chapter two, subsection IV: the monarch of the fields:
The clouds look like a torn-open ribcage from here. At the same time, it's night, and a solitary streetlamp glows through the trees, just far enough that you don't wonder what lies at its base.
You start off with a house on a sandy hill, its brown stucco bullshit looms at you from a distance. You stylishly point at the chandelier visible through its massive mezzanine-level window, pull out yr +1 PANZERFAUST and light that shit up. It's satisfying. So, so satisfying. Whoever built that place (you) must have done a shitty job, because the whole thing crumbles like you under pressure.