Taken for Granted: A Post Apocalyptic RP (IC/Open)

[Imperial Idaho]

TAKEN FOR GRANTED
What if the lights went out for good?
OOC
Pub

Theme Song

Op: Imperial Idaho
Co-ops:

Date: August 8th, 2014

---

20 Miles North of McCall

The men pulled forward, eager to finish their job as quickly as possible. The crew of 6 from the IDANG had been sent north to find a group a missing settlers north of McCall. In the front was Sergeant Collins, and his sides were Corporal Tanning and Private DeWitt. At the rear was Corporal Brown, Private King, and Private Bedford. They moved down the empty overgrown road in relative silence, their eyes scanning the sides for anything of note. The settlers had been drafted homesteaders, meaning the state held a lottery between a group of lower class citizens, and they were picked to to move north into the frontier. A group of 10-15 is what they were told went missing.

Collins held his hand up to signal the men to halt. He spotted a circle of old rusted cars that had been pushed into a small clearing. Private Brown and Private King moved up to cover them as the rest of the squad moved up. Armed with only one M4A1, and the rest of the men with civilian semi-auto rifles, the only advantage they really had against any cannibals or anyone else was discipline. As Collins moved forward, he could see the circle of cars surrounded a small camp, recently used it seemed. Collins motioned to Tanning to check the perimeter, and continued to investigate.

The bodies must've been rotting for about 1 or 2 days now.

Recently butchered, with multiple wounds on what was probably 6-7 bodies, a combination of slashes, stab wounds, bullet holes, and even an arrow wound or two. The stench was atrocious. The area however looked like it had held more than 7 people, so there were probably survivors. The squad stood there, taking in the massacre.

Bedford spoke up "Are these our guys?".

Collins sighed, then replied "Probably, but keep your eyes peeled. It looks like there could be more people out and about"

Tanning walked about the forested perimeter, looking outward. He saw a sudden stripped flash behind some bushes a few yards to his side, and loud piercing yell. He quickly raised his Winchester hunting rifle, finger at the trigger ready to fire if need be. He moved towards the bushes. He pushed away a branch or two. A large stripped cat, not a cougar, was tearing its way through a man. Tanning held his shot for a bit too long. The man wore simple clothes, and was pinned by the cats, now clearly a tigers paws on his shoulders but still struggled to grab a revolver holstered at his waist. Tanning raised his rifle to his shoulder as the tiger went for mans jugular. The man had grabbed his revolver but it was too late, and he pulled the trigger at the pain of its attack. The shot went wild into the air.

The rest of the squad came running to Tanning. But it hadn't mattered. Tanning fired and missed, and the tiger quickly grabbed the dying man by the throat and ran off.

"Holy Fuck!"

The rest of the squad reached Tanning.

"What happened?" Collins asked him.

"A fucking tiger just fucking murdered a man and pulled him away! Fuck!"

"You sure about that?"

"Hell yeah I'm sure!"

Private King spoke up "Must've been released from the Boise Zoo or somethin' like that few years back."

"How the fuck do tigers survive in Idaho then?!"

"Tigers are animals of opportunity, and the American climate is perfect for them. Our grand kids are probably going to be fighting tigers with swords and bows at this rate." Brown answered.

Collins stepped in, saying "Lets get back on track now, there ought to be some people who got out of that massacre, so lets find them before they suffer the same fate as he did."

And with that, Bedford took a move of burning the bodies. An act of respect, especially since they hadn't had enough time to bury them. Coyote Squad continued to follow the road northwards, keeping an eye on the rear incase any big cats got extra hungry.

[Imperial Idaho]

EVENTS:

MANIFEST DESTINY: Cheyenne Mountain has opened up, spewing thousands of soldiers from the underground bunker. Generally hellbent on reclaiming their lost nation, their functioning radios, vehicles, and high grade equipment will aid them. Along with the prestige of being the former rulers of the ever so expansive US of A. Their only known operation areas are within Colorado Springs and nearby areas, however some old rumors place their furthest operation in Nevada...

Coyotes and Hares: As the population of hares goes up, so does the amount of coyotes. As the population of hares goes down, so does the amount of coyotes. The same is said for honest folk and bandits. Years of relative prosperity have led to the formation of large bandit gangs, ranging from a dozen to several hundred people in total. They attack small frontier towns, isolated roads, and anywhere else they know doesn't have a lot of men with a lot of guns. Many are focused in California, in and around the three bickering states of the south, the other three in the north, and to a lesser extent the open plains and valleys of the Rockies and Western Canada. Towns of poverty like Seattle and the rest of Oregon and Washington however, are simply unprofitable to raid and so aren't.

Rock of Ages: The badly damaged caravel HMS Rock of Ages from presumably Great Britain has entered port at Everett in the Puget Sound, it is filled to the brim with coffee, sugar, and tobacco it seems, and of course knowledge of the fate of the old world. It's crew is hiding from whatever ship the damage it suffered. While a much larger, and much better armed eastern ship bearing the flag of the rising sun patrols the coast north near Graham Island, in search of a vessel unknown to the islands inhabitants.

Serf's Up: It hasn't been long enough for the born Americans, Mexicans, and Canadians to forget their former freedoms and rights, and as they are almost the only ones who are old enough to work, issues will arise. Rebellions, dissent, and perhaps secession may occur if left unattended, along with migration from Dictatorships and other tyrannous governments into neighboring democracies, or even into the wastes if it's bad enough. With population as rare as it is nowadays, it will be difficult to manage them if they're at your throat for their rights.

[Vanquaria]

Rebuilding The World To Our Image

June 14, 2014

The steady clip-clop of dozens of horses accompanied by the stamping of thick boots upon the formerly abandoned road had frightened off the native fauna. An entire line of men and women, donning thick leather clothing and grim in appearance, was marching in uniform fashion.

Jump back a couple decades and this would have been an unsightly, strange thing to witness but not in this era. Society had taken a leap backwards despite time moving forward. This sort of sight was something the inhabitants of this unforgiving world would be forced to become accustomed to.

Composed of a 1000-strong soldiers whose allegiance lay to the Iron State of Haven, this was an army conducting a strategic, organised offensive operation. Some of them wielded hunting rifles, drawn directly from New Haven’s armoury while the majority had intricately designed flat-bows tipped with rough bodkins supplemented by a deadly tomahawk. Their commander, addressed as the ‘Marshal’ in the Haven doctrine, had the privilege of an operational M4.

At the moment the army was en route to the minute city of Lovelook. Before the apocalypse Lovelook was a place notable for its mining and tourism. Now, if intel was accurate, the place was run by former prisoners from a prison nearby the city. Command expected this band of brigands and mongrels to be in the possession of a neat cache of weaponry from Lovelook’s gun shop, their prison’s armoury and their famous Cold-War era firing range. This was pretty much why this army was armed to the teeth with firearms, a valued commodity these days. The military command that ruled the Iron State were deploying their most experienced soldiers for this operation, every man and woman in this marching formation had seen combat against the hordes of barbarians and cannibals far from the heavily guarded frontiers of Haven. Though their weaponry was composed of flatbows and tomahawks at that time they all had fired a bullet or two from a rifle before.

It would be many kilometres until they neared their destination. The army had carriages which held supplies and weapons including corrugated iron shields, tear gas cannisters and Molotov cocktails while the personnel hefted bags carrying victuals and the like. Training was their driver and when they got there it would be their victory.

---

The people of Haven lived in what their nation meant. A haven the place was from the wasteland around it. They had the opportunity to live a life that although was nowhere near the privilege the Old World provided, was better than anything out there.

All this was made possible by the power of arms. Also known as the Iron State and rightly so, the nation enforced a martial culture that promoted strength and competition as well as loyalty. Founded by law enforcers in desperate times the nation was governed by a military council. At the head of that council was High Marshal Federick Buckton, a proud, old man who had been a SWAT captain when hell came.

He had seen and defeated the horrors that came from the chaos caused by the solar flares. Now, his only agenda was to rebuilt the world as it should be; one of order and collective spirit continually striving towards an ultimate goal. The old world was gone, there would be a new status quo now.

An army had been deployed to liberate Lovelook. 2 armies, though of lesser weaponry, had also been deployed down south to the town of Hawthorne, specifically to ensure the successful taking of the Hawthorne Army Depot which was an incredibly valuable asset. Though the distance was far and there was a good chance of the place being ransacked there would still be rare facilities inside such as for engineering and training. The place was worth 2,000 able-bodied men and women and a good quantity of weaponry including some firearms.

As for further west such as in places like San Francisco the Haven had only experienced the brunt of raider attacks from the Sacramento region. The High Marshal expected cities like San Francisco or Los Angeles to be devoid of life or warzones, the Haven had only survived well due to their low numbers. It could not be said for the massive zones of habitation when the apocalypse struck.

The Nevada region was to be the primary focus of the council of the Marshals, let what petty bickering the tribes and warlords of other lands had not disturb the rebuilding of society.

[Vacif]

Excerpt from 1st Ranger Group log
C. June 14, 2014

---

'Date, June 14th, 2014.

All's quiet on the southern border as the weekly train has its runs. Banditry is at an all time low, though not like it was ever really a big thing out here anyways. Not enough people, barely anyone per square kilometer. Regarding the supply shipment, it came in at 1345 as scheduled. Unloaded her cargo of refined food stuffs and loaded up on unprocessed goods and textiles. The usual deal between the north and south.

Frontier reports came in. Tracks are old, but still usable. Just need someone to clean it up and we’ll be able to send trains down south. The surrounding territories have seemed to warm up to us. Assimilation should be easy enough with the townships, but the military base is a different issue. A rather independent group claiming to be the remnants of the US government are holed up in the old Malmstrom Air Force Base. They may not have air superiority anymore but they are still a threat. They appear to be rather self sufficient, and while the years have taken a toll of them their security force remains still sizable. An armed conflict would only hurt our already small military force. On top of this, they seem to have a strong influence on the settlements of southern Cascade county. They may rally to them if we were to engage in battle.

