First Contact [Irradiated Forks/Rad Apple RP]

Jimbo left the Waters, crossing through the double doors and out into the street with one motion, trying to get out of the bar and towards the radio tower with short, swift strides. But if he had hoped that by doing so he would be cut off from Stomper's diatribe he was sadly mistaken. For radios, large metal coated pillars, stood erected at every corner – so the Bootlegger leader could be heard at every point in his territory – and it now played the cold-cutting response from Fitzpatrick.

As Jimbo hurried to the Tower, Raiders, almost all of which wore the Bootlegger attire, huddled around the radio posts, started to become agitated as Fitzpatrick went on. First with his comment about “genetic waste” - though Jimbo didn't understand the reference, and likely none of the other Raiders as well, still he could hear the grumbling.

But it rose to an even higher pitch with the notice of the dead Raiders over by the Burned Woods. It didn't really have any relevance to the Bootleggers – it was the Scavs who sent out teams, and it was the Raider gangs in the unclaimed land around the Port which harassed the local farmers of Sag Harbor the most often, so he most likely caught them instead. The fact that Fitzpatrick didn't know either of these things just showed how little the Guards knew about the Port – or even tried to know.

But, nevertheless, the Raiders became increasingly incensed as Fitzpatrick went on.

Then they exploded when the music poured out of the speakers.

“Die, motherfuckers!”

“We'll rape your face!”

“You'll be howling once the Inquisitors are done with you, assholes!”

And such were screamed as bullets beat the air and guns sizzled with flashes and bangs.

Jimbo's pace quickened, leaving the streets behind as the wired chain fence around the Tower cropped into view. Stomper had his base guarded by men at all hours, and four Bootleggers stood poised at that very instant, laser rifles held with barrels pointed to the ground. Jimbo slipped into a side alley out of sight when a new voice came onto the air, merging with the music.

“Wow, Stomper!” The voice called. If Jimbo followed along right, then he seemed to be part of that Do-Gooder group. “You guys are so original! A group of assholes who do nothing but do shady business and give out vices! That's so neat! No way that's been done before. It's not like we don't already have a whole bunch of people in Smiley Town like that. You guys are so cool! SO FUCKING COOL! Let us all bow down. Bow down to the dukes of cooldom!"

As his voice went on the music slowed to a stop, ending with a “over, over there!” And then there was silence. Silence as the Do-Gooder stopped, silence as the music stopped, silence as the Raiders stopped, realizing, with an impending uneasiness, that Stomper had yet to say a word during the whole onslaught. That could only mean one thing …

“Ha, haha, hahahaaa!” He laughed. A slow trickle, but then a full bellow – a throaty thing which cut through the airwaves.

Jimbo scowled. He's working himself into a frenzy.

When his laughter died down, Stomper's voice could be heard once more – a mere whisper of it's former power. “Yes. You are right, Mista Do Good er, there is nothing original about the Port. In fact, we are old. Very old. As old as Cain, or, if you dislike that sort of religious bullshit, as old as the first caveman to crack his companion's skull to take his mate. But then laws were invented, starting with Hammurabi's Code back in Babylon, but then truly developed by the Roman Empire. These laws, ultimately, are restrictions. What a man can, or cannot do. This is your “Good” and your “Evil”. The things that fell under the law, which protected the public order, was Good, and that which rejects it was Bad. Those who used to kill for themselves are now “murderers”, those who took what woman they pleased are now “rapists”. But what happens when that law is removed? When society itself crumbles? Then, you have two groups. The survivors who try to reclaim that what was lost, and those who are free from such restraints. The sole difference between the two is that the first artificially places themselves under fake rules which obscures their true nature, while the second, the Raiders of the world, are honest! They are free to do as they please for the first time since laws and civilizations were first formed!”

Jimbo shook his head as the rant sped on. Stomper spoke like this occasionally over the radio – referencing things that none of the Raiders of the Port could grasp. It was a language of sorts that only the leaders of the Bootleggers possessed, and while it served the Raiders no use at all, it usually left other scavengers speechless – muttering things like, “Actually educated” and “Intelligent?”

“But back in ancient times when the empires of the world had little power, the damage caused by such societies was small, but then came the Great War! Under the guise of patriotism, “Goodness”, all society marched mindlessly to the Apocalypse! It's time for you all to wake the fuck up! The same America that those fuckin' Rainbows are trying to remake, those same societal norms that you “Do-Gooders” seem to hold so dearly – that society blew up the whole, fucking world! While claiming to have a cause, to be “Good”, they killed Earth and millions who were on it. How better would the world have been if the advisers of both China and America said, “Fuck you. I'm not gonna die for your sake,” and blew their leaders' fucking face off! Tell me, all the deaths and pain the Port, and all the Ports of the world, has caused since the end – can it even scrape the billions that were lost once the bombs fell? Tell me if we are “bad” and you remnants of America are “good”, then why do we have the lower body count! Huh, you fuckers, tell me that! Fuckin' tell me!”

