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“My fellows…”

The powerful voice of Josiah filled the great cavern within Kettler Mine. They all were shoulder to shoulder looking up at him, “they” being his people. Or his “fellows” as Josiah preferred to address them. Josiah - founder of Havenwood - stood high on his balcony above the assembled mass of mutants and humans, the denizens of the rugged Havenwood. Those who were cast away by the rest of the world and just wished to live in peace. Those who were willing to defend and even die for their new home here within the heart of the forest. Those who followed the word of Josiah near religiously and looked to him for answers and guidance when it was most needed. And as of late the men and women and mutants of Havenwood were in need of much guidance.

”It has been… many weeks… since the tragedy at Rafeton…” Josiah said firmly, the very room temperature dropping it seemed at the mention of the bloody massacre committed by the Republic Guard of the NRS just months ago. ”We lost six of our own as you all know… and the good people of Rafeton were slaughtered without mercy. Those good people that had come to welcome us.”

There were discontented grumbles that rose up from the crowd but with a gentle wave of his right hand the white-clad Josiah silenced them so he could continue.

”I know that there is sorrow in your hearts. I know that rage wells in your veins and boils your blood. But I ask that you, good folk of Havenwood, still yourselves and remember the way of our community. What I have always asked of you in return for your trust in me. I have heard… rumblings amongst you. Talk of revenge, plots to make the New Republic suffer for what they have done.”

“And what they continue to do even now!” someone immediately bellowed out among the crowd causing a mixed stir among the gathering, some shouted out things like “Shut up!” and “Let Brother Josiah speak!” while others shouted things like “Enough is enough!” and “We’ll never be safe!”

There was a sudden slam which immediately silenced everyone, all eyes looking back up at Josiah who had pounded his fist onto the metal railing before him.



The golden orbs of Josiah’s eyes seemed to pulsate threateningly within the confines of his white veil which sent a chill through many that stood below. Josiah said nothing for a moment, still as a statue and silent. Deliberately cultivating an uncomfortable silence in the crowded cavern before finally continuing - lowering his fist back at his side.

“I tell you now Havenwood, my kin and my friends, war is not the answer. War… is not… the answer.” Josiah repeated the simple phrase with more emphasis on the second time. “We cannot fight the New Republic, their army, and we cannot risk exposing ourselves to the world. What happened at Rafeton was a tragedy to say the very least and I do not wish to see it repeated nor any more of our people perish.”

“Then what do we do?” Exclaimed a green-skinned female mutant, her arms out. “We cannot stay hidden here forever, Brother Josiah, the Republic and those accursed Blackwatch draw closer every year. You yourself know it is true!”

Josiah stiffened as several others shouted in support for the mutant woman while again others called for silence so that Josiah might share his wisdom. Josiah did not strike the railing this time, rather he simply stood and stared down, allowing the crowd to calm itself after a few moments of bickering.

“I know what we must do.” Josiah proclaimed, raising both his arms - a heavy silence immediately gripping the room as everyone waited to hear what their founders’ grand solution for their growing problems were.

---

The afternoon sun rose high over Sully’s Rest - a humble trading post that sat upon Highway Three. It was a particularly baking hot late summer day, the fifth in a row in fact. As if nature was intent on pouring all of the sun’s fury into the final breaths of the mid year season before fall came. The trading post was lively today, without a doubt travelers were flocking in to relieve themselves of the scorching heat for a spell. The usual sounds filled the air; words of haggling that floated around the front gate and the general store, the telltale metal bangs and buzzing of power tools from Tony’s Repair, and the gentle clinks of silverware against plates at Stella’s Dine-Out. Stella herself, a young woman who had taken over the Dine-Out from her father, had just put on a gentle track in her portable music player. Up on the rickety wooden and tin ramparts nearby the handful of watchmen enjoyed the pleasing strums of the guitar and violin from below as they scanned the distant horizon, their rifles firmly gripped in their hands.

“Hey, Pete!”

Pete the lead watchman, a weathered man well in his forties, looked over his shoulder down below. Having just served everyone lined up at her counter Stella had stepped outside of the old shack that served as her kitchen and called up to Pete, idly wringing a tablecloth in her delicate pale hands.