The surrounding counties however seem rather unaffected or unaffiliated with these individuals and recent efforts to improve relations between us has proven fruitful. Most communities seem willing to join us, with the odd group of adamant independants. However the power these enclaves hold are negligible and are predicted to join at a later date. Threat level minimal. No one seems to really be willing to go on an all out war.

I’ll be attaching the more detailed reports from the scouts and the cargo manifests to the back of this message.

Signed, Ranger Henry Madaki
1st Ranger Group'

[Shadowwell]

Black Hills Confederation

Much had changed in the 8 years since the power went out. Much of humanity had relied heavily on electricity and technology to do everyday things. From cooking their meals to keeping meat and such reserved, as well as for entertainment. Now meat was either cured by smoking or salt, or by drying it, making jerky of sorts, if it was not used outright, which was often the case. Clothes were mostly patched together from other and many were faded, though there were some 'new' clothes made on occasion. not just how things were done, but the culture of the area had changed in part as well. In the Black Hills Confederation things were akin to how they were in the Old West, this was due in part to the Lakota and their practices.

For a while most of the people now residing in the Black Hills tried to maintain a grasp on their old ways of life. That changed for the majority when the Deadwood Cowboys formed. The man who founded them was a former Sheriff, he was a fan of the Old West history of Deadwood and decided to form the Cowboys as a pseudo independent militia style group. They operate much like the police did, originally they only did routine patrols around Deadwood and a few of the more important settlements. Over time, they gained more members becoming a force to be reckoned with, there are thousands of them now and they operate out of many of the ghost towns and other relics of that era, their seat of power, so to speak is in Deadwood.

Instead of cars or other motor vehicles, the current common mode of transportation was by foot or Horseback. While there were a few working vehicles, not including the handful of carefully maintenance and preserved Steam Locomotives, the hilly and rocky terrain was not all that kind to most wheeled vehicles, aside from the biking and hiking trails, which have been modified, somewhat in the years since the power went out. The Lakota brought a few thousand horses with them when they migrated to this area in the beginning. This in addition to the other horses in the region, along with a breeding program that was established early on, ensured that there was an ample supply of horses.

The almighty dollar was now worthless, or nearly so relatively speaking. Many people still hold onto theirs, both as a memento of the past and a desperate hope that things would return to how they were, seemingly so long ago. Now things were done in a barter system sort of way, instead of money, raw materials and other things that have become valuable are used as currency. Many of the once abandoned ghost mines had been reopened, and were now being operated by residents of the Black Hills. Though for the most part, they had been abandoned by their makers so long ago after the Gold Rush of the area, there were still minerals valuable and useful to the Black Hills inhabitants in this era.

Many of the areas previous exports, jewelery and other crafts, were some of the things that were traded. One of the regions previous exports was Ammunition and custom firearms. Due to the lack of electricity production of these commodities was non-existent, but thankfully, the workers that were involved were taken in by the Lakota, with some having been workers themselves. When they were able to, they had moved most of the machines originally responsible to certain heavily guarded areas, chiefly a certain complex cave system. Most of the good quality weapons were kept with the military portions of the Black Hills Confederation. Aside from the Deadwood Cowboys and the Lakota troops, the only other with a notable amount of military might is the Black Hills Militia.

Which is the portion comprised of the military and former military members from Ellsworth AFB as well as other military associated groups. The Combat Ready portion of those personnel and those trained in actual combat and such, make up the Black hills Militia as they call themselves. Though they have lesser numbers than the Deadwood Cowboys their training and such, make up for their lesser numbers. They act separate from the Lakota and the Copwboys, but in conjunction as well, acting as a police force of sorts, in the more urban areas, while the Cowboys operate more like border patrols between the settlements and inhabited regions outside the Black Hills reservation formed around Rush City.

Rush City was created around Mount Rushmore, and the area where the Lakota immediately settled when they came to their Sacred lands so long ago. It covers a massive amount of area, but that is but a blip in the million plus acres of land that their territory covers. The area that the Lakota directly inhabit and control is referred to by many as the Black Hills Reservation. It is in that area that most of the food production, in the way of ranching and some farming, is kept. It is located in the middle-eastern section of the Black Hills National Forest, most of which is under the control and watchful eye of the Black Hills confederation and her citizens.

[The Knockout Gun Gals]

Rebuilding the Land for the People

The farmers, labors, worked hard for the efforts of the state. It's been 8 years ever since the EMP hit the world, and the ravage and chaos followed soon after. Only handfuls survived, which gradually decreased into a fewer collections of survivors as bandits, natural disasters, and internal conflicts happened. Alexander Holt was lucky that after all his efforts, the People's State of Sacramento growing high and wide. All-around, seems nice.

However, some just not meant to be enough.

First, food. Yes, trading is fine, farms are available and rationing policy still intact, but harassment from the bandits who roamed the borders hasn't been good. Of course, heightened security on the border lines has been enacted. Other than that, seems to be normal as normal as it could get. Second, actually, just that. People's State of Sacramento is quite self-sufficient beside from few resources currently traded in and out. But it's fine, just that.

[Elerian]

Mayor Kersey, Free City of San Francisco

The old city hall was now what could only be described as a palace, one of decadent grandeur filled with sick tributes to Kersey’s supposed greatness. It was akin to the most lavish temples and palaces of Ancient Rome, or as close as they could manage in these trying times. Segmented marble pillars spiraled into the ceiling gilded with gold, and ornate doors made from fine oak. Through one such set of doors lay a massive, painstakingly detailed painted table of California. At its head stood Kersey his shadow cast before him, tall and fat, and fell across the Painted Table like a sword. Since his ascension to power, he’d gained thirty pounds while many of his people died of starvation. He regarded the map laid out before him with a mix of curiosity and excitement but held no doubt regarding his following words.

“Eight years have passed, and tens of thousands have died of war, famine, and disease. Tens of thousands that needn’t have died had you imbeciles done your damn jobs!” Kersey was of course referring to the wildly optimistic plans he’d laid out for his officials to solve the ongoing food crisis.

“Sir, if I may, if you would just allow us to convert the Napa vineyards into-“[/i ]An official started.

Kersey looked at the man in stark disbelief, as if the man had just slapped his considerable jowls.

[i]“I have said time and again, that the vineyards are of great importance to my future plans. I will not tolerate talk of this again!” Kersey shouted, drenching southern California in a veritable holocaust of spittle.

After a few moments to regain his composure, Kersey continued. “I believe it’s in our best interests to expand our forces, another food riot cannot be allowed to get out of hand again. I request the institution of a new force, not bogged down by needless red tape. So that they may act in a capacity where the militia or the army simply cannot. These are difficult times we face, and we must be prepared for anything.”

A murmur of halfhearted agreement erupted from the dozen men gathered before him. Where they would find the food or equipment for these new soldiers, none of the men gathered could say, but they’d long since learned it was just better to agree.

“Very well, in the meantime the Free City will require Santa Cruz and Sonoma for their arable land. Mobilize enough men to occupy the area. I want their crops to fill our granaries by the fall. That is all, dismissed.” Kersey watched as the men exited the room, as a lion watches its prey.

[Benuty]

New Seattle, Puget Sound Coalition
June 14th, 2014

The excess pangs of the industrial, atomic, and computer revolution had come so quickly, and died just as quickly in the space of one day. To many peoples credit no one went all out mad, and looted in the first few weeks. Generations of work all gone with such little time it almost seemed unreal. To many It just seemed like an out of the ordinary power outage for the first few days. People had often joked about going back to simpler times just to relieve themselves of the stress of modern life. Those who lead the coalition know to well that that belief is "a crock of horseshit" as head councilman Ron Sims once put it.

Human history is full of violence, and never has there truly been a time of global peace. No matter what pipe dream certain individuals were shoving down the throats of others. Humanity is experiencing what the collapse of the bronze age would be like it if had occurred in the space of a day, and was shifted to our modern world. Like them humanity panicked looking for a place safer than their home or they stayed put trying to whether out the crisis. Only Egypt really survived, and was never as powerful again afterwords while the rest of the known world scattered to the wind.

Some of the academics wonder how long it will be before the art of writing, and reading is lost to the majority of the populace. A grim thought to be sure, but the loss of writing made it a true dark age. The name being given simply because the lack of major records makes things difficult to confirm. Some wonder in several centuries what the academics of the future will be arguing about, and if any major records of the old world will survive. You already have people reduced to savagery, and banditry across parts of California, and more.

Petty despots, and the like have always been common in times of trouble. This is no time of Rome during a time of temporary emergency for the U.S is gone, and anyone left in authority is presumably ruling over tiny fractions of land. There are some states still around, but often they hold nowhere near the land they once did. Power for these people is hard to give up especially when you don't have to answer to the people anymore. If dictatorship must be the answer it needs to be with a velvet glove on one hand, and an iron fist on the other.

Using the stick too much makes people resentful, but overindulging them with the carrot makes them lazy as well. A balance must be struck, and it must be struck without the remnants of some upstart head of a former U.S agency trying to make the people they abandoned bow to them. Eight or more years ago flag burning was a symbol of protest, but now it is a right of passage to serve justice for ones actions. The U.S is dead, and people have long ago mourned their death so the burning of traitors alive in the flag of a dead nation is harmless. It symbolically shows who abandoned us, and later this afternoon this lesson shall be applied again for all to see.

