dust his hair with that man's ashes. He'd slit thine wrists and gouge thine eyes, steal thine life and feel the waylaid ghost breathing down his neck. Anything for Carla, if that's what it took, if it came to that. Any good father would do the same. To kill for love is to love completely, a voice whispered in his ear.

Virgil McCormick sat on his bed, passing his gun back and forth from his left hand to his right.

Midnight would come with a dead moon in its jaws.​

​

CURRENT STORIES

One on One
How to Disappear Completely (with Praxis)

Outer Sanctum
The Song and The Dance
Saints and Sinners, Wonder and Wanderers

THINGS I LIKE

Weird stories. Collaborative storytelling and all that entails. Cormac McCarthy. Kurt Vonnegut. Tom Waits. Always Sunny in Philadelphia. Radiohead. David Foster Wallace. David Bowie. David Lynch. A whole lot of Davids, apparently. Stanley Kubrick. Classic country music. Elevated horror. Science fiction. Magical realism. Metafiction. Breaking the fourth wall until it turns to dust. Surreal little ideas that only get more surreal with time. A good story that has a point, a purpose, and a meaning behind it. Petite women. Redheads, just like every other man on the planet. Butts, of course. Characters that are going through some shit. Stories about grief and failure and the human condition. Absurdism. Coffee. Dumb jokes. Music and movie recommendations.

THINGS I DON'T LIKE

Slices of life with no strings attached. Anime, for the most part. Canon/Fandom based roleplays. Fantasy, but I'm starting to come around. Pushy people. Anything to do with rape, non-con, or lack of consent. Impatient partners. Feet, just in general. Vampires, as a rule. 'Dark', edgy roleplays that are really just the writing equivalent to shopping for all your clothes at Hot Topic. Furfolk and their furry ways. Racism, sexism, and all the other terrible -isms. Perfect characters with perfect lives and nothing to worry about. Needles. Stories that stick to typical conventions. fStevie fuckin' Nicks.

STORIES TO TELL

And finally, after much ado and a lot of build up, here we are; this is where the story ideas live. Below this little box, you're going to find a bunch of stories I want to tell. As an aside, nothing written within these plot pitches is carved in stone; we can change things around, add or subtract, make it our own. That's the best part about collaboration, right? The goal here is to give a base level understanding on what sort of vibes I like and how I approach storytelling. Enjoy and please feel free to reach out if you have any questions!

THE HOUSE

Pairings: Two strangers taking refuge in a seemingly abandoned house.
Tags: Horror, Ergodic, Weird Fiction
Inspirations: House of Leaves. Missing 411. Those haunted house mazes that crop up during Halloween. Kate Bush.

"Little solace comes to those who grieve when thoughts keep drifting as walls keep shifting and this great blue world of ours seems a house of leaves moments before the wind."

You're walking through the woods. You've been walking through the woods. A day hike. A chance to commune with nature or, at the very least, get some much needed exercise. The only problem is... you're lost. You've hiked this trail a dozen times, but you don't recognize where you are or even remember how you got there. You haven't heard any birds singing in a half hour. No wind blowing through your hair, no tell-tale crunch of leaves as rodents scurry through the underbrush, no creak and fall of tree limbs making their way to the earth. Just silence. An eerie sort of silence. The type of silence that puts you on edge and makes you feel like you're being watched by unseen eyes. Just as you're about to start really panicking, you see another hiker up ahead. They're just as lost as you are, but hey, at least you're not alone anymore. Maybe, if you put your heads together, you can figure out a way back to the parking lot, back to your car, back to the safety of civilization. This is what you tell yourself. This is the lie your brain creates to keep you something akin to calm.

By the time the sun is starting to go down, you're still just as hopelessly, unquestionably, endlessly lost.

Things feel dire when you first set foot in the clearing. At first, your eyes question what they're seeing, trying to make sense of something so out of place. There's a house; an expansive, Victorian manor with spires reaching up towards the sky. There's no lights on, no driveway, no signs of life. It's a lonely place, seemingly forgotten by time. The weeds grow high around the front porch and ivy clings to the columns, climbing higher and higher and higher still. There's an immediate familiarity, but you can't place it. Have you been here before...? The front door is unlocked. You and your fellow hiker decide to take refuge for the night. Little do you know that you'll never leave this place again...

Notes: Ultimately, this is the story of two hikers who get lost in the woods and end up discovering a seemingly house in the middle of the clearing. The house seems, for all intents and purposes, abandoned. Soon, they discover that not all is as it seems. Not only did they manage to get themselves lost, but they've managed to somehow slip into an alternate dimension where they most definitely do not belong. For starters, the house shifts and changes on its own volition, doors appearing and disappearing, rooms slipping in and out of existence. Outside, shadows lurk in the woods that stalk around the house at that, leering through the windows with malevolent intent. Soon, our two hikers have to put their survival skills to the test, doing what they can to survive in a place that makes very little sense.

