A battered nobody wanders the wastelands alone. It weilds a worn pen and wears a suit of scrap laptops as it attempts to collect reads. Endless critters spring from the sand traps to siphon inky blood from a wavering body. There are no friends, no allies, no comforts, no supports, few resources, and little time. There is only ability and words. Will it be enough to tell a good story?

To write new fictions, we must finish the old. One is silver, the other is gold.