A static charge jarred through the transmission, and, just like that, Stomper's voice could be heard no more.

“What the hell?” Jimbo wondered, looking around about him frantically.

He had come to stop Stomper's transmission, but had been held up by the guards by the Tower and listening to the rant. But, somehow or another, the man's interruption was stopped anyway. Was it the Guards? He wondered. Fitzpatrick did say he would work on getting Stomper off the air. But it seemed too quick for that. It had to be something on the Bootleggers end.

Before Jimbo could truly question it, a figure emerged from the back gate of the Tower, slipping by the two guards standing nearby and into a near side passageway. Jimbo darted that way, and abruptly found himself face to face with a familiar friend.

“Terry!” He said. A smile breaking out.

Terry was one of the Port's few radio technicians. Being that nearly the entirety of the city was illiterate and uneducated, the radio technicians of the Tower were held with both esteem and suspicion. As if they were the holders of some mystical, incomprehensible witchcraft. Of them, Terry would be the master magician, not truly the head of Stomper's team of broadcasters, but still able to work wonders with the machines. In fact, the man held a radio and transmitter in his hands that very moment.

“Your handiwork, I guess?” Jimbo asked.

The man smiled a bucktooh, yellowed grin. “Yep. Now let's head over to Big Tony.”

“You know you can't come back after this. Hell, a gang war might even start up.”

But Terry just shrugged, his spiked leather armor heaving up and down as he did, “Gang wars can start up because someone pissed on the wrong side of the street. Sides, Tony owes me for all the insider info I gave the Scavs all these years.”

Jimbo just grunted. Favors are never repaid here. But he said, “I suppose so. Let's go.”

Fitzpatrick let out a relieved sigh as the Port went silent. His fingers slowly began to stop gripping the table in a death grip, and he slumped into his chair slightly. But, his officer training kicked in and he was immediately back in the appropriate posture, a cool smile on his face. He didn't know what had happened to the Port, but he hoped a giant mutant had eaten them all. It'd be an appropriate ending to them after all.

"And now, we wait to see who the next person to come on is..." He murmured to himself, and soon, his murmur was responded to by Chief DeSanta's loud and semi obnoxious voice. Although, Fitzpatrick gained a healthy amount of respect for the man based on what he said next.

Who in the name of a dead ghoul's balls are you pricks? Threatening the NYF on our own damn radio? Is this a declaration of war? You've got some nuke-sized balls there, ladies. Come into the city and spout that shit! We've got over a hundred armed response units and a giant fuckin' shrimp! "The Port" What kind of a fuckin' raider name is that? We got scarier old ladies in Brooklyn! Everything you just said is now recorded, and since it's transpired on NYF radio space, is a crime against the city. You girls are done, y'hear me? DONE!"

Fitzpatrick blinked once, then twice. Then began to chuckle away from the microphone. Some of the other Guards were grinning ear from ear, chuckling as well. It was quite humorous, and it seemed as if they had gained a new ally.

"US Army of whoever the fuck you are. This is Chief De Santa. Look, we need to know anything and everything about these Port Motherfuckers. You know who they are right? How far are they from city? Come to think of it, how far are you from the city. Cos the State's a big place, and unless you fairies have got wings to fly your way to Brooklyn, then we're basically just playing message in a fuckin' bottle here."

"Certainly Chief De Santa. The Port is located on the South Fork of Long Island, just out of our jurisdiction currently. They are a raider gang which has set up around an old airport. They are relatively well armed, with a few of them even carrying energy weapons if intelligence reports correctly. They supply the Riverhead Confederation, an alliance of tribes which is based around the Riverhead tribe, with a few weapons now and then, though rarely. Their main allies I'd say are the Flanders Bay Pirates, a group of raiders which are quite insane. The Port is of no threat to New York City, I assure you."

Fitzpatricks voice took on a serious tone, a tone that might surprise some of the listeners on the other end. The officer leaned over the microphone, and spoke again. "Everyone one of us would die before allowing those scum within three miles of the City. Hence why we're 'The Guards'. Whether you know it or not, we're guarding you from things that you'd not believe unless you sent personnel here yourself. The Port complains about us 'conquering' areas, but it is for the good of all. You are keeping some old world ideals alive yourself Chief De Santa. We intend on bringing back law and order to Long Island, and eventually returning to our old garrison in the city-"


He paused, a thought occurring to him. "Is the 69th's Armory still standing? Or has it been blown to shit?"

