Day 32, Baktun 14

The saddest sort are those who thought they were prepared for any nebulous apocalypse, a misguided notion the past month has surely beaten out of any who have survived. They are well and truly lost. While the Cars trade for their slaves, the Guns simply wait for their former owners to line up, begging to serve. These poor souls seem unable to grasp the notion of an apocalypse in which their totems did not leave them masters of the new world, so they become willing slaves to them. I tracked a group, just today, to Westminster's old field house, where the Guns have established what I'm calling a Maintenance Pit. There, the enslaved clean, and clean, and clean, day and night. It is too well guarded, but even if I could liberate the Pit, where would its denizens go?