It's the post apocalypse, you're sick of the killing, the looting, going from place to place...

It's the post apocalypse, you're sick of the killing, the looting, going from place to place, never knowing if you are going to wake up dead until one day you stumble across an old diner.
You break in and at first rummage around to see if there's anything at all that you can use, all you find is a few drums of long rancid used cooking oil, an old broom and oh yeah, a few dozen tins of expired vienna sausages with expiration dates from before the war, the diner must have been pillaged early and someone mustn't have been desperate enough.
the sausages are a great boon, you haven't eaten for a few days, so you open a tin and smell, they smell only a little weird, you bite into one and wait for the swelling of your tongue that comes from eating rancid food, but it doesn't come.
you smile, you rush outside to get the stuff for a small fire, right in the middle of the diner.
you eat well, way better than you have in years, night falls you make sure you're safe and then you sleep, better than you have in a long time.
you wake up and figure you had better make your way along, so you stuff as many tins as you can into your satchel and notice that even with your bag stuffed you've only used about half of the tins that you initially found.
you consider sabotaging or destroying them, but then something stops you.
you tell yourself that you should stay, finish those sausages off, you fortify the building as best as you can with what you can find, you don't know why you are doing this because you know you'll be gone in a few days but you do it all the same.
you have another night of eating freshly cooked almost rancid vienna sausages and another night of sleep.
you get... bored? you forgot what that was like.
so you decide to boil a little sausage water and shave, something you also haven't done in years, no soap of coarse.

you use the mirror, its too grimey to make out anything you lick your thumb and rub the mirror but the grime doesn't budge, you try the hot water again nothing, you think maybe the ashes from the fire will do something then you try the oil but that just mixes with the ash and goes all funny, you try the sausage water again and to your surprise suds start coming off the mirror. you just discovered how to make soap.
you mix more oil and ash together in an old disused cup, amazed as it turns into primordial soap globules before your very eyes.
you get all the vienna sausage water you have and excitedly boil it all together, you lather your beard up after wiping the mirror clean and shave.
your face is smooth, you then undress and empty all the boiled sausage water you have into the sink and wash yourself everywhere until you feel clean infact you are cleaner than you have been in years.
you then use the last of the soap to wash all your clothes in the nude before draping everything across the bathroom stalls to dry.
you realise you're naked and all your gear is drying so you put on your boots to make yourself feel better.
seeing yourself so clean for the first time you notice the room you're camped in is in itself quite dirty, you find a broom and sweep it out
then you get a rag and wipe down the walls and windows with the dirty water.
its still quite dirty by old world standards but you're proud of your work and sleep well that night

the next morning you have decided to stay, this is where you live now.
you sweep up the ash from your several fires into some cups and used vienna sausage tins for later soap manufacture.
you go out and find a few dozen bricks to line the inside of the old cooker so you have somewhere to cook.
you spend the next week making bars and liquid soaps and cleaning cleaning cleaning until the place looks spotless.
you get comfortable, you have converted the storage room into several smaller rooms figuring it makes it more house like.
you build a still, build a garden and start growing onions, potatos and sweet potatos after finding them growing wild, you build a beehive out of pallet scraps and with the help some burning grass and your old satchel you relocate a wild hive into your box

an evening a year later you sit at a table with the door open for a change sampling some mead and vodka getting a little drunk
you then get surprised by a man bursting through the door brandishing a gun with rabbits that are a few days freshly dead strapped to his pack.
the stink turns your nose, surprisingly you forgot the stench of death.
the man is obviously hungry, panicked and wild.
you quickly calm him by offering him drink, a bath and a bed and the promise of a meal fit for a king as long as he spares you.

what do you make him.

> Sick of killing

As if

a chicago style 'za served with a smooth aromatic heineken, bottled

with 'cha on the side?

you know it my man

Spit roast rabbit with a mut fruit sauce and a side of spiced fries

dead

I make him dead and into food then fertilizer like all the rest dumb enough to fall for it.