“Do you think Big Tony can do some damage control here?” Terry asked.

Jimbo eyed him as the two slipped their way out of Bootlegger territory heading north. This was, without a doubt, the most dangerous leg of their journey. Being spotted even once by the regular patrols within the gangland would've meant death, especially since Terry not only stopped Stomper's transmission somehow but actually stole a transmitter.

But still, Jimbo felt that he should be honest with the kid.

“There's a reason why Big Tony is the Muscle while Stomper is the Voice. He's not good with words, at all, but he'll at least not flip his shit like Stomper did.”

But they didn't have to worry too much about being discovered. Most of the Raiders in the area had gathered around the different radio broadcasters, hanging onto the words being said and mostly agitated now that the Port no longer had it's voice on the air. Murmurs of “cocksuckers”, “motherfuckers”, and “blast 'em open” made a cherry chorus that followed the duo as they exited the graffitied wall that separated the Bootlegger territory from the rest of the city.

This was the Middle Zone – the area unassociated with any of the five gangs. Independent whorehouses, independent bars, independent houses and general stores – all sort of establishments could be found there, and all in a state of disrepair. The town's well and purification plant could also be found in the midst of this Zone … for those stupid enough to try it.

“I'm kinda surprised, though.” Terry said.

Jimbo eyed the man walking to his left. “About what?” He croaked as the last of the buildings slipped away to reveal the outstretched minefield in front of them. This was the tricky part. Knowing where to step and how. Scavs were taught the trick of where to put their foot down to avoid the mines, but even then a stumble or wrong move could have a Raider lose their foot.

“Surprised about you. You don't often come to the Port, right? You wouldn't be living outside otherwise.”

“Went to the Waters for a drink,” Jimbo said as he took the first step. I hope I remember right.

“Then you were really unlucky this time around. A shitstorm of massive proportions just – wait! Don't step there!”

Jimbo paused with one foot up in the air. With a slow glide he eased it back. “What is it?” He asked, his tone laced with tension.

“There's a hidden mine beneath the asphalt there.”

“There wasn't before.”

“How many years ago was that? Anyway, just let me guide the two of us.”

With that Jimbo followed Terry's lead. They approached the entrance of the airport only to see a slew of familiar faces. For the first time in years Jimbo felt his lips crack into a grin, “Buddy!” He shouted,, waving the boy over to him … well. Not a boy anymore, really. The young man approached after resting his gatling laser against a slab of concrete used as cover. Behind him the rest of his Boys came, all geared in metal armor and hefting super sledges and miniguns. Seeing them standing before him, Jimbo could see quite a bit of muscle on all their frames – a menacing sight for any who tried charging the doors head on.


Buddy also broke out into a grin, “Uncle Jim. It's good to see ya poke your head out from that rubble now and then.” Then he sobered up. “Big Tony's been expecting you. Up the stairs, down the hallway to the right, like always.”

Jimbo's smile vanished as well. “Got it.” With that he nodded at Buddy and his Boys and then walked inside.

It looked like it always did – dimly lit and littered with the refuse of the bygone era. Cushioned chairs shoved along the back wall as barricades, a layer of paper – ground to mush and imbedded into the titled floor – stuck and unstuck to the bottom of his boot as Jimbo strode up to the stairs. He remembered hearing Stomper once mentioned that the paper were once flight schedules, fliers, magazines and other reading material that scattered and glued themselves to the floor when the radiation flooded the airport then trickled down to a bare hum. Jimbo didn't know the truth to that, but he still scrapped the bottom of his soles on the top step before following the hallway down.

There was no mistaking Big Tony's room from anyone else's. Thick double doors, polished to perfection even in the post apocalypse, golden handles to push, and a steel plaque that read “Tony F. Tortuga” gave it an air of both intimidation and professionalism. Jimbo gave the door a single, sharp rap.

Then silence.

Jimbo shot a look at Terry, but the younger man just shrugged. Jimbo was about to knock again when a voice rumbled from the other side.

“Come in.”

Jimbo once again shot a look at Terry and the man nodded this time. Sighing to himself, Jimbo pried open the door and went to meet his past.

......................................................................................................................................................................

I want to end it here to give you guys a round or two to talk to each other to simulate how long the Port was off the air before they came back on. The Bootleggers and the Scavs are on the opposite side of the Port from each other after all. Even if it is just a city instead of a country it should still take some time to cross.

Look forward to seeing how the conversation goes without the Port in it for a while.