You SING a HEARTY SONG OF OLD as you examine your gasmasks.
The bear cares not for soil,
And the wolf cares not for wheat,
So we will build our Utopia
From sand, from sand!
Your SHITTY GASMASK isn't functioning wrong. It is SUFFICIENT in it's purpose as a SHITTY GASMASK. That said, you may mix and match parts to create something superior, but you are missing something from both: A WAY TO FIT THEM TOGETHER.
The dogs in the fields care not for hay,
And the cats in the cradle care not for mice,
So we will build our Utopia,
From sand! From sand!
The CROW calls,
"Danger, danger, beast with rifle, he thinks you're preoccupied."
Even through the BARLEY-BLOOD, you know to position yourself by the door with SAWAXE raised.
The ticking clock cares not for sand,
Nor the wild waves,
So we will watch our empire rot,
Before our very--
The door opens, you jab the SAWAXE toward his neck, he raises his rifle to your stomach.
SLIGO DIMA and you share a look.
"You drank of the BARLEY-BLOOD," he intones.
"No, no," you say. "I am sober as... Sober thing."
"BARLEY-BLOOD is saved for the holiest of the BULLILE," he says. "You have fucked up."
"So what?" you say.
His eyes dart to the STARLACE in your wrist.
Dammit. You forgot.
The BULLILE love artifacts. They use it to upgrade themselves past humanity.
But STALKERS love them too, for their own sake.
Like crows, and shiny trinkets.
"Tomorrow is tithe day," he says, lowering the rifle. "Be there."
He leaves. You don't even want to kill him.
If he knows, they all know.
We return MONDAY.
But as you dream, answer me this question.
Why do the BULLILE hold BARLEY-BLOOD sacred?