The Way
From Axalon RPG
RPG Summary
The world is a confusing place sometimes, what with land wars, gang wars, drug wars, holy wars, quantum mechanics, class-action suits and the real difference between fullscreen and letterbox. It's no wonder some people are desperate for something undeniable, something real, something proven, something true. What goes up must come down. One plus one equals two. Point A to Point B.
But there are cracks.
The Way is a desolate stretch of highway in the exact centre of nowhere. It cuts up into the Rocky Mountains, and crosses through the American Heartland, running north-south from the Mexican desert to the Canadian tundra. It is a lonely road, in spite of tourist traps, shrines to the anemic, commercial religion of America.
Most people pass it by. They find where they're going by other means. They ignore the turnoff, the sign saying Last Exit For X Miles. They have no reason not to, so motorists here can be few and far between, once you get away from the few major cities. There are places on the roadside where a hitchhiker might wait for days, and never see another sign of human life. You might see signs of intelligent life from other planets, but not a car, not so much as a bicycle. Nothing more human than cigarette butts, old shoes and maybe the remains of a Styrofoam cup, tossed out on the shoulder, into the ditch.
Then the unwise hitchhiker would probably be snatched by Bigfoot, or eaten by a roving pack of werewolves, sucked through a portal to Hades, or picked up by a passing cult of certified public accountants that worship the Great Horned Rat. You just never know. Most people don't. Most people never see any of these things, and they wouldn't believe you if tried to tell them about it. Most people wouldn't live to tell about it if they saw those things, so consider yourself lucky if you have.
So in general we'd like to discourage hitchhiking for this reason, but hey, it's your funeral. You're a big boy. Girl. Vampire. Ghost. Wizard. Giant space hamster. None of the above. Whatever-- the point is, frankly, you can make your own decisions.
Like, for instance, what a person or thing (animal, vegetable, mineral) like you is doing here, at this crowded All-Nite Truck Stop, the Lucky Star, eclipsed by semi-trucks and trailers.
The Star, with its cheap meals and even cheaper patrons, the ugly barfights and uglier participants full of flat bear and warm tequila; the mechanical bull and crane game full of stuffed animals in the corner, the busty waitresses at the bar and their balding manager at cash, selling chips and cigarettes to minors in a car that probably belongs to their worried parents assuming they didn't just steal it.
Or perhaps you're not so cynical. All the same, you really have to ask yourself: why are you here...?