This is all inspired by the book House of Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski as well as the Missing 411 'conspiracies' about people disappearing while hiking in national parks. I'd like to approach this as ergodic fiction; basically, an attempt to make the writing as maze-like and as difficult to transverse for the reader as it the house/surrounding woods are for the characters within the story. Think of it as avante garde horror, right? Weird and uncanny and as much a puzzle box as it is any actual story.

THE INLAND EXPANSE

Pairings: Members of an expedition team as they travel into a secret, otherworldly place.
Tags: Sci-Fi, Thriller
Inspirations: Annihilation. The Southern Reach Trilogy. The Walker Brothers.

"That's how the madness of the world tries to colonize you: from the outside in, forcing you to live in its reality."

If you were to ask three different scientists from three different fields of study what exactly the Inland Expanse is and why it exists, you would receive three very different answers. These are the facts: The Inland Expanse is located in Nevada, an hour South of Las Vegas. It comprises a fifty square mile stretch of land that was closed to the public in 1994 after various anomalous occurrences were detected there. It's an ecological marvel in the sense that, for reasons still unknown, various flora and fauna that have never been observed on our planet before appeared there overnight. Prior to its closure, a clandestine government agency known as the Mojave Research Collective (hereby referred to as The MRC) made it their business to study, research, and better understand the phenomenon. As of 2023, the Inland Expanse still presents more questions than answers.

The main method of research over the years has been the practice of sending in teams of researchers to study the Inland Expanse in the flesh. To date, there have been four expeditions in total. While every expedition has yielded a wealth of fascinating discoveries, the fourth expedition quickly became the most notorious after only one of the twenty researchers that crossed into the Inland Expanse returned. The researcher was found suffering from a form of amnesia regarding what happened during their six-month expedition and did not know the whereabouts of the rest of their team.

Two years later, the MRC has decided it's time to send in a fifth expedition to uncover more secrets and, with any luck, discover what happened to the fourth expedition.

Notes: This story is my white whale. I've had it posted in some form or fashion for years on a few different sites. I've even talked to a few people about possibly playing it. It's never panned out. This story is heavily inspired by The Southern Reach book series and the movie adaptation of Annihilation. I would highly recommend watching the movie if you're interested in this story as it does a pretty excellent job at giving the general vibe that we're going for. We'll be playing members of the fifth expedition as they traverse what amounts to an alien world in the middle of the Nevada desert. Ideally, we'll be taking on the roles of multiple characters in the story with multiple storylines happening at the same time. There's also the option for this to be a group game, if more than one person is interested!

LIKE CLOCKWORK

Pairings: Two strangers stuck in a seemingly endless time loop.
Tags: Sci-Fi, Time Fuckery
Inspirations: Groundhog Day. Palm Springs. David Bowie.

"When Chekhov saw the long winter, he saw a winter bleak and dark and bereft of hope."

It was by accident, you know. That's how these things usually go. No one ever plans to get stuck in a time loop, but once you're there, you're there and it can be very difficult to get oneself unstuck. This is the story of two strangers who, while visiting an idyllic little town somewhere in Appalachia, find themselves stuck together in a seemingly endless time loop. After coming to terms with their predicament and eventually finding one another, they begin testing the boundaries of their newfound lives while also looking for a way to escape the loop and return to their regular timeline. However, little do they know, all is not what it seems and there are other forces at work who plan to keep them exactly where they are...

Notes: This idea is obviously inspired by the movie Groundhog Day and, as a more recent example, Palm Springs. On the surface, it's a pretty simple concept; two people stuck in a time loop, repeating the same day over and over and over again. To get a bit more in depth, I'd love to get real weird with it and explore more heady concepts like eternal recurrence, spiritual transcendence, and finding purpose in an otherwise purposeless existence. Pretty run of the mill themes, right? Anyway. This story, while mainly dependent on the strength of our characters and how we can play with the concept of time, does have a little sparkle of romance to it. Ideally, I'm thinking this story would take place during a holiday (Fourth of July? Halloween? Christmas, if you like the lights). This idea is fairly open ended and can go in a myriad of different directions, but I'm thinking it could be a pretty fun time, yeah?

MARIGOLDS

Pairings: A pair of Players caught in the web of a secretive, reality-altering game.
Tags: Mystery, Conspiracy, Thriller, Possibly Group Game
Inspirations: Rabbits, Cicada 3301, Zodiac, Alan Wake, Roy Orbinson.

"The true mystery of the world is in the visible, not the invisible."