“How’s it looking out there?” Stella asked.

“If I see something you’ll all know!” Pete yelled down, his ratty black beard twisting up with his smirk.

The young Stella nodded and walked back to her shack, casting a gaze around as she turned the corner back around behind the counter. She noticed that there were quite a few newcomers in Sully’s Rest today - or rather unique newcomers. And several of them seemed to be quite heavily armed. Of course this was nothing out of the ordinary, wastelanders and drifters had to be prepared given what was out there. Even so, there was something about a few of these people that had the young cook curious. Such as the motley-looking gun-hand with brown hair, and the scarred up man with dark hair and cybernetic implants of some sort. Was it curiosity or was it caution however that had her eyeing these people so? Stella finally shrugged to herself and returned to the deep fryer. All sorts of people had come and gone from here ever since she was a child, from vigilante gunfighters to taciturn NRS patrolmen. It was just part of living at a roadside post like Sully’s Rest. So why did Stella have a feeling that something was so off? That something was not right in the moment?

It must just be this heat.

Rory Arcadia

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Sully's Rest

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{{ informational: the individual at 10 o'clock has spent significantly more time observing you than she has other individuals in the area. }}

Rory rolled his eyes and shoveled a hearty bite of stew into his mouth. It was the first meal he'd had in a minute that was more substantial than nuts, berries, and bits of campfire-roasted meat; as much as he wanted to just shove his face into the plate and lick it clean, he forced himself to take his time and eat properly. This place--Sully's Rest, they called it--was the largest settlement he had encountered since he'd set out for Ardhelm, and if he played his cards right, it could present him with opportunities he'd be foolish not to take advantage of. Opportunities that might not be offered if everyone saw him going at his meal like the starved dog he was. It was a small advantage, but life had taught him that a small advantage was nothing to turn your nose up at.

Plus, it would be a shame to cross the mutant infested wastes only to die here, choking on a bit of stew-meat, because he forgot to chew.

Looking up, he spotted Stella at the fryer, just where the AI had indicated. Of course she's watching me. I'm a stranger, and armed besides.

{{ informational, addendum: at least five other individuals in the immediate vicinity possess visible firearms. out of those, the amount of time that individual has spent observing you is a statistical outlier. }}

Rory didn't have a comeback for that. While he chewed on that thought he realized he ought to say something instead of just stare at the diner's proprietor, so he waved at Stella and pointed at his plate. "Hey, Stella! I dunno what you put in it, but the food's delicious!" He gave her a smile and a thumbs up before turning back to his meal.

The heat of the day was stifling, and under the shade of the diner's awning Rory had opted to remove his coat. Normally the additional layer was a small price to pay for keeping the frying sun from burning him to a crisp; here, he let the sweat do its best to keep him cool. The main problem with that at the moment was that his jacket's wide collar was good not only for keeping his neck unburnt, but for hiding where he was looking. He did his best, though--bending down to the plate in an apparently clumsy effort to transfer a piece of meat to his mouth via the bits of flatbread he had been given, hiding his roving gaze with one arm.

Okay, am I the only one she's watching like that?

{{ processing query... response: there is another individual whom she has been observing with the same frequency, at your three o'clock. }}

Rory swallowed the mouthful of bread and stew, then sat straight upright and stretched in his seat, hands reaching to the sky. He rolled his head around, working out the pains in his neck and shoulders, and--more importantly--catching a glimpse of the man the AI had pointed out to him.

Oh, well, yeah. I can see why she's keeping an eye on him. He was certainly something to look at. Some kind of mutant. Not the feral kind, clearly, but definitely not baseline human. Tough looking customer. Rory took the opportunity to glance at the other patrons, and he didn't need any artificial intelligence to tell him that Stella wasn't the only one with her eye on the man. Guess I'm not the only one that thinks so.

The young man made a snap decision; as he lowered his hands and finished his stretch, he turned and took a long look at the whole settlement, as if he were just now deciding to take it all in. As his gaze moved over the greenish mutant--as naturally as he could, as if he had just spotted him while looking around--Rory paused for a second, met the man's eyes, then gave him a smile and a small salute before finishing his circuit and turning back to his meal.

