aw, come’on. if’n you want to post a pic of my darlin’ you’d best get her from the business end.
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Probably a lot of cannibals and zombies are going to get a good close-up of that grille in the coming days.
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Jeez, Mike Jack, I’d have thought you would have kept a souvenir from your old ride.
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I thought it’d look like this.
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That would be the Western Star 4800. Close but no cigar. Western Star even used some of the same factories as Freightliner and ended up a division of Daimler Chrysler same as Freightliner.
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Well… I was through Albuquerque a while back, and I found me a little baggy filled with some blue crystals…
I don’t rightly know 'xactly what it is, but I’ve heard tell of some legends, from back before the Ba dness Br oke. Anyhow, we can prolly use it as bait, even if it’s just rock candy.
So now we need a scout to zip through Riverside as fast as he can blaring Willie Nelson’s greatest hits as loud as his stereo will go, dump a couple of jugs of moonshine, and maybe a few two liters of Mountain Dew about five miles North of our route and sprinkle the rock out on the ground around the beverages. It will take them at least an extra half hour to make sure they hunted down all the crystals.
That should give the mule plenty of time to get through Riverside.
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Niiice.
So where was that GoPro footage taken? It wasn’t the US or the UK. France?
I think it was Germany.
Twenty Drivers we have at the moment… yes, we’re lookin’ fine indeed. Cougar won’t ever let it show, but I can tell she’s pleased. Whether through old loyalties, young thirst for adventure, or the sheer timeless lust for profits and bloodshed, a score of Drivers have answered our call and now descend from the three corners of the state upon this forgotten and misbegotten stain on the conscience of the County of Orange.
You lot probably haven’t been in this neighborhood since Chelsea’s jilted wooers brought the dullest and heaviest hammers of their wrath down on the population centers of this land, but you’ll find an odd and (some might say) spooky familiarity in these streets. Some unknown force seems to have protected the streets and structures of what our better-bred parents called Huntington Beach. The neighborhood looks uncannily brand-new, like it’s just been freed from the carton and shrink-wrap and it’s just waiting for its denizens to move in.
Denizens, not citizens. The first thing you’ll notice is the deafening quiet. Not a single multicelled life form can be found within the borders of the Bitch. We don’t know why… but I’m convinced we’re about to find out. Cougar won’t talk about it yet, but I know she knows something.
She and Stark had a… history.
Make your way here with all speed, but don’t expect a welcoming party with donuts and scorpion-ichor wine. Be on your guard as you cross into the Bitch.
We will not be welcome.
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[Hollywood]
The vehicle looked unlike anything Rane had ever seen before and that’s why he recognized it . . . Mad Morton’s Mechanical Monstrosity. They said it gave you a headache if you looked at it too long.
Rane knew from experience this was true, but he was a curious boy and stared anyway. He was able to make out enough that, in combination with his past glances, enabled him to piece together some idea what probably was going on underneath. His eyes immediately started to water, but his brain gave him something like this. . .
He was pretty sure that wasn’t quite right, and that the wheels were a lot bigger. He didn’t even think they were the same size, but he didn’t push his mental luck too far.
The problem was that Morton collects things. . . all of the things, sometimes things that make no sense, sometimes obvious weapons or tools. He uses his car like one of those creepy ant-hunting assassin bugs, sticking whatever bits he wants right to the body in configurations that were inevitably less than aesthetically pleasing.
At the moment there was a large collection of industrial sized pistons on the front clustered together like some old thorny mine with the sides and top covered with several industrial sized rolls of wrapping plastic on strange mechanical spindles . . . he could make out some nozzles between them. It didn’t help.
As the lumbering beast slowed to a stop he realized it was a little larger than he thought at first and to his horror that he had stopped in the middle of the street, gawking.
An awkwardly high pitched voice boomed from a speaker somewhere. “I am beginning a journey! Do not interfere. I have improved ferret technology!”
Rane squealed like a girl and ran, stopping only when he was sure he could neither hear the rumbling of the vehicle nor the cheerful singsong voices of those little monsters when they hunted.
No, not hunted, that wasn’t right. Pursued.
Rane finally realized he was safe. Morton had hardly noticed him . . . but he’d seen what happened when a ganger tried to attack the shy little man who hid in that shell. It wasn’t the sort of thing somebody ever, ever forgot.
He fell to the ground, sobbing in relief.
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Right then, while you lot have been napping, I’ve been taking in the sites! Caught this rotten thing picking its teeth with a whirlybird -
No sign of survivors, must’ve tipped 'em out and had lunch. Gave him a sermon and scarpered before his mates showed up! Ha! Mind you, he didn’t seem to listen much.
I’m feeling a little light on the Engineering side; wondered if any of you fine mechanics would, eh, step in and help me fix things up a little when we get to the City of Expanding Horizons (bet that’s bloody right - everything expands with a bit of the old fissile!)
Much obliged. Eyes and ears, mowing things down, that sort of thing, quid pro quo, y’know!
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I’m right embarrassed that I don’t have proper ornamentation on the front. Feels like I’m running naked.
Though if by chance we make it through Riverside without waking any of the Monster Trucks, then I suppose I’ll have enough time to stop off at 18001 Yorba Linda Blvd to pick up a little something.
It IS along the way.
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Haha. Perfect. A little Nixon-themed decor would really spice up your truck.
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OCC: Sorry, spaced off the 8pm deadline. If I can still get in I guess I’ll brave the zombies.
The signal was faint, but clear. Looks like something was going down in Huntington Beach. I shouldn’t go. It’s safe here. I haven’t seen anything dangerous for three months. I just finished the final touches on the paint job. The solar panels get some decent sunlight up here in the mountains.
Ah, fuck it. It’s only life. Surviving isn’t the same as living. Besides, Simon is getting restless.
Jacky Blacque - Apollo 69 - Mechanic
Mission 1: Zombie Bash
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You think a badass dragon of the wasteland cares about deadlines?
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If Cougar tells you do do something, you’d better do it on time. You don’t want to see her angry.
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I’ll take mission 3 and present myself later.
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Bertie Gomez, here, in his 1955 Wagoneer, slightly modified, of course.
¿Qué onda?
Though I’m a recent OC arrival, I can vouch for both, and I owe Blazer my life for getting me out of a jam.
I may be a mula, but I’m not a burro, or so I thought, till I got my wheels stuck in a tar pit that wasn’t where it was supposed to be. A pinche mutant trap by a more inspired gang of glow-heads. Kind of poetic, eh? My wheels are no longer stuck, but I think I’ll hang around a little, give Coug’ and Blaze some help, and then I’ll be on my way. Just a descansito before I head farther south for something bigger.
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Your stats have been rolled, and can be viewed here.
What is your mission selection? San Diego, Hollywood, or Riverside? See posts 1 & 2 in this thread for descriptions of these three alternatives.
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