The bandit with the telescopic fist
The bandit spots me from about 40 (feet, yards, meters?) away. Silently I curse myself for the intense case of retardation I have which leaves me unable to distinguish between units of measurement. He begins to run in my direction. As he closes to 20 units he starts to punch me. How is this possible? It seems bandits of the future now have insanely long arms. I again curse my profound retardation for failing to notice his telescopic arms with rocket boosters. If only I could muster the brain power to load this rifle with the ammunition I found, presumably for a rifle, that may turn the tide of battle in my favor but it would seem I am too terribly stupid for such an association to be made. At least I can use it as a makeshift club! I move to close the distance with my foe only to trip and stumble. As I lay on the ground, I wondered if perhaps I should stop pushing this wretched shopping cart for just a few minutes while I battle for my life but immediately dismiss this foolish notion. The cart must stay with me at all times or else the government will steal my teeth, or something equally crazy (do remember I am SEVERELY retarded). I arise to my feet, still reeling from the raining blows of the man with 20 foot long arms. Thankfully as I close to my pathetic human fisticuffs range he falls to the ground, presumably because his elephantiasis of the limbs has left him severely imbalanced and clumsy. At this point I kick him, then kick him, then kick him, then kick him, then kick doesn't appear to be an option so I club him with the gun, then kick him, then fall unconscious on top of him, then wake up to kick him, then kick him until he perishes. Although I am saddened by his loss, I have to believe his death was a mercy for his existence was perhaps the only one more wretched and loathsome than my own. Perhaps I will return to the cryo facility from whence I came, to rub multitools and electrical bits against the HVAC controls which my electrical knowledge tells me is entirely fixable, but which I cannot accomplish. I rub the bruises on my shoulder through an absurd 4 layers of clothing; now that and this twisted, disfigured corpse are all that can attest to this poor bandit's former existence. I shake my head sadly and push my shopping cart into the sunset.