{{ analysis, social: associating yourself with that individual might cause issues for your ability to integrate yourself into this social group. }}

Stick to counting how many times the cook looks at me. I know what I'm doing.

Text Color: FF00FF
Location: Havenwood

---

Havenwood, noted Nine, was unlike the bunker. True, it was underground, at least away from that hot sun, but nobody here wanted to dissect her for being short.

And they all called her Nine because of the laser tattoos on her upper arms, instead of Epsilon 9-00FF66. Not that she saw any people dressed like her, in her faded servitor uniform, so she was unlikely to be confused with another.

But despite her planning, she'd left in such a rush that she hadn't completed her kit. She had body armor but no helmet to protect her head. No first aid kit. No winding or solar charger. Only three boxes of shells, and nothing in the way of trade goods - not even the ration bars. She wondered if she got the batch made with artificial sawdust?

Still, Nine could offer her labor, and that got her some outside world food. It didn't look much like what they would serve in the bunker, or even tasted like it, but the analyzer wand gave it a green light. If only she had one of those fancy armbands with the buttons like the Alphas or Betas had, then it could tell her what was in the bowls. But the bunker would be able to trace that.

If she was going to dream, a robotic mule would have been nice to carry everything as well - but the Alphas could order it recalled and take away her trade goods, if she had any, so instead she had this backpack to haul everything in. Weird how none of the literature had warned her how heavy the pack would get on her shoulders, or the osmosis canteen. At least Nine had a stick of sunscreen - and she'd found her way here.

But the outside world had its own threats, it seemed.

"Who are these 'New Republic' people?" she whispered to the person next to her. "Why do they kill people?"

Nine had killed before, but only when necessary. Did these New Republicans think they could simply get away with murder? Would that make them sociopaths?

The books she had read had suggested she could be a psychopath. If she had the opportunity, she should study these New Republicans from a healthy distance.

”Ah, shit.”

Johnny blinked sand out of his eyes, kicked up as the Striders swerved off Highway Three and into the dunes on the horizon. There was a hill between here and there, it was about as far as the Striders would reasonably take him. He sure as shit wasn’t walking that far, so it was worth the cash. He checked his compass and took off.

Traveling through the desert on foot was a dangerous thing. Back in the old days, they had these things called “firefighters.” They ran into burning places and saved people, rarely ever dying because they were so good at it. Johnny walking through a desert on an area full of bandits and the occasional mutant-hating shithead was like one of those firefighters of days past. He liked danger. That shit didn’t scare him.

The sun beat down and cast wavy mirages across the houses. Sully’s Rest was a trading post, the sort of place people didn’t shoot up because then it would be on people like Johnny to clean up the culprits. The old man reached into his satchel and rearranged a few things. There was a badge he’d knicked off his latest target, a man who’d been a Republic guard but went off the deep end for reasons Johnny really didn’t give much of a shit about. They wanted the guy dead, not alive.

He made sure that was at the very bottom of his things.

And then the old mutant strolled through Sully’s Rest like he’d bought the place and named it Johnny’s Coffin. He’d been through here more times than he could count, and every time he walked in, there was always some punk who sneered at his green skin and the fact that he looked like he crawled out of the ground. The occasional techie stopping in to strike out for the ruined out east, a few Striders brave enough to be this close to civilization, maybe even that Pete kid would shoot him.

He got a few of those looks today, just like any other day.

”Ain’t got nothin’ for none’a you,” Johnny rasped at a shopkeeper who didn’t like him. ”Wheel that ass’a yours indoors, boy.”

He got a middle finger in return, and took a left for the Dine-Out, where the food was actually worth a damn. There really were a lot of people out this way today. The Highway must’ve been backed up, he figured.

The door swung open, and he reached for his chips. Lots of people didn’t like mutants, but money was still money, and he was a fair tipper when someone didn’t poison a plate of food. Good food was always something to take seriously out in these parts.

”Mornin’ sunshine,” he croaked, grabbing a seat up front. Johnny sat down a generous stack of Republic chips. ”Lemme have a sand worm stew, keep the change.”

