Step into the shattered world of the Wastes, where survival means grit, blood, and barter. Civilizations are ash, cities lie broken, and only the ruthless thrive. Scavenge what you can, trust no one fully, and carve a legend in a world that barely remembers what came before.
Your adventure begins in a derelict bunker, emerging from a half-collapsed invernation chamber.
Are you ready to claw your way through the ash?
Scene: As you force open the corroded hatch of your bunker, a trio of raiders crouch in the sand outside. Their weapons are crude — a pipe shotgun, a spiked bat, a rusted pistol — but their grins are sharp. One spits into the dust and says: “Fresh meat, straight out of the tomb.”
Stats:
[Gear/Scavenge: 1] (+1 for a rusted revolver)
[Survival Rank: 1]
[Edge: 0]
[Threat: 2] (three lightly armed raiders)
[Complications: 0]
[Wounds: 0]
Calculation: (1 + 1 + 0) − (2 + 0 + 0) = 0 → Win with consequence
I duck behind the hatch door, throw a piece of broken metal to distract, then fire at the shotgunner while rushing the one with the bat.
Recalculation:
[Edge: +2] (+1 distraction, +1 using cover)
New total: (1 + 1 + 2) − (2 + 0 + 0) = +2 → Clean win
Outcome: The shotgunner goes down clutching his chest as your shot cracks. The bat-wielder never sees you coming — a sharp elbow, then a boot to his ribs. The last raider flees into the wastes. The hatch is yours, but your ears still ring from the blast.
Scene: In the ruins of a roadside diner, a scavenger spreads trinkets across a counter: bent spoons, half-empty chems, cracked goggles. He eyes your pack. “Food for trade? Or bullets. Don’t care which.”
Stats:
[Gear/Scavenge: 0]
[Survival Rank: 1]
[Edge: 0]
[Threat: 2] (hardened scavenger, suspicious)
[Complications: 1] (+1 because you look weak/fresh)
[Wounds: 0]
Calculation: (0 + 1 + 0) − (2 + 1 + 0) = -2 → Failure
I offer him a cracked lighter and hint it still sparks — say it’s worth more than his goggles. I also slip two caps to sweeten it
Recalculation:
[Edge: +2] (+1 for bluffing value, +1 for bribe)
New total: (0 + 1 + 2) − (2 + 1 + 0) = 0 → Success with consequence
Outcome: He grunts, snatches the lighter, and tosses you the goggles. But his stare lingers too long — you know he’s memorized your face. In the wastes, trades can cost more than caps.
Scene: The sky churns green-black as winds rise, carrying dust that glows faintly. A radiation storm is rolling in fast. Shelter is half a mile away — a husk of a bus rusting in a ditch.
Stats:
[Gear/Scavenge: 1] (+1 for a torn but usable poncho)
[Survival Rank: 1]
[Edge: 0]
[Threat: 2] (radiation storm)
[Complications: 1] (+1 exposure risk — shelter far)
[Wounds: 0]
Calculation: (1 + 1 + 0) − (2 + 1 + 0) = -1 → Success with consequence
I wrap the poncho tight, smear ash across my skin to block radiation, and sprint using ruined cars as windbreaks.
Recalculation:
[Edge: +2] (+1 makeshift protection, +1 smart use of cover)
New total: (1 + 1 + 2) − (2 + 1 + 0) = +1 → Clean success
Outcome: The storm tears at you, but each car you cling to shields you from the worst. You dive into the bus as dust howls around it. You cough blood into your sleeve — but it’s only a trace. You’ll live.
Scene: Deep in the bunker, you find a cracked fusion generator. A faint hum tells you there’s life left inside. With tools and luck, you could coax it into powering lights — or a turret.
Stats:
[Gear/Scavenge: 1] (+1 for a bent toolbox)
[Survival Rank: 1]
[Edge: 0]
[Threat: 2] (complex machinery)
[Complications: 1] (+1 for risk of electrocution)
[Wounds: 0]
Calculation: (1 + 1 + 0) − (2 + 1 + 0) = -1 → Success with consequence
I cannibalize parts from a broken console, use a scrap of rubber as insulation, and bypass the worst of the cracks.
Recalculation:
[Edge: +2] (+1 clever part swap, +1 insulation hack)
New total: (1 + 1 + 2) − (2 + 1 + 0) = +1 → Clean success
Outcome: The lights flicker alive, humming through the ruin. Power flows — for now. A faint spark jumps your arm, leaving your hand tingling. Pain, but also victory.
The world is long dead, yet it refuses to lie still. Once, there were nations, cities, towers of glass and light. Now there is only ruin and dust, the bones of the old world scattered across a poisoned earth. Highways crack like veins across deserts of ash, their cars frozen in rust. Rivers run brown or black, when they run at all.
People cling to what’s left. They squat in the shells of malls and stations, patch tents from rags, and trade teeth for bullets, bullets for food, food for another night. No law holds here except the barrel and the blade. Raiders roam like wolves, taking what they can, leaving blood in their wake. Mutants prowl the cracks of irradiated ruins, twisted by chems and fallout into shapes half-human, half nightmare.
The sky itself is fickle. One day it bakes the land into bone, the next it boils with storms that glow green in the night. Radiation creeps where it pleases — an unseen beast licking marrow and womb alike.
And yet, people endure. They scavenge, they trade, they betray, they kill. The world does not forgive, but it remembers those strong enough to scar it back.
Buried beneath a ridge of cracked stone lies a bunker once meant to house hundreds. Its doors are scarred, the halls collapsed in places, ceilings bowed and walls torn with rust. Generations of scavengers must have stripped it long ago, yet here and there a console blinks faintly, as though dreaming in its death.
The main chamber lies half-caved, the floor choked with rubble and dust. Beds are broken frames, wiring hangs in coils like entrails. In one corner, a bank of invernation pods tilts against the wall. Most are shattered husks, glass long gone, tubes split open and dry. But one chamber remains sealed, a faint light pulsing within.
It is a coffin, a cradle, a machine stubborn against time. Outside, sand has begun to eat into its casing, but inside, the sleeper endures. For decades — maybe longer — the world has rotted away above. The chamber has hidden its occupant like a secret no one cared enough to discover.
Now, something stirs. Systems croak, hiss, and fail. The hum that has guarded sleep falters, warning lights flickering red in the dark. The chamber unlocks.
Your lungs seize before they remember how to breathe. The air tastes of mold, iron, and dust. Cold gel slides down your skin as glass fogs and splits. With a sound like a dying animal, the chamber’s door cracks open.
I leave the chamber
You spill out onto the floor — weak, naked, throat raw as sand. The bunker around you is silent save for the groan of metal settling, the faint drip of water from a burst pipe. Dust rises from your coughing, stinging your eyes.
Tell me what I see and ear
Shapes emerge in the dark: broken consoles, smashed chairs, shadows of collapsed walls. The chamber you left behind hums once more, then goes dark, its light gone. Alone, you hear nothing but your heart hammering and the distant moan of wind seeping through cracks in the ceiling.
The world is waiting. Not kindly. Not patiently. But waiting.
What do you do?