It's a game, you know. People have been playing it for... well, centuries, most likely. It doesn't have an actual name that; not one that anyone knows, anyway. Most people just call it 'Marigolds'. It's this global, session-based alternate reality game, alright? Nobody knows who runs it or to what ends, but seriously, the game is ancient. I know that sounds crazy, but bear with me, alright? Every iteration of the game starts no more than five years apart from the one before it and all evidence is destroyed when each iteration ends. Anyone can be a Player, if they know about it. Anyone from anywhere in the world, understand? Most people find out about by chance.... Some people, they don't play, they just do their best to keep track of the game as it unfolds; we call them Spectators.

Every iteration begins with a 'trailhead'; it's usually a cryptic message that appears as the first indicator that the game has begun. A trailhead can be anything. The 1969 iteration started when a professor at Harvard received a postcard of a wildflower-covered field under a dusky sky, a message on the back reading: "The game begins at dusk. Look for what's hidden in plain sight. Your first step is closer than you think." The 1999 game, it started when a gas station attendant in Miami rented Deuce Bigelow: Male Gigolo on VHS from Blockbuster only to find an unmarked tape inside the sleeve; he put it in his VCR and it was this glitched out video with a phone number superimposed on the screen. The most recent iteration? Well, there's a lot of rumors, but some people think it started when this guy in Sweden found an app on his phone that he didn't download. When he opened it, well... The game began.

A lot of folks, they think it's some sort of CIA recruitment scheme, but I don't think so. It's just... too weird, right? There's even stories of these deadly 'gamemasters' that keep an eye on the Players; they're called Overseers. They make sure nobody breaks the rules. Problem is, the rules are unclear and generally fluid; someone's actions can trigger new rules or set new boundaries for the game that aren't always apparent. The way you play is... well, it's complicated. You get tasks, alright? They can appear out of the blue; a text message, a phone call, even a visual distortion in your environment. They could be riddles, puzzles, or maybe even asking the Player to take a specific action. It's dangerous, though. People have lost their minds playing Marigolds. Some people have even died. The Player who wins an iteration gets a prize, but nobody actually knows what the winners receive. No one even knows anyone who has actually won. It's all just silhouettes and shadows, right? Secrets on secrets on secrets...

Notes: Right. So. This is probably my wildest idea. It's pretty heavily inspired by the podcast Rabbits and the rumors surrounding Cicada 3301. So, think conspiracy, paranoia, and surrealism. The basic idea is that there's this secretive game that people have been playing for centuries. The game is called Marigolds and it's highly dangerous; people die playing the game. Nobody knows when it started, who runs it, or why. The game escalates, the stakes grow higher, and the Players must decide if uncovering the truth behind the game is worth the cost of playing it. We'd be playing two Players in the game and this whole thing might take a bunch of worldbuilding to get right. There's also the option for this to be a group game, if more than one person is interested!

TERMINUS

Pairings: Scavengers trying to steal precious materials from an abandoned space station.
Tags: Science Fiction, Heist, Horror
Inspirations: Alien, Mission: Impossible, Reservoir Dogs, Pink Floyd.

"Two possibilities exist: either we are alone in the Universe or we are not. Both are equally terrifying."

Once upon a time, Terminus was the busiest space station in all of the Milky Way; a last stop between the Milky Way and intergalactic space. It was as big as any planetary city, a melting pot for various races and people. After several galactic wars, various shifting alliances, and the construction of a larger station in the Cygnus quadrant, Terminus was effectively abandoned and left to ruin. In the years since, Terminus has become a popular spot for illegal scavengers looking to make a quick buck. As large as the station is, only small sections of it have been excavated so far and there are several nooks and crannies that have yet to be explored.

Terminus holds secrets. Some say it's haunted by the ghosts of its past; remnants of the wars and betrayals that led to its downfall. Others believe it's alive, that the station itself has turned against those who abandoned it, twisting its corridors into a labyrinth of shifting metal and shadows. Whatever the truth, one thing is certain: the deeper you go, the more dangerous it becomes. Monstrous aliens prowl the dark, their origins unknown. Rogue AI systems lurk in the mainframes, whispering to each other in corrupted code and manipulating the station's ancient defense systems to eliminate intruders. Scavengers from all over the galaxy converge on Terminus, driven by greed and desperation, but not all of them leave. And those who do are often… changed.

Welcome to Terminus. Enter at your own risk.

Notes: Yay sci-fi! I love sci-fi, but I always have trouble pulling it off because of how... expansive it can be, y'know? Space is a mighty big place. So, this story attempts to humanize that a bit and focus in on one particular location in space: Terminus, a super dangerous abandoned space station full of all sorts of things that want to kill you. I like the idea of this story being a solid mix of heist and horror. Like... if Ocean's Eleven or Mission: Impossible took place in the Alien universe, right? As far as characters go, I'm open to ideas! We could play multiple characters or just focus in on two scavengers as they try to survive Terminus.

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