Maverick Breaker

https://imgur.com/a/RhC1Bs9
Havenwood

---

Maverick woke up in one of the many empty booths of the bar in Havenwood, He groggily looked around trying to look for the bartender. "Hey, anyone here?... God, I need a drink..." He looked around the bar one more time and realized that no one was there. Maverick sighed and stood up from the messy booth, he proceeded to walk away from the bar area and saw the crowd that was listening to Josiah.

Maverick walked into the crowd with one hand in his pocket and and another hand holding a handmade cigarette, he looked around to see the many shapes and sizes of the residents in the crowd. Mutants never really bothered Maverick, They reminded him of the mutants that were with the Roaches. Maverick put the cigarette in his mouth then began to fidget with the cross necklace that was on his neck, thinking about the Roaches in anyway always made him think about Duster.

As he was lost in thought, a voice whispered to him. "Who are these 'New Republic' people?" "Why do they kill people?" Maverick looked down at the woman. The New Republic made him think about Duster even more. He blew the smoke from his mouth and shakily spoke. "Can't really say I know their whole 'agenda'..." He whispered. "But I know they're nothing but bad news... Speaking from my own experience, just stay away from them." He firmly gripped the necklace one more time and finally let go. He felt like he needed a drink more than ever right now.

Adrian Jackson Steele had never before been so glad to see civilization. The sensation he experienced must not have been too much unlike that experienced by old mariners when they finally spotted land after months at sea. Finally, the trying journey was nearing its end, and he would finally be able to rest comfortably.

Perhaps he was exaggerating, for at least AJ, as he was better known as, at least had a guide this time. The only thing worse than a grueling trek through the desert is getting lost in a desert, and that had nearly happened to AJ toward the end of the prior year; he had felt pretty much the same way then when he had finally stumbled onto civilization.

On the other hand, there was something to be said about how atrocious travelling the desert in the summer could be. AJ had done it before, but in times past he had been with friends or family who had helped him through it. This time around, he was a lone drifter travelling with a caravan. He had attempted to befriend a few of the caravan guards and travelling merchants, but at most he had earned a few chips and meals for his efforts. None of these people had expected him to stay, and he had been an outsider the whole journey. They weren’t bad people, but AJ would not miss their company either.

So it was that AJ arrived at Sully’s Rest worn, tired, hungry, dirty, parched, sunbaked, nearly penniless, and no doubt stinking to high heaven as well. With any luck he could use what chips he had left to rectify some of those conditions, and from there, he could get a job that would earn him enough chips to live another day.

After passing through the gates to Sully’s Rest and saying goodbyes to his late travelling companions, AJ made his way to the general store, where he was greeted by a homely middle aged man behind a counter, who noticeably wrinkled his nose as AJ approached. Yep, he definitely needed to do something about the smell.

“So, uh, I’m new in town, obviously,” AJ stammered. “Do you know where I can get a bath and food?”

“The Inn that the traders stay at has lodging, food, and baths, although if you want a more filling meal, you might want to try Stella’s Dine-Out,” the merchant replied.

“I see, and how much does a night at the Inn cost?” AJ inquired.

“Well, I haven’t had to stay there recently, mind you, but I do recall one of my customers griping about the place price gouging. I think I heard him say it cost him forty chips.”

AJ counted his chips. “Shit… um, that will be a problem. Say, do you happen to need help with anything that you might be able to, um, pay me to do.”

“I don’t need no protection. Bessie,” the merchant gestured toward a shotgun on the wall,” and the town guards are enough protection for me and my establishment.”

“Oh no, I didn’t mean like that. I uh, I used to be a scavver by trade. I don’t have any good salvage on me right now, but, um, if you happen to have any salvage here, I guess I could appraise it for you.”

The merchant studied AJ for a few moments, then pulled out a screw driver from behind his desk and asked, “alright, how much do you think this is worth?”

“Old world, standardized phillips head screwdriver… Not too much rust, although with the right cleaner, you might be able to get more luster out of this. All in all, it's a pretty good quality tool. I’d sell it for about 10 chips as is, with a nice shine I think you could sell it for 15,” AJ answered.

