Sit down, my child, and let me tell you about life in the wasteland. Why do you look so miserable?! In my time, we respected our elders. Now, come closer, and maybe you'll learn something.
Yes, the old order was no match for today. Huge cities grew out of the sands in the desert, and marvelous technology was available to mankind at the snap of a finger. The whole world was in the palm of our hands, sometimes too much so. But all of that was changed by the Exodus and the Great War. I know you're wondering about who was involved in the war, but there's no point in uttering those godforsaken names aload. The important thing to remember is that those ancient cities are clogged with deadly machines, and our past is lost forever.
And now, well, we live in the filth and scrounge for scraps to eat. After the war, we had to go West, deeper into the desert, and as far away from the robot-infested cities as possible. We survived in the wasteland before; we're surviving now. I'm sure the damn savages didn't notice the change at all.
A lot has changed. Every settlement wants to protect itself, and bandits prowl here and there, looking to prey on the weaker ones. Vapor Wave Inc., those corporatists, are the most like the real power. They used to make condensers to extract water from the air, but now they're so important, with an army of personal mercs and all that. You'd better not cross them, or they'll put a bounty on your head. You know what happens to people like that…
What, you don't know?! The hounds will follow your trail, you little desert worm! Not that they obey anyone except their organization, temple or whatever. They say it's because they're raised as orphans and trained from childhood to track down and kill criminals, well, supposed criminals. Just thinking about it gives me the creeps.
We may have managed to get back on our feet after fifty years, but the technology of the past is lost to us forever. Yes, the Technomancers Guild pretends to know about the artifacts of the Old Men. But they can only keep the old machines afloat for so long; they can't make something new, or even copy something old. And their own creations look childish at best.
Where do they get their shiny trinkets from? In the East! The old cities, factories and warehouses are still full of working machines. And they're worth a lot of Zinkreds, I should say! But those clean-cutters don't go there themselves. Creepy beasts, deadly robots, and other gangsters inhabit the eastern lands, so only scavengers and desperate people go there.
In fifty years, everything that could be scavenged is gone. Now, every salvage trip is a dance with death, where every wrong step leads to your untimely doom. May space help these madmen.
You want to be a scavenger?! Are you bored with life, you little fool?! Listen to me, there's no such thing as an honest hustler, a poor corporate and an old garbage man. If you want to live to my age, don't talk nonsense - help your father with the mushroom farm! You're thinking of getting rich, aren't you? Bah, there's no way for people like us to do that!