[Shadowwell]

Black Hills Confederation

In the years since the Black Hills Confederation had formed, they had sent out multiple expeditions. One such expedition had been sent to the West, going as far as Idaho, but that was so long ago and had not heard back from those they contacted. A later expedition headed towards the East. They stopped when they found several things in Pierre, South Dakota, a city a few counties to the east of the Black Hills. What was found was two steamboats, in fairly working condition. They were both Diesel powered Stern-Wheelers, that were used to give tours of the region, including into the Black Hills. They weree of course unable to bring them back at the time, so they had to head back to work something out.

What was originally suggested was they tow it back, using their ample supply of horses or the like. This option was heavily debated, until someone brought up an idea that should have been the most obvious, the Railroad. One of the attractions to the Black Hills area, before, was tours given via the multiple Vintage Steam Locomotives that were kept by the Black Hills Railroad. A while back they had moved one of the engines onto another set of tracks in Rapid City, but the locomotive had been scarcely used since then. It was a simple matter to hook a trailer of sorts onto the engine and send it over to Pierre to retrieve the Steamboats.

Unfortunately, they were not the only ones with such an idea. Prior to their second coming to Pierre a Raider group had seized the larger of the two vessels. The group reacted violently when they encountered teh Confederation for the first time. This was not to be the last time that they would fight. This left the smaller of the two vessels, the 'Dakota Dream', for the Confederation after the violent encounter ended. In the time since then they have gotten the 'Dream' working and outfitted for expeditions. It has been rarely used, due to the fuel need, but it was still needed none the less. One such expedition was a journey to their southern neighbors in Colorado, past the close by Nebraska.

Down Cherry Creek, a waterway that moved through Denver, several small canoes could be sighted. There were around 15 people in all, most of them being soldiers, or trained in combat, the others were what amounted to scientists and experts in the world today. They had long since left the 'Dream' behind them and had in fact just left the ruins of what was the City of Denver not long before. They had been traveling for a while, but the waterways were mostly peaceful and devoid of human life, to a point. The plan was to portage the canoes after Cherry Creek ended, close to their destination of Colorado Springs.

That area was chosen, as the military presence and the location gave hope that there would be a functioning city, if not a settlement present. One of the brains of the Confederation had hypothesized about some things concerning that region. Soon enough they arrived at the end of Cherry Creek, well one of the offshoots. As they pulled to the end, in the distance, Cheyenne Mountain, one of the land marks of their destination was view-able through the clouds, like a monolith.

[Vacif]

Lethbridge Alberta, Prairie Union
General Troy Steele

---

General Steele sat at his desk inside of the Union Armed Forces Headquarters inside of Lethbridge. The office was a modest thing. Some 250 square feet. A nice sized rug sat in front of the dark mahogany desk belonging to the General. Two grey armchairs sat diagonally facing the desk. Book shelves and pictures lined the walls. A ficus plant stood in the corner while a coat/hat rack stood beside the door. Sunlight peeked through the old wood blinds in his office as he reviewed the latest frontier reports. General Steele was just a Lieutenant Colonel when the Flash hit. Most other units had been called to the major cities, Edmonton, Calgary. His men, the Southern Alberta Light Horse were between Edmonton and Medicine Hat. His stayed in the south to maintain order there, which incidentally saved his life. It was still unknown what had happened to the other ranking officers. Had they broken off and formed their own factions? Died off to disease, famine, or mutiny? What mattered was he was there, and the only one with enough experience to lead their military.


In his hands were troops reports and military positions. At this moment they had a total of four regiments and two battalions in the army. Each had roughly 600 soldiers with the exception of the Rangers who had 400. There were two Dragoon regiments, two mobile infantry battalions, two light horse regiments, and the ranger regiment.

Stationed in Division 2 Alberta were the 19th Dragoons. Dragoons were traditionally infantry mounted on horseback but fought dismounted. This much was practiced by the UAF, however they used them as a kind of shock group. Armed with exclusively military equipment these men were some of the best the UAF had. The other Dragoon Regiment, the 95th Dragoons were stationed in Division 8 Saskatchewan. They stood in wait to push into the adjacent territories.

The Light Horses were as the name suggested light horse mounted units. Their main duties were reconnaissance, communications, and skirmishing. Sufficiently armed, they were equipped with mostly civilian rifles with their restrictions removed, while not military grade were still very potent. The Southern Light Horse Regiment was stationed in the American Frontier with the Rangers while the 15th Light Horse were guarding the northern border in Division 4 of Alberta. The 15th faced little resistance as few lived very far north, not after the cities at least. They were readying a push to take the Division to the north of them.

Division 1 of Alberta held the 113th Mobile Infantry Battalion. Stationed in former Canadian Forces Base Suffield, the mobile infantry are infantry units were really just normal soldiers. They were brought in to secure new territory or guard old ones. They were well armed, military and police grade equipment were given to them. They were typically deployed via locomotive or by wagon. The 175th Mobile were stationed in Division 4 of Saskatchewan. These two units guarded the core Union territories. They assisted the Mounted Police when they could.

Last but not least were the Rangers. While standard companies (Or squadrons for the cavalry) were composed of 200 men, Ranger companies consisted of half that at a mere 100. Arguably the most well trained, skilled and revered unit in the UAF. They were rarely armed with guns. Rangers were forward scouts, used for guerilla warfare. They used more ‘conventional’ weapons. Bows, machetes, tomahawks. Units with guns were snipers however they are rarely used despite the abundance in sniper caliber ammunition. They monitored the American Frontier with Southern Light. As expected it served to be much more of a challenge than reclaiming fellow Canadian territories. They were in the midst of swaying the Americans to join their cause.

One would question why the Union was expanding, or at least trying to expand and that was old world materials. They appeared to have everything they could want. While not having a lot of use without electricity, much could be salvaged and used from the Pre-Flash world. Books, old world products that could not be reproduced, anything they could get their hands on. Another reason were military bases and rail lines. While the bases were likely looted, the were like a symbol of power. Plus it was easier to retake and maintain one than build a new one. Their fortune came at other’s misfortune as anyone who could of come and claimed the cities would have died with them. An estimated 80% of the population in the province had perished. This was attributed to the fact that 60% alone lived in Edmonton and Calgary, with the rest focused in smaller but still packed cities that suffered greatly.

Indeed there were many plans to be had this year. What happened now could very well determine the fate of the union.

[Soviet Chernarus]

Union of Columbia
Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness



"...Above all, the delegates of this Continental Congress should strive to ensure that the ideals envisioned by our Founding Fathers are preserved in these trying times."
-- Excerpt taken from the opening statements of the Second Continental Congress

Outpost of Harrah
Washington

The small town of 600 had been abandoned long ago; no one really knew what had happened -- it was almost as all of its residents had disappeared without a trace, an event that was not all too unusual in the chaotic times that followed the Blackout. When Columbian patrols had discovered it using local maps, the place had seemed very eerie, an abandoned ghost town of sorts. Raiders and bandits had already taken everything of use, but to the military command, the Union of Columbia would have other uses for Harrah. Situated on the borders of the vast Frontier, the former town posed as an ideal location for an outpost. It would serve both as a headquarters and supply base for troops in the area, monitoring rogue activity and helping to deter incursions into Columbian territory. The outpost could also be used as a base for further operations into the Frontier, in which Columbia would be able to continue to expand its borders.

Ordered by the generals, and approved by the newly inaugurated President Matthias Holman, a team of soldiers, engineers, and workers were dispatched from Yakima. Renovations and repairs were made to a number of buildings as the team descended on Harrah. The new outpost contained an army headquarters, a government liaison office, along with a temporary residential quarters. The hope was that, eventually, with enough encouragement, a new community could be resurrected from the ashes.

The hastily assembled group looked almost comical as they gathered on the outskirts of Harrah. They were supposedly battle-hardened soldiers, men and women who had fended off countless bandit and raider attacks. Yet they looked anything but, with their ragged, dirty clothes and assortment of improvised weaponry. The group of 200 soldiers were part of the newly-constituted Harrah Task Force, which would serve as an advance screening force for the area. Its job was to scout out potential threats and report them to command, who would then assess the situation and decide whether or not to send further troops to secure the area. Most of the threats reported were bandits and raiders -- they posed little threat to the military, although the more organized groups could be particularly difficult. Rarely did they ever encounter an independent community -- the yellowflu, famine, shortages, and constant violence made sure of that.

"Attention!" The commander shouted. Almost immediately, the noise died down as heads turned to face him. "The top brass in Yakima have decided that we, assembled here today, are the Harrah Task Force. I'm sure this is all routine for you all, but we still need to brief you all on our operation." The commander beckoned towards one of his subordinates, who presented a crudely drawn map of the area. Dots, X's, arrows, and various other symbols were scattered across the map in a seemingly nonsensical manner. He began to explain it, much to the consternation of the increasingly restless crowd.

"The operation should be standard. Our initial screening force have reported nothing out of the ordinary -- so, we should expect raiders, bandits, and survivors." The commander concluded.

[Imperial Idaho]

A Sound of Thunder, but not a Cloud in the Sky.
Colorado Springs, Colorado

The Black Hills crew parked their canoes, hiding them where they wouldn't be found easily. They moved into the city, eyes on the front, the flanks, and the rear as they headed to the high top mountain. Most of it looked empty, probably so for quite some time. As they shambled through they could hear noise from far off. A combination of animals and probably cannibals scurrying about, along with gunfire.

The crew mustered on, ignoring the far off warfare.

As they entered the ruined streets a man covered in blood came running out from a street corner, wild eyed and covered his presumably injured arm. Wearing clothes that looked like they rotted on his body after 8 years, and with a big scruffy beard, he didn't look the most sane. He quickly stopped at the sight of the Black Hills crew, gave a loud yelp and began to walk backwards. The lead of the Black Hills crew yelled at him to stop there, as the man pulled his right hand off his wounded left arm and reached for the back of his waist.

