"Garden, apparently." Booker could vaguely remember that feeling but when he woke up immortal he only had one thought: home. It had driven him across the harsh Russian plains and further. Home. His wife. His sons. He had pushed himself hard to reach them.

Robin Hood. He chuckled at the idea. "We've occasionally stolen from the rich and given to the poor. Don't read the original stories though. It'll ruin the mythos for you."

The Robin Hood in the original stories was not a good character but only someone who read as much as Booker had might know that. "If you want to dismantle capitalism we can figure that out."