so, the world ended. It didn’t change much. People still hated me. I was still branded an outcast. A traitor. Would I change things? Would I take the killshot? Hell no. But I can’t help but wonder if I was the reason my reality was invaded, decimated and enslaved. But let’s take a step back, shall we? Let’s look at things from a distant perspective. When I do this, it makes me feel like less of a terrible person. More of a product of cosmic assholes. Luckily, my story only began when things were hopeless. Once I joined a band of interdimensional badass freedom fighters, things began to go right. Not immediately, because what fun is there without some painful character development, heartbreak, sacrifice and terror?
















