Despite the fact that we live in a world where you can stream pornography on your phone at home, sex shops do still exist, and SOMEONE is still patronizing them.
MONDOdocs decided to film his experience at a legacy one in the ruins of Bethlehem, PA.
Jesus Christ.
Fans of Vampire the Masquerade and Silent Hill will get the worst kinds of flashbacks watching this, mostly because both of those things were made by people who realized the ambient horror potential of places exactly like this.
The marsh is dead silent. No crickets. No frogs. Just a massive, jagged shadow breaching the reeds. It has a sail on its back that looks like a row of broken fence posts, and it's breathing in deep, rattling vibrations that make the mud under my boots shake. I thought it was just the river current, but the water is moving backwards toward me. Please stay away from the banks. I think it heard me typing. It's stepping onto the tree
Please disregard the mess on my floors, there was a recent... incident. In the future I will be nailing more things down to the surfaces they are on.
This isn't exactly a novel setup, but I've set up a Potato / Sugarcane farm inside the signal room in Voices Of The Void via the magic of:
The Wall Builder to create a dirt floor,
a faucet tapped into the Emergency Shower,
a garden hose connected to the faucet,
and a Sprinkler, connected to the other end of the garden hose.
This is gonna give me a reliable source of food and money, all in the (relative) safety of my base! Potatoes can be cut into fourths, and each fourth of the potato can grow one to two additional potatoes. The sugarcane is the money maker; it can be crafted into Paper Scrap at a decent return, which can be sold for reasonable but steady profits. Like most money-making strategies, it has been nerfed but not eliminated. Plus, filled garbage bags sell for 2 Points and only cost 1 Point, so even the dirt is helping me get paid.
Here's an unrelated, mildly spoiler-y post-nap surprise:
Hey man, that's like, my toilet. Could you, like, ask first or something? Like. Come on, man, I was asleep.
The balcony overlooks the city exactly the same way it always did.
The flowers still move in the evening wind.
The light still flickers softly against the wall.
The book still opens as though someone intends to continue reading in a few minutes.
But the environment now performs these routines alone.
From above, the apartment feels less inhabited and more carefully reconstructed — an emotional memory continuing through repetition after reciprocity disappears.