![]() ![]() Well, I say pistol, but it's really more along the lines of a pipe strapped to a bit of wood. ![]() A tire-iron hangs from a limp fist, though I note some kind of pistol is strapped to his stringy belt. My eyes latch onto a bloodstain on the ground, and trace it across the floor to a corpse, slumped against the only exit to the room. The smell of blood pulls at my nose as I stagger to my feet. My head is pounding like a thousand doof wagons drove over it, and then backed up for good measure. ![]() ![]() Since I believe the same can be said of many people, I thought I'd share my experiences with the rest of you, as I undergo a blind playthrough of DUST Survival Simulator. I enjoy suffering, and take a certain amount of schadenfreude in the suffering of others. You know, I'd like to tell a secret about myself for all of you.
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