The Black Hills Lead quickly raised his rifle and fired, aiming for his chest for fear he had a pistol. The man dropped to the ground, and began yelling gibberish in pain. At the same time, at the street corner he had just came from men followed. In the same wild eyed and savage appearance, they quickly rushed the Black Hills Crew.

"Cannibals!"

The rest of the men who hadn't drawn their pistols and bows yet now had, as around 10-15 cannibals came running. Most armed with fuck all besides basic melee weaponry, namely baseball bats and shivs.

"The Armed Forces will smite you down as they did to us!" A cannibal yelled, his yellow, rotting teeth showing.

The Black Hills crew held their own easily, pistols fired, arrows flew, and those with non-combat roles took cover. One after one they dropped, most wounded of course, bows weren't known for quick kills. A few cannibals who held the back line had managed to run to the front relatively unscathed. A man in rags covered in scars and blood swung at the leg of the lead, quickly knocking him down. He raised his Louisville Slugger above his head to swing down on his skull, when a sound of thunder cut off his swing.

The cannibals head now turned to paste, and his body limp on the ground, a crewman gave his hand to the lead to help him up off the cracked asphalt. The shot had came from somewhere else, not from the crew.

As the fighting ended they quickly made work of executing the wounded cannibals. They were worthless as prisoners, too insane to properly question, and too far away from any known slavers to bother imprisoning.

"Centennial Cougars Forever!" A cannibal shouted out as a final cry, an arrow entering his face immediately after.

The Crew Lead was on the lookout for whoever fired at the cannibal above him. He tried to not put weight on his leg, but was sure it wasn't broken. From a ways off he spotted a group of 5 or 6 men jog forward towards them. They looked very well equipped, wearing old army helmets, carrying rifles and an assortment of other gear. Their clothes looked newer, a handmade camouflage mix of grey and green. The crew had weapons at the ready if need be, and so did they.

Once within earshot, they halted. The Crew Lead hollered over at them.

"We're friendly! Who are you!"

One of their men came forward a few steps, a man of modest size and stature. He hollered back after a brief few seconds of conversation with his buddies.

"The United States Army!"

[Backatri]

Over in the Vancouver Republic, PM Obadiah Kelley awoke to beams of sunlight. Just as he had for eight years. He was always bitter when he remembered artificial light and its glory. But that wasn't coming back for at least 20 years, according to his engineers.

He stood up, performed his morning rituals, and went to work. As he walked down the street, an ever growing crowd of aides, allies, and antagonists gathered around him. The 'antagonists' today were a small contingent of Socialist Party members, lambasting him for denying food to those without crucial skills. He looked at the crowd of protesters and chuckled, as his government was the closest thing ever to socialism. Everything was mandated by the government, and if it weren't for the high ideals of the men in charge, things would quickly turn despotic. He entered the main government building, the former capitol building of British Columbia, and sat down at his modest desk amid a sea of MPs and security staff to read the Vancouver Weekly.

Some genius had discovered an old printing press at a museum about a year after Darkness Fell, and had been publishing the paper ever since. It was truly remarkable, in the sense that the government didn't censor it, and it remained a bastion of free speech in the VR. Today's article was about the People's Party, who planned on passing more legislation regarding the distribution of Ration Cards. Kelley felt bad about denying food to anyone but the times demanded that only those who could contribute received the fruit of their labor. Sorry, thought Kelley but we don't have room for waiters in a world where we need cooks and farmers. He knew that the People's Party was losing steam. The annual food production of the VR was increasing, and more and more folks with no applicable skills either found a use for them as the world returned to normal, or received a Ration Card because they actually had food now.

The new shtick of the government was to organize a trade deal with a neighboring nation. Immigrants had told horror stories about the goings-on of the mainland, but it seemed that there were a few nation-states. The VR had two things to trade: lumber and lemons. Lumber had been a mainstay of Vancouver Island's economy even before Darkness Fell, and although it had moved to axes, it still did well enough to salvage the infrastructure of the old building in Victoria. Lemons were the real money maker though. Vancouver Island was lucky enough t have a Mediterranean climate in the south, so any spaces not devoted to subsistence farming were devoted to luxury goods.

Kelley reviewed this information and smiled. Things were looking up. Then he looked out the window and lost his smile. He looked out t the ruins of Vancouver, the city, and remembered the first unbearable months of the Darkness. So many innocents turned down, left to drown in the Salish Sea or starve on the mainland, all because they weren't doctor or a builder. Vetting all the refugees had saved Vancouver Island, but it had killed thousands more.

Kelley looked out at the sea, and hoped that there were no people left alive in Vancouver. If they were, they were angry at the VR, and would destroy it.

[Shadowwell]

Black Hills Confederation

Though the Lakota, centered around Rush City, held much of the power, political and military, in the Black Hills Confederation, there were several others. The Deadwood Cowboys held some military power, but they acted much like the Militia or Police of old, though this was mostly between the towns and at the borders. The Black Hills Militia, were the strongest in terms of manpower, aside from the Lakota, as originally, they and their families were in the Black Hills area at Ellsworth AFB, and other military installations, few as they were. Truthfully, they were the least changed of the factions. The strangest and most notable of the factions however, were the Black Hills Bikers.

Prior to the Blackout, the Sturgis Motorcycle rally was being held, every year it had gathered many bikers. Just the year prior in 2005 there was a record amount of Bikers participating, over 500,000. In 2006 there was noticeably less, but still more than half of the previous year’s attendance. After the initial panic there were still plenty left, but they broke off when the Lakota arrived, en masse. There were some bikers who did not leave, they saw what the Lakota were doing, and retrieved their families, they were more local than many of the visitors, and many of them had ridden together and formed bonds.

They were one of the first groups to settle with the Lakota. Now they operate out of the more Urban areas, not unlike the Deadwood Cowboys do with their patrols. The Bikers still use their bikes, to a point, but they were not used excessively. The Bikers would act as the initial defense force of any of the major settlements, with one of their number or more, thundering away on a working Bike. They would retrieve either the Cowboys or the Militia, depending upon the force attacking. They were the Faction who has had the most experience fighting the Steamboat Raiders, who have been attempting to take the nearly abandoned ruins of Rapid City for a long time.

---

Cheyenne Mountain Expedition
Collab post by Shadowwell and Imperial Idaho

As the other party responded, the Black hills crew cautiously moved forward, though not at such a distance that they would not be able to react. The Crew Leader responded, when they were close enough. “I was under the impression that the United States military had ceased to exist when the power went out. Additionally, what did those guys mean when they said we would be smited as they were?” As the question was asked the Black Hills crew, tightened their grips, just in case this got hostile.

The soldier looking man hollered back at the Crew Leader, saying “That’s what most everyone thinks, and what they think is wrong. As for what you mean by “smiting” hell If I know. They’re cannibals, they aren’t known for mental stability.”

The Crew leader gave a slight chuckle at that before responding. “Though it is doubtful, you got any proof that you are actually with the Army? One can never be too careful these days, besides, we hadn’t expected to actually encounter a civilized party, well most of us, one of our brains said something about the mountain and insulating the area or something. His whole spiel went over my head to be honest.”

“Well we got guns, bullets, grenades, and a radio on us right now.” He raised his small hand-held radio to show, along with his rifle, an M16, the barrel pointed at the sky of course. The Crew Leader shrugged and responded. “ Well, that will work, just call in, to make sure they know you have made contact with other before handing it over, so i can check.”

“Eh, I hate to be that guy but I’m not allowed to hand over any electric gear, even for a bit. Tell you what, where are you guys from? You ought to be from somewhere civilized.” He responded to the Crew Leader. The Crew Leader nodded in understanding before responding in turn. “That is understandable, we would do the same. To answer your question though, we are an expedition force from the Black Hills Tribal Confederation, a nation, if you can call it that. Popped up in South Dakota a while back.”

“Alrighty.” He raised the radio to his face and began to speak. “Mad Dog, this is Foxtrot. We found a group of say 15 men from the Black Hills, they haven’t fired at us quite yet.” There was a pause from the other end of the radio, than a reply came in the form of a grizzled voice. “Foxtrot, find out what you can, if it’s in your best judgement bring them to FOB Stratmoor.”

The Crew Leader waited until the other man was finished contacting his people, before he responded. As he waited, the rest of the Black Hills Crew were acting, rather differently, it had been a long time since they had seen anything electrical be of use. The crew leader held up a hand to silence the Crew’s whispered discussion as he responded “So, what is your decision then?” As he waited the Crew Leader stretched slightly, working out the kinks, the group had not been able to rest much.

“Well, since we’re fighting cannibals and savages out here how about we go back to base? It’s only a mile or so away.” The man said. “I’m Corporal Armstrong by the way.” The Crew Leader nodded before responding. “Former 2nd Lieutenant Rodger Kingsley. I was stationed at Ellsworth Air Force Base when the power went out. Pleasure to meet you Corporal, anyways, lead on.” As the Crew Leader spoke, the rest of the Crew gathered their things, mostly what had been misplaced during the skirmish with the cannibals.

The two groups headed into the remainder of the city, hearing the previously far off warfare more than before. Words were exchanged, apparently the US Army had been making a great push to capture Colorado Springs. At least that was what most of the Black Hills crew assumed. Corporal Armstrong spoke to Kingsley about what had happened in the Black Hills, and what had happened in Colorado. Once they arrived at FOB Stratmoor, they could hear the rumbling of engines, as older vehicles moved in and out for Medevac and drop offs. The guards around the base insisted only Kingsley and 3 others enter, and that they did, the remainder staying outside for now.

