I break through another lumbering dragoon and run down the corridor, followed by my breathless comrades. Surrounded by doors, I choose one before the next platoon of thugs attacks us. Aaaaaaaaaaa. Nirvana. A rare respite from The Outer Worlds 2's rollercoaster of shooting and talking.
For a moment I just breathe it in. Inhaling deeply, my nostrils are filled with the scent of fresh bleach. I'm salivating at the sight of surfaces you can eat your lunch off of. My eyes widen at the shine of the gold trim. Somehow I hear that every perfectly manicured stall should have a fresh roll.
In the middle of another cold and intimidating Protectorate facility, I again came across a toilet. I don't mind. They are wonderful. The urinals are grand but practical, with thick partitions separating each peeing group. For those of us who require more privacy, there are alert and proud lines of serene booths. “Don’t be afraid, I will take care of you while you are at your most vulnerable,” they seem to say.
The room itself seems spacious, but at the same time cozy. Like a cathedral to the call of nature, a sanctuary where you can act on that call with dignity and grace. Overall they seem very clean, and I guess that's as it should be since an authoritarian regime is probably starved of the billion dollar air freshener industry. However, they must be very technologically advanced. Maybe that's why I can't go.
It's not for lack of trying. I can't remember saying anything nasty to their representatives that I could have avoided and would have permanently put me on the unwanted list. I recruited Tristan, a high-ranking arbiter in their society, and assisted him in his quest. I tried to beg him, in the name of the Lord, to teach me the ways of Protekpotti. He didn't.
This is a tragedy. There is nothing else that could tempt me to turn to their authoritarian collectivist doctrine, which boasts a lot of oppression that keeps people down. Yeah, but we have technology and we’re not Auntie’s Choice,” the bigwigs laugh. Okay, I say, show me! I heard about your mental refresher, bring gizmos that can refresh me in the areas that really matter.
They just look at me. No statement of “no”, just general hostility and a desire to run into my bullets. Auntie's Choice toilets are not memorable, I say in a last ditch attempt to convince them that all the toilet seats are sold out to save money and they force you to use a bog roll of Spacer's Choice that rips as soon as you look at it. I believe the Order doesn't care about toilets because they calculate exactly how many times they will need to go there throughout their lives from the moment they are born, and practice tactical starvation so as not to waste precious study time dealing with the most important numbers: one and two.
You guys are my faction, now let me in. Don't wash away my dreams.
