Newly formed Roger Pine Ridge decides to sneak by snoozing Cyberpaperdoll on the lower floor and go visit friendly, understanding neighbor Tammy Whatammy in her cabin across just across Old Cannon Road to tell her the news. But Tammy was nowhere to be found within. The entire cabin had basically been cleaned out — no sign that she had ever been there.
Only one object remained: the town’s generic media player. And on it, the Sunklands post had changed once again.
Greg Ogden was trying to ignore all the commotion going on behind him in order to focus on his painting. The subject matter, as always it seemed: Treasure Hill, now about 200 meters north of his chosen perch. To its right, Middletown lay just beyond his draw distance from here. He liked it that way. Treasure Hill alone and without tag-along berg, just like in olden days. Pre Gulf War days, he thinks while listening to a new round of shots from in back. Then a fierce explosion rocked the land, totally ruining an attempted first brush stroke. Greg Ogden had decided to give up for the day when Rocky Raccoo reached his perch from the ravaged camp below, smoking gun in hand.
“Axis or Allies?” he called toward the harmless artist. “Choose or be shot anyway.”