The Crew Leader was about to find out a hell of a lot about what happened to the United States Government of old.

[Labor Union Nurture]

It had been about five and a half years since the Federation was founded, and eight years after the electronics of old kicked the bucket, and the old USA government abandoned Oregon, and what seemed to be most of western America. The survivors of the apocalypse banded together after the initial panic, and explored the remains of the great titan of Portland, rotting as though the rib cage of a giant. Forbes Arisztid remembered this sharply as he pounded upon slivers to create the next soldiers dagger, or sword, or whatever they needed. He couldn't care, wrapped in his thoughts about the enormous, racing trains and cars chasing each other about the streets, pavement alive with passion, grief, and emotion. The guiding towers and streetlights, popping up like weeds against the flat floors man had made so that he could walk, all against the wishes and hopes of the children walking them and...

"Are you there? Forbes?" He saw a hand, maybe two, flash across his field of view, and as he looked up, he caught the figure of Tom Guthrie, the General and commander of the North Oregon Exploration Unit, staring down at him with two hard, inquisitive eyes. "Yeah, I'm hear," Forbes heard the words flow through his mouth instantaneously, and Tom responded,"Good, our expansion mission begins 10 days from now." Ten days! Forbes thought that mission was for the next summer, or the one after that. Ten days! Swords, daggers, and their ilk for five hundred men! Nevertheless, he went back to pounding the same flivvers of metal, readying the army for its advance across Cascadia. Forbes doubt their was anything that stood in the way of the impressive and empowered military, for their conquest for the Pacific had begun.

[IN PROGRESS]

* The North Oregon Federation has begun its conquest for Tillamook, Yamhill, Clackamas, Wasco, Clark, Cowlitz, and Skamania. *

[Imperial Idaho]

Around the World In 80 Days or More
Mountain Home Air Force Base, State of Idaho

The once proud Air Wing of the IDANG wasn't really an Air Wing anymore. In the years after the Blackout they had been reorganized into cavalry units by large, however a few elements of it still flew in the air. Southern Idaho had a strange amount of hot air balloon enthusiasts, and they weren't going to squander that opportunity. The IDANG had around 5-10 Pre-Change Hot Air balloons at their disposal, used for reconnaissance until this point. A combination of Frontier Politics and simple curiosity lead to the formation of the Old World Expedition, what would be a one man trip around the northern hemisphere in an attempt to discover whatever happened to not only the east coast of the US and Canada but also of Europe, Russia, and Asia.

A sixteen person Hot Air Balloon was modified to allow more space and mobility, then loaded up with a supply of food, an M4A1, several of the few remaining 5.56 magazines in the state, and an extensive log of maps, books ranging from a French Translation Book to Band of Brothers, and blank journals to record information on. The food of course would only last so long, and as such it was either in jerky form or otherwise preserved. An old sleeping bag and pillow were provided aswell, the pilot couldn't stay awake for several months of course. A box full of valuables was also put in, including such wonders as mechanical watches, pre-blackout underwear, and some other things like windup alarm clocks. All were to be traded for either food, or whatever commodities the regions explored had.

Ed Barstow would be the first Idahoan to see the old world in almost a decade. He was an avid hot air balloon enthusiast before the blackout, and had since became involved with the IDANG in 2009 after they began using them for reconnaissance. During the trip, and for sometime before, he would be doing his best to learn Russian, as a large part of the planned trip went through Russia. The Balloon also carried a flag of the USA It was to be a one man expedition for some time, but as the final preparations were made, the Idaho Senate became involved in what was to be an exclusively military project and turned it into a partway diplomatic move. The Diesel Truck "Castle Rock" was sent down to Mormon State in Utah, with a diplomatic delegation, and relatively unarmed escort.

Their offer was for a Utahan representative to travel with Barstow across the hemisphere, and to open an embassy for each others nations in their respective capitals.

[Holy Lykos]

Life in the New World
Chihuahua, Mexico
June 14, 2014 - Gregorian
Teotleco 11 (Xochitl), Year Eight of the Sixth World - Aztec Xiuhpohualli

---

By now, the Atzlaners had long outpaced any pursuers. Most of the land between Chihuahua and the Great River was useless, desert, or otherwise empty land. The Cartels' had often ignored this region as well, as it was fairly poor. As a result, the distance from the old population centers and fertile lands to the south and the barrier of the Sierra Madre Occidental prevented incursions from the western cartels into the Mexican Plateau. But this region was arid and poor for farming. Their livestock had not fared as well as they hoped, but once they entered the plateau, the attacks from various militia, cartel, and raider groups subsided. Any group out here was too small to face such a large group. In fact, some of the other Nahua speaking tribes had joined them along the trip, inspired by the idea of creating their own nation once more.

But now, Cihuātlahtoāni Xiuhcoatl was facing a dilemma. The desert ahead of them was even worse than the arid land they just crossed. Of course, beyond that was the Rio Grande and whatever groups were springing up out of the ruins of the States. Who knew where those were arising, or how powerful they were. Xiuhcoaltl had heard word of one of the old cartel bosses, a man named Joaquin Guzmán, had declared himself Rey of Sinaloa. 'El Chapo' had apparently survived the chaos of the last eight years in a good enough position to declare himself a monarch. Quite the step up from a criminal wanted by both the Mexican and American governments. He seemed to be focusing southward along the coast however...

The Tlatoani's thoughts were interrupted by the cry of golden eagle. She shouldered her spear, and glanced up towards the sky. Xiuhcoatl was located the edge of the largely ruined Chihuahua city. Disease and gang warfare seemed to devastate the region, even more than Mexico City had been. Of the nearly one million inhabitants, scarcely five thousand remained. Tens of thousands had fled either to the north, or south. The region could not properly sustain itself due to its aridity after all. However, Chihuahua had been an industrial center, and the Aztlaners were stripping out as much as they could carry. Others were working to convince locals to join their cause, regardless of their ethnic background.

But this bird... Even in this era of quieting urban centers and depopulation, many animals still avoided the cities by instinctual habit. This eagle was flying right over her position standing on the tallest standing building in Chihuaha. The Tlatoani watched it interested, noticing that the beast was actually descending. Another cry, a flap of the wings and it settled its perch on the old antenna sticking out of the tower she was on. The Eagle seemed to watch her for a moment, before some unheard noise made it snap its neck towards the west, towards the Sierra Madre Occidental range. A moment later it was airborne again, flying in the direction it had been 'pointing'.

"How strange..." She muttered in her native tongue. It brought to mind the stories of the founding of Tenochtitlan. The Mexica had followed an eagle like that one to found their city. Maybe the gods were helping their people find the way again...

It was then that Cihuātlahtoāni Xiuhcoatl remembered the city of Cuidad Obregon, a town a fairly easy distance from Chihuahua in the neighboring state of Sonora. It was awfully close to the Reino de Sinaloa, however. But had plentiful enough resources and farms. It could make for a proper settlement location! Perhaps Huitzilopochtli was looking after them after all. He must have survived the demise of the Empire and Fifth World.

The Tlatoani glanced once more over the ruin of Chihuahua stretching out over the horizons, before turning back for the stairwell. For once, Xiuhcoatl started feeling a measure of faith towards the beliefs of her ancestors. If this turned out well, perhaps the old ways were right after all.

For now though, Xiuhcoatl had announcements to make, and a caravan to divert. Luckily, she knew there was a major road that lead right to the former Cuidad Obregon. The city might be deserving of a new name however. She and the tribal elders would need to think on it. New Tenochitlan was in poor taste. Perhaps something like New Home, or Rebirth... Or perhaps something referencing the Eagle would be in order. She grinned as if struck by epiphany as she picked her way through the wrecked storefront and back onto the street, where her guard was waiting. She had it. The name for the new city and center of Aztlan.

The City of the Divine Eagle.

Teocuāuhtlico.

[Baratoa]

United Counties of Southern California
Beneath Orange County

Beneath what once was in the top ten for the most populated counties in the United States, the subway system is unusually bustling, considering the trains are late by eight years. Soldiers pushed wheelbarrows and shopping carts about, prepping the area for the destruction to follow. Private Howe and Sergeant Peterson have gone off alone, to the quiet tunnels north of the encampments in the stations

"Alright, it's on the wall. Tape it good, yea? I ain't blowin' up today." Eddie Howe said. He held "it", a bundle of dynamite, upright against the wall. His palms were sweaty, so he had put work gloves on at the station, afraid the moisture might detonate the bomb prematurely.

"Yep, the thing's taped up. The bomb's alright. Take the spool, we should finish up soon." The Sergeant wasn't particularly worried about it blowing up on them. The explosives were found, nice and dry, at some quarry or mine or something a year ago, back east. It was deemed 'pretty safe', so it was probably still 'pretty safe'.

"Why are we even doin' this, man? I never thought dynamite high on the list of rat killers."

"Our northern border has been deemed a pretty decent threat to the security of the UCSC. We got pretty good amount of men up top, but our boys back in El Centro, they got worried they might come in through the tunnels. Pretty smart if it's true, because there isn't much else to go through."

"But what if we need to get through here to them?"

"There's a maintenance corridor, apparently. In one of the other tunnels. They'll keep that one clear, keep the door sealed up tight and guard it tighter. Just, keep that line tight. Make sure they don't overlap. I don't want to be the only guys who messed up blowing their tunnels."

[Vacif]

Swift Current, Saskatchewan
Lieutenant Colonel Werner Lehman
19th Dragoon Regiment

---

The problem about taking territory in the prairies weren't that there was a lot of hostile resistance, but that there was an immense amount of ground to cover. Majority of the population was clumped up together in small pockets which made assimilating people easier, but there were kilometers of farmland between them. Taking District 7 would be an odious task. They could realistically only take a single District at a time.

