Congratulations on Becominng a Post-Apocalyptic Raider-Baron!

Ever since the Great Harrowing, when ninety percent of the earth’s population was destroyed by a virulent and horrible plague, you’ve been sort of bummed out. You lost a lot that day: your girlfriend, your low paying job in the mailroom of a small, rapidly collapsing law firm, and, just like everyone else, your ready access to fossil fuels.

It was tough for a while there, but you’ve occupied yourself by slowly rising to power through feats of terrible violence and physical endurance. You’ve been building an army around yourself, and pretty soon it’ll all come to fruition.

After almost ten years of hard work carving out a small empire using firearms and basic tools you’ve finally acquired enough slave labor and resources to create both a new means of transportation and a way to spread your oppressive influence over the land. You’re going to build an airship!

No more will your reign be limited to a twenty mile region outside of a fortified Safeway in the downtown Seattle area. Your empire will rapidly expand to encompass large portions of the upper Northwest.

You’ll fantasize about using this power to try and reform the glory of the United States, but all you’ll really do is take a few more wives and gain a lot of weight. Which is too bad, because if you’d stuck to your guns on this one you really would’ve done it. You would’ve been immortalized in folk songs, and society would’ve come back together thanks largely to your efforts.

But instead you’re going to be murdered by one of your wives in your sleep (you murdered her husband and took her for your wife – it was a bad decision). She'll hold a pillow over your face while you struggle to breathe and push her off thanks to your debilitating obesity.

In case you’re curious, she’ll take up your crown when she holds up your decapitated head in front of your guards, and eventually she’ll fulfill your dream of reconstituting the United States, in this case with a more liberal, lady-friendly leaning. It’ll be called the Empire of Scott, named for her deceased husband.

But for about four years there you’ll be riding through the air, taking what you want and giving nothing back. It’ll be one hell of a life journey.