Picture it, you, your drop pod, a new life on a planet that gets rain five days out of the week and where the temperature peaks at 15 degrees Celsius at the height of summer.
It’s just you, your two new roommates and a seemingly endless supply of raiders who come to take your stuff.
You kidnap one of those raiders for doctor Sloan to practice on, you fall in love with the kidnap victim, the kidnap victim is sold into slavery, this makes you sad.
A few weeks go buy, fairly uneventful, nothing worse than a fire outbreak and ten-ish consecutive solar flares.
Then, a raid happens, your husband is in the raid. Why was your husband in that raid? Why is your husband 40 years older than you? Why did you flirt and fall in love with a random prisoner if you had a husband this whole time? These questions are irrelevant, your husband has already stepped on a landmine and left this mortal coil.
This makes you sad.
You decide to deal with your emotions in the only way that makes sense; you drink a bottle of whiskey. You drink two bottles of whiskey.
You’re barely ten bottles deep when your roommates rudely interrupt your drinking to throw you into prison for being annoying and drinking all the barter goods.
As the colony cook, you being in prison means everyone gets food poisoning, including you. This goes on for a few weeks.
You are let out of prison, you return to your duties in the colony, your roommate is wearing your late husband’s lucky hat.
You flirt with her.