It was predicted that without instant communication assimilating an entire province, or District in this case would take much time what with the bureaucracy and paper work, laying down the foundations for their official inclusion to the Union. The Jaw had been in the eyes of the Union for a long time, they knew who the Union was and vice versa.

Regarding the American Frontier, they wouldn't expand until Malmstorm was talked down. They claimed to have connections to the US military, and if that were true then that meant the Americans were still active, which meant they wouldn't exactly appreciate their northern neighbor moving in on their territory. However this didn't mean they'd stop increasing relations.

The advance group had already made contact and laid the path for the main force, now it was time to move.

[Sarejo]

Las Vegas Exclusion Zone aka "Lost Vegas", The Directorate
June, 2014

Dead lights and ruined streets.

The once-glorious Strip was reduced to a shell of its former prestige, or notoriety, if you might. The streets lay broken and cracked, cars rusted and covered in every manner of filth. Casinos and hotels crumbling while the stench of death and despair hung over the city.

This is the sight granted to the men and women of 2nd Brigade every day, as they stand guard on the wall around Lost Vegas, a pit of anarchy and horror for the few people that still live there. The city was evacuated nearly a decade ago, but around ten thousand people stayed behind, determined to keep their homes in a desperate attempt to hold on to their old lives. The Directorate, not wanting the "Shakes, as they called it, to escape, erected a fifty foot wall around the whole perimeter of Vegas proper, herded the stubborn and infected inside, and closed the gates forever. A new brigade rotates in every 8 months to stand guard on The Wall, listening to the screams, sporadic gunfire, and weeping that is the soundtrack of the city.

Private Jeremy Larson stood on the eastern wall with his unit, musket propped up on the side, canteen in hand. He took a drink and splashed some water on his hand, proceeding to rub his neck and try and cool down. The sun had yet to raise high in the sky, but the summer heat was still blisteringly unforgiving. The awning on their part of the wall guarded against sunburn, but not much else. Larson looked over to Corporal Neumann, a new addition to their unit, who watching the city intensely and with great focus, and made a rather laughable attempt at small talk.

"So Neumann, where ya from?" he asked, trying to flash a smile through a mouth of busted teeth. She looked at him with disdain and turned back to the city. He took it in stride and tried again. "Come on Corporal, what's your story? A pretty broad like you's probably got a real interesting background. So what is it? Daddy left? Man I like me a girl with Daddy issues..." he said, laughing at the end and mockingly rubbing his hands together in feigned anticipation. All he got in return was a middle finger from Neumann, prompting him to laugh even harder. Private Harden piped up with a kind "Fuck off Larson", before rolling over back to sleep, and with that, Larson fell out of his chair because he was laughing so hard, earning the disdainful glares of his squad mates.

When he had finished, a silence fell over the unit, which stood for several moments, until Neumann sighed and began to speak. "I was raised in Boulder City before The Flare. Dad was a mailman, mom was a waitress. Never had much, but also never wanted for anything. After The Flare though... Everything changed. Dad was killed pretty early on, in the riots and such as people flipped shit. Mom barricaded her and I in our house with the furniture against the door and a shotgun aimed right where some idiot looter might come in. The riots only lasted about 2 weeks, but they were the most terrifying weeks of my life, until FEMA and the National Guard stepped in. Saved our lives, my mom and I. We had no food, barely any water, and the house began to reek of smell and filth. We were taken to Camp Charlie, at least that's what it was called then. You all might know it better as "Shake Town", because that's where the Shakes first started. Some tourists or immigrants or something must have brought it, but once it hit, it hit us like wildfire. You think that shit spreads fast in settlements today? In Charlie we had about one hundred thousand people all crammed into shitshacks and tents, and within a week over sixty percent of the camp was infected. Mom and I made it, somehow, but when the infected began disappearing and didn't return, we got worried. Anyone who looked remotely sick was taken away by soldiers in biosuits and was never seen again. We feared we would be next, so we prepared to make a run for it, but that's when Mom got sick. She left me with my Aunt and Uncle and cousins, while she stayed in our tent. She said it was to keep me from getting infected, and for a time I believed it, but a week after she sent me away, she was found with her wrists slit lying on her cot. Her body was taken and cremated, and the ashes buried. Knowing the pain that staying would cause me, my Aunt and Uncle moved us to Sanctuary, which is where I joined up three years ago, and have been stationed in every shithole and God-forsaken battleground the Mojave has had to offer us. That's my fucking story, Larson. I've also killed men and women in ways you wouldn't want to imagine, so if I catch you staring at my ass one more time, well, let's just say fifty feet is a long fall and a hard stop," and with that, Neumann turned back towards the city whilst the rest of the squad sat there in awed silence.

Santuary, The Directorate

The marketplace was alive with shouting merchants and bustling traders and customers, packed so thick the ground couldn't be seen underfoot and you almost needed goggles and a mask to withstand the dust kicked up by shuffling feet.

The commotion and cramped nature of the marketplace gave the young boy ample opportunity to sample oblivious people's pockets for all manner of valuables, from seeds, to bags of salt or sugar, cigarettes and cigars, to even a rare few pre-Flare bullets.

The boy moved from person to person, dipping his hand quickly and deftly into their pockets and taking the first thing he touched, until he'd made his way through the crowd. Once he was in the clear of the streets again, he took off to his little nook made in a ruined room of a pre-Flare apartment complex, high above the shacks and tents that made up Sanctuary. He took a piece of bread from a rolled up blanket in the corner of the room, and ate it whilst he looked out over the expanse of the city. Soldiers marched by in squads with their guns held at the ready, patrolling the streets and supposedly watching out for people like him. Traders pulled carts of goods about, to and from the marketplace, while the citizens strolled about, going to their homes, one of the city's many bars, a shop, a brothel, or their places of work.

As he was eating, the boy unloaded his pockets to see what his score was for the day. Twenty seeds, two bags of sugar, one of salt, six cigarettes, a cigar, and two .45 bullets. "Not a bad haul for two hours work," he thought, stashing the illicit loot into a small wooden box he kept by his bedroll, placing them next to other things he had stolen, and a sepia-toned picture depicting a man and a woman standing side-by-side, both cradling an infant boy with massive smiles. The picture moved him to make a sad smile, as he traced the two adults fondly with his bony fingers, before closing the box and replacing it in its intended place. He looked off into the city again, as the sky began to darken, when drums began to echo over the city, drowning out the ambient noise and silencing the populace. The boy quickly scaled down the side of the building to the streets, and ran to where a large crowd was forming at the gallows. "Forgot tonight was Friday," the boy thought to himself as he moved his way to the front of the crowd to see who the unlucky bastard was that week. As he made his way to the front, he caught a glimpse of a man being paraded through the streets by two soldiers wearing armbands that read "MP", led by a man wearing a field cap, aviator sunglasses, and a Colt .45 handgun in a holster on his hip. That man was Major Matthew Caine, also known as the Sheriff of Sanctuary. A strict but fair man, he had a reputation of keeping order at whatever costs, but also knew justice from brutality. Or at least, that's how he presented himself. The rumors fluctuated from him personally ordering brutal attacks on immigrants, who were thought to be to blame for the Shakes, to kindly buying a weeks worth of bread for a starving tent community in the slums of the city. No one knew the man's true nature, but whether people feared him or respected him, he held up the law, and only the Director himself held more power in the city.

When the condemned man made his way to the gallows, the bag covering his face was removed, and the boy saw a familiar face: that of his mentor and closest confidant since his parent's death, John Porter. Porter had only just turned eighteen, the legal age you could be executed, and the boy had heard rumors that he had been arrested for mugging a caravaner two weeks ago. The boy found it hard to watch as the rope was placed over his friend's neck, as a soldier read out the charges of thievery, assault, and resisting arrest, before the beating of the drums abruptly stopped, the lever was pulled by one of the MPs that had escorted Porter, and he dropped five feet before the rope snapped his neck and he was hanged before God and Sanctuary. The boy wept silent tears, shoving his way back through the crowd and running back to his home, crying himself to sleep in the loneliness of the night.

Outskirts of Newberry Springs, The Bernardino Wastes

The air was alive with bullets, smoke, and shouting as the men and women of 8th Battalion began their fourth assault on the last major rebel stronghold between Directorate forces and their "capital" of San Bernardino. They had been besieging the rebels for over two months at this point, whilst the rest of 3rd Brigade campaigned further north, tracking down pockets of rebels and bases of operation as they moved closer and closer to snuffing out the rebellion that had begun almost two years ago.

Lieutenant Eric Wells had been on campaign for the better part of a year, as had the rest of his platoon and their company, and they'd seen little in the way of rest or recuperation, as the war machine marched ever forward, or were forced to defend themselves against the rebel onslaught whenever they gathered enough men and supplies in one area to do so. He and his men had fought bitter battles and skirmishes with everything from hunting rifles, to pre-Flare military equipment, to muskets, to bare hands, knives, and rocks. They fought with whatever guns they had and could find ammo for, which became increasingly rare as what post-Flare factories the Directorate had could not keep up with the demands the Front had.

Now Wells and his unit lay pinned down in a crater inside the ruined remains of what used to be someone's home, long, long ago, as rebel gunfire made sure that their heads stayed out of their line of sight, lest they be parted from their body. Wells himself was carrying a pre-Flare Remington 700 rifle, that he'd owned since his eighteenth birthday, given to him by his father two years before The Flare. Others in his platoon had a wide assortment of rifles, shotguns, muzzle loaders, and black powder rifles and shotguns. Wells ordered Cameron Toole, the platoon marksman, to move around the side of the building and try to take out the insurgents pinning them down. He did so, quickly and efficiently moving through the rubble, crouching behind the outer side of the house, took aim with his Ruger Hawkeye rifle, closed one eye, and pulled the trigger, slamming a rebel in the chest with a bullet and causing him to fall out of the window of the building he was shooting from. Three shots later, and the rebels were silenced in their position, but they could hear gunshots and war cries all around them, and so they quickly advanced into the city, moving block by block as Directorate forces began their first successful push into the city-proper.