The merchant nodded approvingly. He quizzed AJ on a few other items and seemed suitably impressed with AJ’s responses. “Alright, I’ll make up a list of items I want you to go through, and I will pay when it's done. In the meantime, you can use my tub. I don’t want you scaring away my customers. And don’t try nothing. I know my stuff. If something goes missing, I’ll notice, and I’ll let the guard know you have it.”

“Understood, thank you so much for this opportunity Mister…”

“Jacobs,” the merchant replied, sticking out a hand. And yours…”

“AJ. Pleasure to meet you, Mister Jacobs.”

Mister Jacobs guided AJ to his bathroom and showed him where his soaps were (and asked him not to use too much). AJ filled up the tub, took a quick bath, and subsequently felt like a million chips. There is nothing quite like a good bath after one has become utterly disgusting. After emptying the now filthy bath. AJ returned to the merchant, who handed him a list, a pencil, and a notebook, and then showed AJ where the stock he wanted him to review was. AJ then spent the rest of the morning reviewing salvaged goods and writing up his analysis on their value. He still had a ways to go as noon rolled around, and his stomach growled angrily to remind him that he hadn’t eaten at all that day. As he stood up, he felt light headed, reminding him that he hadn’t had anything to drink either. Seeing a customer departing, AJ approached Mister Jacobs, who was muttering something about ‘damned mutants’. “Would it be okay if I take a lunch break?” he asked.

Mister Jacobs took his list and nodded appraisingly. “Good work AJ,” he handed him a few chips. “There are more to be had when you get through the rest of the list. Stella’s Diner is just around the corner from here. You can’t miss it.”

“I appreciate it chief,” AJ snatched the chips. “I’ll be back. Thanks again for the job.”

Mister Jacobs had been right about the diner being easy to find; there wasn’t all that much competition, and at this time of day, the place was pretty busy. AJ got in line to place an order, and after asking for something that sounded edible, he found a small unoccupied table and made himself comfortable. He was very much looking forward to his water arriving. He would have to be careful to pace himself. Out here, he doubted they did free refills, so he would need to make it last.

As he waited, he scanned the room. There were several looking eclectic folks in the establishment. One guy was clearly a mutant. AJ hadn’t had too many interactions with mutants. He knew that a lot of people didn’t like them, but he hadn’t found any reason to dislike them himself yet. In some ways he felt like he could empathize with them regarding being discriminated against because of how they looked, although they likely got it even worse than he did.

Another guy had a weird looking eye. At first AJ thought it might be a cybernetic implant of some sort (he’d known a dude with one of those) but before he could get a good look, the man turned away. It occurred to AJ that the eye could just be a filler glass eye or something if the man had lost his eye somehow, although he would have thought that a simple patch would meet the same purpose and would doubtlessly be cheaper. Who knew? It wasn’t his business…

Text Color: FF00FF
Location: Havenwood
Participants: @Mav99 - Maverick; Expendable - Nine, Nanny Jo.

---

"Thank you," Nine replied, the corners of her mouth ever so slightly drooping as she took in Maverick's appearance. "You don't look well, would you like to..."

"Nine!" screech Nanny Jo, sticking her head out of the curtain from her shelter and waving her cane. It had a strange "L" shape, with a separate room jutting outwards that her treatment room. "Nine! Come fetch the stew!"

"Excuse me," Nine said, glancing back at Maverick. "My supervisor needs me."

Trotting over, she accepted the oven mitts that Nanny Jo provided and stepped inside. An ancient pot-belly stove held a large pot of bubbling gravy, 'elephant meat', root vegetables, and a handful of herbs and spices that Nanny Jo had on hand.

"Just take that out and refill the pot, the lunch rush will be soon."
"Yes, Nanny Jo," Nine replied, slipping on the quilted oven mitts and carefully taking the heavy pot down, letting it sit on the stone floor before hoisting it up again and carrying it out holding the bail in her right hand. Raising it up to the lip of the half-empty cauldron, she carefully tipped the pot with her other gloved hand and watch carefully as the stew poured out.