"When He opened the second seal,

I heard the second living creature saying,

'Come and see.'

Another horse, fiery red, went out.

And it was granted to the one who sat on it

to take peace from the Earth,

and that people should kill one another;

and there was given to him a great sword."

(Revelation 6:3-4)

Chapter 2-

Are you finding trouble at earning caps? İs finding food for your family a nearly impossible task? Then come on here to New Tampa. We, the representatives of the New California Republic are offering you a job to fulfill all your human needs. We are essembling an excavation team and we need YOU to help is in our goal. You will be given plenty of bottle caps, fed well, and have the biggest luxury of earning a sense of duty. Help carve out a future in the World.

Pay will change according to position.

- The New California Republic

Rawley had been reading the pamphlet over and over. He had found it in the boots of the wastlander that had attacked him. A small, yellow piece of paper. On it were these words, a man giving a thumbs up sign, and a printed emblem of a two-headed bear. On the back was a small map showing where New Tampa was.

He thought about, and decided he would go to New Tampa and look this matter up. İf it is like they say, then it would be easy caps, and a few more days without an empty belly. He folded the piece of paper and put it into a pocket in his jacket.

Walking on, Rawley did something he usually does, and reflected on his past life.
He was a wastlander...obviously. Born to a hunter father and a mother that died when he was three, Rawley had a hard childhood. Well, every child in the Wasteland has a hard childhood, but Rawley's was a little bit worse than most.

After his mother died, Rawley's father used all the caps he made from sold animal parts, for drinking. Because of this drinking, Rawley was frequently the victim of drunken beatings and tear filled confessions.

Because of his fathers being useless, Rawley had to bring the food to the table. He learned to hunt by watching his father when he was in the rare state of sober, and stealed when killed beasts werent enough. He would bust in to houses, using his small, agile child body, Rawley would sell the things he had stolen to passing merchants.

His father was well aware of the stealing. When drunk, he would sometimes beat Rawley for doing it. But knowing that without him they would both die, he wouldnt say anything, and sometimes cry to him about it when deep in the drink.
"I'm sorry son" He would say. "I'm sorry I'm such a big useless piece of shit."

Rawley wouldnt say anything. We wouldnt say anything when he beat him, when he yelled at him, when he hugged him...he would just look, look at the man who was the cause of his birth. Look at him, and simply not care.

The reason I put up with him, He would say to himself, is because if I don't have an adult with me, I'll be easy prey. Weather this was true, or if Rawley truly cared for his dad is a mystery, locked deep in a part of him.

His father died when he was 15, probably because of all the drinking. He buried him in an old distillary, it was fitting. He even buried a few bottles of whiskey with him, just if he wanted to continou yelling and swimming in his own vomit in hell.

Rawley himself, a strong, tall youth, his head a mess of brown hair with a tint of red to it, didnt have a hard time finding jobs. He was good at using guns, tough from all the beatings he got as a child, and knew how to hunt and look after himself. He worked as a caravan guard and mercenary when he could find a job, when he couldnt, he would hunt and salvage parts to sell.

This worked for years, now Rawley, a hard man of 29, nearly middle age by wasteland standards, now found himself in Florida.

It went dark in a few Hours. He set up camp under an old bridge. His food supply was dwindilling. If he doesnt get to this New Tampa place fast, its going to be Hell.