[Baratoa]

Calipartia State Prison

It wasn't really a real prison, so to speak. Calipartia State, like the other correctional facilities within the borders of the UCSC, prison guards left their posts once they realized it wasn't just a regular blackout. It took less than an hour for the first inmates to leave their cells and less than a month for the prison to be empty. None of them really put a lot of thought into it. But the gates were left wide open and no one was shipping food in anymore, so the prisoner population dwindled to nothing. Some would be killed by militiamen and police, whilst others just walked home. The most violent among them, hardened felons, would later set the foundation for the highwaymen and bandit gangs to formulate in the following years.

Whilst the army used most of the other facilities as bases to defend towns and trade routes, Calipartia State was chosen to remain as a prison. The government repaired what little damage occurred to it, and constructed cabins for the guards living there, the prison reopened two years after the power went out, to be a near self-sufficient facility.

Prisoners, who range from petty thieves to unsuccessful highwaymen (murderers are almost always sentenced to hang), eek out in existence through farming, producing their own food. Those who complete their sentence, are escorted by the weekly supply wagon two miles south to Calipartia, and are given a set of fresh clothing, and a minuscule amount of silver. Alas, a growing percentage of Calipartia's population are ex-cons.

June 2014

Two horsemen rode up the dirt road to the entrance. The surrounding fields were dotted with jumpsuit-clad inmates, working the land. A few guards slowly made their way through the workers on horseback, shotguns in hand. A "runner", as the guards call them during their card games after hours, had no chance of escape.
As the two men finally rode up to the gates, a dusty prison guard appeared from behind one of the towers.

"What's your business here, sirs?"

"I'm Major Crawford, of the UCSC, and this is Doctor Jim Carpenter, from town."

"That didn't answer much. You got any papers?"

"Here, you are." The major handed him a manila folder, bounded with twine to keep it in place throughout the ride there. Crawford continued, "We have seals and signatures from both the Governor himself and the head of the prison program down in El Centro."

"Yeah..uh..I'll get the warden. Del!" The guard shouted, to someone the major couldn't see. "Go on, and get the Warden down here. We have some folks from down in El Centro."

Later

The Warden's Office is relatively normal, if not a bit cramped. His desk, although covered in papers, has nothing that would seem out of place. The back of the room has at least six filing cabinets, a crude attempt at keeping information compiled on the "residents" of the facility. A hand-crank record player rests in its own corner, away from everything else to avoid the risk of damage.

"So, the Gov wants to form a Penal Company? Why would he do that?"

"They want to minimize damage to the real military. I can't blame him. Not many people'll miss some cons. How many inmates reside here, Warden Thomas?"

"The number usually hovers around two hundred forty, but ten more just got sent in from San Diego at the end of last month. Two of them were already previously marked once." He sighs, then opens the top drawer of his desk. Thomas takes out a composition notebook, stamped 'PROPERTY OF USCA PRISON SYSTEM-THEFT PUNISHABLE BY IMPRISONMENT'. And in smaller text 'PRISON ROSTER'. "I update this monthly. Names, ages, release dates, crimes, basic physical features. You can borrow it."

"This...is very thorough. Thank you. Is it alright if we start the physicals now?"

"Go right ahead. There is an empty office next door you can do it at. I'll send for the first of them now. Del!" Thomas yelled, at someone in the hallway. "Send for Aaronson, Albertson, Alfonso, Austin, and Barón. Tell them to head to the office next to me for physicals."

[United Ymara]

When one thinks of a government run by former bandits, they would probably think it corrupt, instable, and inefficient. When it came to Halland only one of those was true. Given that around 4/5ths of the population was enslaved corruption was a given. Lords used the farmland to feed their own guts, their soldiers, their granaries, and then only gave their slaves whatever scraps were left. As for stability, Xavier played each lord off of each other, making a unified coalition rising against him nearly impossible. Each lord already had near absolute power over their territory, so why risk it in a coup that's not even likely to succeed? This made the realm stable, relatively speaking. Inefficiency ran rampant in the fledgling empire in its early days. Xavier and his lords knew nothing of how to farm and the first year's harvest was pitifully below expectations. So they found the slaves that had used to own and work these lands from before the apocalypse and promoted them to taskmasters. They organized vast amounts of slaves to create knew non-mechanical irrigation systems. They decided what crops would be grown and when they would be rotated. This eventually gave rise to a small bureaucratic middle class that ensured efficiency. Eventually, as conditions and prestige rose for those with agricultural knowledge in Halland, farmers who felt disrespected in the new republics on Halland's borders began flooding in. It was this sudden increase in the bureaucracy that Xavier and his closest officers had met in a remote part of the plains to discuss.

"They want what?" Xavier asked in shock, nearly losing balance and falling of his horse, a luxury afforded only to the upper echelons of the military.

"...A constitution, sir." One of his officers replied with a little hesitation.

Until now there was no formal law code in Halland. Slaves had no rights in the first place and the military just enforced its wants at the end of a barrel. But with the rise of the middle class much of the bureaucracy feared it would lose all of their rights and just end up as slaves at the random whim of the military.

Xavier was about to respond before his face became intimately familiar with the ground. Gunshots began to loudly make their presence known as his position was attacked. Xavier's more immediate concerns, however, lied in the blood pooling around him. He didn't panic, he had been in far too many similar situation to let panic overtake him, as he calmly looked for a wound. Thankfully the blood was not his own but rather his horse's. He quickly used the now dead beast as cover, as he slung his rifle from off his shoulder into his arms. The enemy was firing from a nearby hill, and his men were taking cover behind either their horses or the supply wagon that had been following them. They returned fire, but neither side seemed to be getting hits in. Some of his men had taken alcohol from the wagon and turned them into Molotov cocktails, launching them at the enemy position. The frantic screams told them at least one of them hit true. The enemy began to retreat as the fire spread, but he wouldn't let the bastards get away.

"Charge!" Xavier shouted to his men. They quickly overtook the hill and began shooting the fleeing enemy in the backs. Most of them escaped, but by the end of the fight about six or seven of them lay dead.

"Investigate the bodies, I wanna know who has the balls to put a hit out on me." Xavier knew this had to be an assassination attempt. They had chosen this place to have the meeting specifically because it was remote, there was nothing of interest for at least a mile around except for himself.

"Sir, look at this." One of his officers showed him the butt of a rifle. Carved into it were tally marks, presumably of how many kills its owner had. Xavier was about to dismiss it, he knew plenty of people who did similar things and it was far from unique to one group, till he saw something else carved under it. A flower.

"That's the symbol of those fuckers to the southwest, isn't it?" Xavier said, getting nods of confirmation. "Richard, Jim!" He barked out their names. Richard was his second in command, while Jim was just a regular runner.

"Jim, you head down to Wallace county and tell Lord Johnson to get his men ready." Jim nodded, taking a horse and heading out. "Richard, some of my men are stationed in the fort at Thomas, go gather up as many as you can. This ain't going down unpunished. Meet us in Wallace."

[Imperial City-States]

Three Percent Republic
Mount Hood National Forest Area
Mount Hood
The Cage Headquarters of the 'Old Guard'



Colonel Williams took a deep breath of the fresh evening air. The Capital of the Three Percent Republic, More accurately the Fortress of the Old Guard, was built into a system of pre-collapse tunnels and mines that, post collapse were excavated to an extent, and suitably fortified. Unfortunately, It tended to get fairly stuffy underground and he enjoyed the few moments that he got top side. The Air was thick, The area having just rained.

it'll be good for the crops he thought absently to himself. Below He could see long stretches of C Wire along the perimeter, Triple Strand tall, three deep as he'd requested. Granted a vehicle could plow right through it, given the fact that it'd have to travel uphill, and at fairly high speed to even clear the wire itself. Beyond that there was some assorted wreckage from the mining equipment that'd once occupied the area, Which again would serve as good obstacles but wouldn't stop much. He smiled to himself. Deception, was the real defense of 'The Cage'. While the Outer Gate House and Wall were formidable fortifications to your average Raider bands, a determined force could knock through them given enough time and effort. The real gem, Was the Sprawling, Defense in depth that lay within the initial entry where they'd plan to bleed attackers. But alas that was beside the point.

He took another breath of fresh air and turned and headed back inside, after making his way through a catacomb of hallways he found himself in the situation room, which Was really just a steel table with a large map strewn across with oil lamps illuminating the area. Gathered around the table were several older members of the 'Old Guard', most of which had been part of the 'Oathkeepers' pre-collapse but there were a few who'd risen to the occasion post collapse. Frontiersmen, Police Commissioners and former Army and Marine Officers were present in the room.

Williams took a flask filled with the god awful Shine that they brewed in the surrounding area and took a drink, cringing as it slid back into his throat. The stuff was god awful but it was the only thing they had.

"First order of business' Williams took another drink, grimacing.

"We need to re-evaluate the situation on the river, While raiders have been suppressed largely throughout the region, They aren't the primary source of concern." A Grizzled Woodsmen named Hawkeye with a rather impressive bread started.

The man absolutely reeked something special, but then again, everyone did.

"Currently my River Guards have increased patrols along the Columbia river 20%, And have looked at increasing Guard shifts at the check points by 20% as well. The issue is, unless we can increase our total numbers, we're not going to be able to sustain this type of activity for more than a few weeks." The Woodsmen finished,

There was some murmuring from the various men assembled in the room .

