This is a bad place. This is a very bad place.
I guess this is where the raiders like to hang out when they’re not chasing scorpions and detonating gingers. Can’t see anyone around, so I have a very quick look around and pick up a few more bullets I can’t use. Time to leave. I could do with… aha! What’s that?
A caravan? It looks like a caravan. That means trade, and more importantly, caravan guards! I hurry in their direction, and sure enough, they’re friendly. Their leader, Crazy Wolfgang, offers to trade, and I discover that the local currency is apparently bottlecaps. I’ll take that at face value for now. I trade some of my junk, spare weapons, and a little food for some caps. He has nothing useful for me, but it lightens my load, and gives me a better excuse to hang around near his armed guards.
Sure enough, we walk together right back through town, and the raiders loiter in the distance but do nothing. Cowards! I consider going back to retrieve my mines, but don’t think it worth the risk. That’s tactical sense, that, not cowardice. Shush.
With nothing but death and desolation in every direction, and no reason to stick around, I figure I should throw my lot in with these guys and see where they take me. With four heavily armed men and one almost armed woman, I should stand a much better chance of surviving long enough to figure out which end of a rifle is the Bad End.
And thus forms the beginning of a beautiful friendship. A friendship that deserves an entry all of its own. A friendship best described with liberal use of the word “badass”: