In this interview, Evan and I talk about post-apocalytpia, Wasteland Weekend, voice acting, and wing sauce! Hope you’ll give it a listen!
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Tag Archives: Old MUTATION
When One Door Closes…
It’s all coming together…
Saul Fore wouldn’t take me in, so I had to find my own lodging. The good news is that I still had the dog tags he gave me. The bad news is that I could only afford lodging in the mutant part of town. It might be a while before the cash rolls in, so I’ve got to stretch these tags for as long as possible. I hope things pick up soon; my new Undying neighbors don’t trust me and are extremely sick.
I was trying to stay away from the apartment as much as possible. I started with a tour of the BLVD. It’s a big place, probably two or three thousand people. I can’t believe how many businesses there are around here. Aside from the blacksmiths, there’s cooks, doctors, tattoo artists, and even a dentist! All those are nice, but I had my own concerns. If I was going to produce a list of all the BLVD’s laws, I’d need some paper or maybe a printing press.
As fate would have it, I bumped into the weasel who writes the local news rag. He was a short guy in a grimy blue suit tearing at the shoulders. An ugly straw hat hid his red hair. He was so preoccupied writing onto his notepad that he bumped right into me.
“Hey! I recognize you. You’re that guy who got caught after curfew.” The pressman said with a sideways smile. “Care for an interview?”
I shrugged my shoulders.
“Oh. How rude of me!” the suited man cried, raising his hat “Mr. McGavin at your service. I’m the best journalist in town, let me tell you, and it’s not just because I’m the only journalist in town.”
I didn’t smile, but the sides of my mouth pulled tight. “Joe Junkman” I replied.
I noticed that the pressman had something hanging around his neck. It was one of those old cameras that spits out the pictures. I was surprised that he could find enough film to use it.
Mr. McGavin must have caught me staring because he immediately raised his camera and said “How bout a photo?” He paused “Only ten…er…only 15 dog tags! It’s a steal!”
“Oh it’s a steal alright.” I replied. “It’s highway robbery!”
Mr. McGavin and I both had a good chuckle.
I think we’ll get along just fine…
-Joe Junkman
The Prodigal Son
Karma!
The trip back to the BLVD was uneventful, the way it was meant to be. No mutants gnawing at my ankles, no radiation storms, no dehydration induced hallucinations, and most importantly no bandits. The caravan guards were silent and stoic, but Saul Fore kept me company. I’m worried I’ll jinx it, but it’s true! Nothing bad has happened to me in a whole week!
We pulled up to the BLVD’s gates sometime after dusk. The guards greeted Saul Fore like an old friend. They didn’t even rough us up! I guess he’s a pretty popular guy around here.
Unfortunately, we had to go through customs. All my weapons, including knives, had to be shoved through a slot that said “BOOK RETURN.” For some reason, our guards were allowed to keep their shiny chrome rifles. My stuff was confiscated, tagged, and stored in an old bank vault. Saul Fore assured me it was standard procedure. Sure it is.
After a thorough pat down by two guys in S.W.A.T. armor, we were finally allowed inside. The BLVD was a long street illuminated by the alluring glow of neon advertisements. My ears immediately lit up to the slow strumming of a guitar. The sound was coming from a crowd had gathered around the rotting body of a car in the middle of an intersection. I couldn’t say how long it had been since I’d last heard music. I wanted to see what was going on, but Saul pulled me aside.
“Listen boy.” He whispered. “Boulevard ain’t kind to newcomers. Don’t go lookin for trouble.”
I gave him a thumbs up and wandered off into the night.
What’s the worst that could happen?
-Joe Junkman
The Rad-Lands 