"Well, We can increase carrying capacity here, Maybe increase recruitment by twenty or thirty personnel. Anything more we can't really sustain." Commissioner Norman said stroking his beard.

"thirty men? We know that isn't going to be enough." Hawkeye stated bluntly. There was a slight pause before he continued. "Is there anyway we can speed up training, or perhaps change the screening process?"

There was another few moments of deep silence.

A voice, that often didn't speak, cut through the silence. The man who spoke, was feared, and renown in equal measure. His crowning achievement was during what would later be called 'The Great Cull', or at least that's what those in the Cage called it. Was the first military action conducted on a large scale by the Republic to purge the various Raider groups in the region. The brutality involved was something that everyone knew about, but never discussed. Heavy boots padded loudly on the concrete floor as he strode forward. His faded and threadbare Multi-Cam fatigue pants bloused crisply in the tops. As his hulking frame came into view everyone could see thick bands of scars crossing the man's bare arms .

"Captain Aurelius. you have something to say?" Colonel Williams asked before he took another swig.

The Captain had been a Construction worker prior to the collapse, A construction worker who, Had, at the time, Bought very highly into the radical right ideology. As his tough and gritted face came into view everyone could easily identify the twin distinctive SS lighting bolts tattooed on his neck. His shaved head shining brightly in the lamp light.

Everyone despised the man, deeply. But unfortunately, With the way times had changed, There was need for a man of his particular skills. So, with that, they tolerated him. It didn't help that the majority of the 'Old Guard' didn't strictly support his ideals, But supported him immensely as a commander.

Captain Aurelius leaned on the table for a moment before speaking.

"Allow me to take a Company of Dragoons down to the river, We wouldn't directly be involved with river operations but would patrol the surrounding area in force and ensure that Smugglers are properly.... taken care of.." Aurelius finished, there was a sickening amount of thought in the man's last statement, as if he was savoring a rib eye.

"Colonel! You can't just release the Hounds over a situation such as this!" Hawkeye protested loudly, Everyone else in the room silently agreed.

At the corner of the Table Aurelius chuckled a little bit snidely responding quickly

"It's this Hound that did the Job you couldn't while you were sniveling away in a cave somewhere"

"You Sonofa-" Hawkeye was cut off abruptly.

"GENTLEMEN." Colonel Williams interrupted. Silence drew over the room and both men averted their eyes to focus their attention on him.

"Captain Aurelius WILL take his Dragoons out. However they will not be patrolling the river." Williams paused before continuing.

"Aurelius will be taking a Company to Checkpoint Charlie, and then travel West along 84 to the Vista House area. We need to establish an Outpost on the exterior of Portland. Bear in mind this will only be a temporary assignment, Other Units of the River Guard, once they're raised will relieve you. In a month or so we should have a Platoon sized element there to relieve you.."

The air of the room changed dramatically.

"Understood Sir, When do we leave?" Aurelius asked formally.

"The end of this week, Ready your men."

The meeting concluded The men left to go their separate ways.

Hawkeye breathed deeply

I fucking hate Nazi's

[Corsaiir]

Port Graham - Small Council
Graham Empire

King Nicolaas stands by a map of the pacific coast resting on a large table. There is a strong smell is fish, tar, and whale oil lamps in the air. He looks up at his aides he has gathered to him today for this meeting. Admiral Roy the head of the entire main fleet, rescued from a Canadian coast guard ship 8 years ago. Anita, a small framed lady with oriental heritage from Kitimat. Used as the main diplomat and envoy for foreign relations. Walter, the head of the main land cities. Caroline runs internal relations and Matt runs the ship builders guild and the economic fleet. "I've brought together this small council today to discuss with you what I want to accomplish and its priority. First off, tell me how the events from last meeting are coming along." Nicolaas looks at Roy and nods.

Roy: "The raids on anchorage went well m'lord, the city is empty and good for the picking, we brought back dozens of chest and barrels full of precious metals, steel, glass, oil, and other goods left in the city. Whatever population lives there still knows our sails and didn't show themselves while we were there. We lost 2 men to traps and another 3 to bears. The bear population is growing out of control up there. The ships sent to scout the reports of a feeble nation living in the city of Juneau and the Admiralty Island should be arriving within the next day or two to give news after stopping on Wales Island for supplies."

Nico: "That's good to hear, we will need our ships back here soon if we are to continue with our operation in Washington in Oregon. Anita what do you have for me on that?"

Anita: "According to our sources the nation on Vancouver Island is strong but I don't believe they could defend themselves from us if we cared to attack. But while that's the case if we do it will make reaching the much richer California and Oregon more difficult for us. I think it would be best to leave them alone for now. When our spies hear about conflict in the land that's when we should hit. The nations in Oregon and Washington are poor and unimportant there are some interesting nations popping up along the coast, including a cult who showed great interest in us. The more established nations farther inland would probably be great-full of a strong navy ally if you are interested. The Nations of California are foolish and full of conflict and fighting. There is nothing there for us other than loot m'lord."

Nico: "Good if we want to set up a port on the coast of Washington we might need to make friends with one of the small nations growing there. We will be expanding along the coast of the pacific soon. There is Vancouver Island to our south but no one of importance to our north. Caroline I want you to start setting up a colonization effort for Baranof Island and Aberdeen in Washington. Work with Anita and Roy to set up a smart and defendable supply port. Walter and Matt keep working together to pump out the ships. We need more and bigger ships if we want to keep ruling the seas. And keep working on the cannon prototypes we will be needing them soon I feel. There are rumors from the mainland that reach all the way up here and something is stiring...."

[Shadowwell]

Black Hills Tribal Confederation

Even before the Power went out, the Black hills area was known for its wildlife and ranching. The State of South Dakota had over 4 head of cattle per person in the state. Nebraska to the south had nearly double the amount of cattle total, at over 6,000,000 head, but the cattle per person, was still a higher ration in South Dakota. This was of course before the Power went out, though many cattle died initially, and their population is slightly culled during the winter, in some areas, feral cattle run rampant. Though it had not been long, objectively, the recent generations of Cattle for the Black Hills have had problems.

Normally they would change the breeding stock, so to speak every several generations, for both a resting period and to lessen the chance of any inbreeding or defects to develop. Unfortunately, in the initial chaos a good portion of the cattle around Keystone and the other areas in the Black Hills were hit just as much as the human population centers were. The worst part was, that even in the chaos, there was some respect towards human life, but there was none towards the lives of the cows. Some raiders would cull an entire herd, just to remove an obstacle or for sport and let the meat go to waste.

KR Ranch, Keystone, Rush City

Currently, there was a meeting going on at one of the main ranches located around Rush City. It involved the operator of the ranch as well as higher ups from the main factions of the Confederation. The first to speak was Robert Donovan, the man who owned and operated the place, well eh owned it before. He was shorter than average, but had a deep tan and spoke with a classic widwestern twang to is voice. “Gentlemen, unfortunately what I feared initially has happened, the breeding stock has become too close, genetically, this was due in part to losing some of our other stock to illness and disease.”

He paused for a moment before he continued. “Though I have been bringing in stock from Belle Fourche when I can, I am afraid that it won’t be enough, especially since I believe that the other ranches will be experiencing this same problem soon enough.” As he finished, the representative from the Lakota, a younger man, called Hanska spoke up. “What you speak of is indeed troubling, but for right now, it should be fine, we-“ He was interrupted by one of the other men present, the representative from the Deadwood Cowboys.

He was a taller lanky man who had a deep southern twang, that was accomplished with practice, he went by the name, James Rogers. “Now, I think that we should at least put a outpost up over there by Belle Fourche, with those Raiders attacking Rapid City more and more, I believe it would be best if we at least kept an eye on the area. We wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to our potential food supply, now would we?” The last words were said while tinged with a mocking disdain. Hanska merely nodded and the meeting ended soon afterwards, with a decision being made and put into motion.

Rapid City Ruins

Within the ruins of Rapid City, once the most populous city in the region, and the western half of the state, a skirmish was happening. This was merely the most recent of many skirmishes. The Steamboat Raiders, which is what the locals called them, had been taking advantage of the ‘Dakota Dream’s’ absence to make a move on Rapid city. A heavily built man armed with a rifle ducked down as an arrow shattered the remnants of a window pane next to his head. “Damned Raiders.” The man muttered as a few other arrows and one bullet flew over his head, keeping him pinned.

He was a member of the Black Hills Bikers, there were usually a handful of them in the urban areas, to act as scouts. As the arrows died down, the man moved into a crouch as he peered over the window. He swiftly took aim and- “Bang”, a raider collapsed as his head jerked back. Unfortunately the largely built biker was unable to duck down fast enough as an arrow pegged him in the shoulder, he went down clutching it. The Raiders kept him suppressed as a few others moved around to flank his position. They paused as the roaring sounds of bikes and whooping could be heard approaching.

The Raiders scattered swiftly, not wanting to risk their limited members against a larger force. As the raiders scattered, 5 bikers rolled into the city, with their cycles roaring. As they died down, they swiftly dismounted and headed towards where the Large man was. “Bear.” one of them called out their companions handle, “You alright?” The large man Bear, pulled himself upright and answered as they made their way to him. “Yeah, no worse than usual, one of them tagged me in the shoulder. You get the message back alright Digger?”

The other man nodded before speaking himself. “Yeah, Jo Jo stayed behind to deliver the message to the Cowboy Camp, let’s hope they get here before those bastards realize it was just a few of us. First let’s get your arm looked at.” As Digger spoke one of the others approached with what amounted to a first aid kit in this crazy world. They pulled out a blade and cut the shaft of the arrow, thankfully, the Raiders did not have a large amount of Barbed arrows, most likely only what was found from a Sporting goods store.