Hi there! You must be new. Don’t be alarmed – we are but simple traders trying to make an honest living out in the wastes. You need some oddsa and ends? Some bobs? Some bits? We have both bric and brac, all for sale. Lowest prices in town (although admittedly that’s largely because everyone else got shot)! But I forget myself. Where are my manners? Let me introduce you to the crew.
Steve is a caravan guard. Old guard, even – Steve’s seen it all, and has no time for any nonsense. Anywhere there’s a hint of a fight, he’ll be hurling himself into the fray with his shotgun blazing. Always the first to voice dissent with the group, he’s perpetually on the cusp of storming out in a strop. Steve lost his eye in a fight with his nemesis, a former partner in crime. It’ll inevitably come up one day as part of his subplot, so please be sure to ask him about it so that he can gruffly refuse to say anything. Foreshadowing isn’t easy to come by out here.
Cass is the newest member of the group, and though she’s not much of a fighter and can’t haggle worth a damn, she’s … uh. Well. Look, she’s half naked most of the time, and a man has needs. Nobody’s even quite sure where she came from exactly, but the important thing is half naked.
Charlie here is your go-to guy. You want something done, you just point it out to Charlie and he’ll head straight over there and do it. Admittedly, I use ‘do’ here as a synonym for ‘mindlessly incinerate’, but tell me, have you ever come across a problem that fire couldn’t solve? Exactly. Charlie’s character arc is that he’s a black man, which countless movies have informed me means he doesn’t need a character arc. Or character, for that matter.
Dean is the young up and comer, anxious to prove himself. He’s the rear guard of the convoy, always keeping a sharp eye out for trouble. A little naive and idealistic, and he and Steve clash all the time, not least over the affections of Cass (although Steve would never admit it, obviously), Dean likes to think of himself as the moral compass of the group. He’ll get us all into some terrible scrape sooner or later while trying to prove himself to Wolfgang and/or get in Cass’s pants, but what can you do?
“Crazy” Wolfgang, our glorious leader. His two or three recorded lines may tire fast, and he may sound identical to a good 20% of the world’s population, but don’t go thinking he’s just some nobody with a stupid name. Oh, no.
Wolfgang leads the way, closely followed by his loyal crew, for whom he’d fight to the death, especially his beloved brahmin. Oh, you don’t want to even joke about hurting his brahmin.
And last, but by no means least, are Erm ‘n Trude, our pack brahmin. Poor Erm took a knock on the head a long while back and has been slow and a little panicky since, but the other head, Trude, more than picks up the slack. They carry our cargo through the roughest, driest, deadliest terrain you can think of, and they’ve never let us down yet.
So that’s us. Risking our lives for junk? Yep. Filling even the lowliest molerat with enough ordnance to bankrupt a continent in the name of protecting five caps’ worth of scrap metal? You betcha. Occasionally messing up our pathfinding and walking into a wall for seventeen hours? Damn straight. That’s our bag, baby. You can keep your fancy armour and your high-falutin’ laser guns. We deal only with the humble, the obscure, the almost assuredly useless items, because nobody else does.
Crazy? No no. You’ve got it all backwards. We are simply going sane in a crazy world.