Everyone thinks they're gonna be Mad Max in the post-apocalypse- well, that's not entirely true; a surprising number of people think they're gonna be Lord Humungus or Immortan Joe- but the point is the same. Everybody thinks they'll be large and in charge, the main characters, the warriors of the wasteland, might makes right, but if you're reading this then you're more likely to be a fuckslave strapped to the front of a flaming, rusty, spike-covered truck. At best, you'll be one of a million subsistence farmers trying to make ends meet in a walled city that gets besieged by marauders every week or else you'll be one of the besieging marauders, but you'll never be the leader, nor even his oddly dressed right hand man.
You're not gonna be a mechanic or a medic or the warlord's vizier. You won't be a hero. You won't even be a villain. You'll probably be dead, or worse, one of the beleaguered, starving, wretched refuse/huddled masses that live in the warlord's fiefdom.
This is you. You're one of the emaciated peasants who fight to the death over a mud puddle gifted to you by your godking emperor. You're not a named character, you're a background extra.
