It’s a rough galaxy out there.
You go out there, every day.
You flank and open fire and strategize because the galaxy isn’t doing you any favours. You tear at your hair, at the bulkheads, you claw your way past the militant penguins and the looming space hulks because that’s what you do.
And the Galaxy tries to shove back?
It tries to take from you what is your right?
You shove back. Maybe you get another ship, maybe your flotilla gets bigger.
You keep growing.
And you know you’ll kill for that flotilla, for every upgrade you’ve fought for, for every new ship that you’ve won.
Because that’s what you do. The Galaxy isn’t going to be explored by itself. It’s up to you, and your crew.
That’s it. That’s what the Galaxy expects from you, and, damnit, that’s what you expect from you.
Now, maybe I’m too jaded, too old, too damn tired to think differently. I’ve spent too long out in that galaxy fighting the good fight, the right fight. But you shouldn’t have to do all this in one go.
What are we? Robots? Animals? I say we are not. I say we are not that thing which can continue on for hours upon hours. We are flesh and blood. We have laundry to do, and kids to mind, and all the little things that make up a life. The little things that go on between conquests. That’s life, gentlemen, that’s living.
You remember that don’t you?
At the end of the day the Galaxy doesn’t care for your life your place in it. It’s only hungry for your ships, and for everything you’ve worked so hard at for the past 40 minutes. But you can’t give it to them. Not after all the sweat and blood it’s extracted from you, step by step, fight by fight, tooth and nail and fist and bone.
And we shouldn’t have to give it all up. Should we? Because our time is fractured. It’s cut up and divided and pulled, stretched out across the day. We shouldn’t, we can’t.
We need a save feature.