You're driving down the Autobahn with your uncle who wears a sweater he stole from the cartoon Chowder. You're running low on fuel, but can't turn back to the gas station for more. You hear a strange, high-pitched, tinny noise deep in the distance. It's pitch black outside, and the highway is surrounded by dense forest. Your imagination races as you picture what horrors lie on the rim. What could be making that sound? Some extradimensional horror? Your uncle, who curses you with the inability to drive a car if you leave him in the motel and carried a strange body-shaped bag in the backseat that nobody ever addresses?
You drive further down. The noise becomes louder, more pronounced, until finally you find the answer to your suspicions. There is a 20 car traffic jam, each car honking their horn angrily at the one in front of them in unison. There is no way around them, as the Autobahn is surrounded by fencing and barricade, and the lane merges into one for the roundabout. Only through. The blank, faceless visage of the drivers convey no emotion. Perhaps they have none
Disembarking from your vehicle that your uncle probably stole from the Czech Republic or something judging from the government secrets that fall out of his briefcase every night, you walk for an actual minute down the road until you find the source of the issue. A truck wishes to pass, but cannot due to a confusion between him and another car; a simple matter, as easily solved as waving a hand. The drivers, however, have no such mercy. Their hands are stuck to the wheels as if with otherwordly bonds.
You walk back to the car and resolve you have one option.
Slamming the car door into the barricade to the left, your world's primitive physics engine allows you to ram the car to your right with incredible strength, owed perhaps to your left arm that probably looks like you ate a Whey Protein factory and did nothing but left curls. Slowly, methodically making your way down the pileup, you banish the other cars into the ethereal realm, otherwise known as the other side of a wooden fence. They are trapped.
After having destroyed the barricade of other motorists, you drive down the home stretch to the town, your car almost on empty, the passenger door dented to the point of hanging off, and your headlights flickering. Peace is restored in your wake as the cars who survived your warpath are allowed to continue unimpended by civil courtesy at a stop sign.
You park at the motel for the night. You have no money for a room because you spent it all on sausages. You walk the dark, silent halls, knocking on the doors as the Payment Goblin slips you a twenty from behind the door, telling you not to worry about what's going on in the room and that he'll clean the mess. Enough for your room.
Going back, you pay the likewise faceless woman at the front desk twenty bucks, get the key, and hastily go to sleep.
Come morning, your uncle is waiting by the car. You go into the front lobby. There's a newspaper with information on the goings-on of nearby areas.
You pick it up, revealing that Hungary has banned sausages for some reason. The shock of this discovery paralyzes your hands forever, and as you drop the newspaper, you find yourself unable or unwilling to touch or pick up anything. You are unable to drive, and without drive, you are nothing.
You restart the game wake up in your bed again. It was just a nightmare. You go to the front lobby. Hungary has banned yarn balls. Acceptable. You go outside and continue your drive, allowing your uncle to come so he doesn't start speaking an alien language like he did in your garage back home when you interrupted his dialog too fast.
