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Because his loyal teammate Pod decided it was time for a promotion—from buddy to backstabber. While Jacket was offline dreaming of scrap and tier 3 workbenches, Pod was online changing door codes, emptying loot boxes, and laughing maniacally as he ran off with every last piece of sulfur, HQM, and Jacket’s dignity.
Jacket logs back in, sees the sleeping bags gone, the garage doors locked, and a TC with a note that says:
"It’s not personal, bro. GG."
Now he’s stuck outside with nothing but a rock and a dream, banging on his own base like a caveman trying to invent betrayal therapy.
Moral of the story? In Rust, trust is just a 4-letter word before someone swaps your codes and takes your soul.
⣿⣧⠄⠁⠄⠔⠒⠭⠭⠥⠥⠓⠄⢀⣴⣿⣿⡄⠁⠠⣤⠉⠉⣭⠝⠈⢐⣽⣕
⣿⣷⡢⢄⡰⡢⡙⠄⠠⠛⠁⢀⢔⣵⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⣄⡈⠁⠈⠁⠉⡹⣽⣿⣷
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣬⣭⡭⠔⣠⣪⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣵⡒⠫⠿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⣛⣥⣶⣿⠟⢁⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡙⣿⣿⣶⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡫⠁⢀⠑⠓⠫⢝⢟⣿⣿⣿⣿⡻⠊⢉⣄⠈⠪⡫⢿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢟⠁⣰⣿⣿⣢⢤⣀⡀⠈⠉⠉⢀⠠⠪⢝⡻⣷⡀⠊⡪⡻⣿
⡫⢟⣿⣿⣿⣿⡊⢠⣿⣿⡫⠚⣊⣡⠶⢦⣤⣤⠶⠞⡛⠳⣌⠫⡻⡀⠈⡺⢿
⠪⡪⡫⢟⡿⣕⠁⡫⠝⠊⡴⠋⠁⠁⠐⠁⠂⠈⠐⠈⠈⠐⠐⠳⠄⠹⣇⠪⡻
⠄⠁⠊⠕⡪⢕⢀⠞⠁⠄⣁⢀⢀⣀⣤⣤⣠⣀⣤⣴⣶⣶⣶⡆⠄⠆⢷⠕⡪
⣄⠄⠁⠄⠁⠄⡎⠄⠁⢬⣮⣕⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡫⡪⡵⠄⠁⠄⠈