The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Capital Wasteland
The Definitive Guide to Understanding, Evading and/or Annihilating any and all Dangers Hiding in the DC Hellhole
The following dedication appears in the book:
for Bannon and Crow
and the outfitters of the Wastes
for the means to remake ourselves
Chapter Three
Clothing, some say with this guide's endorsement, is one of the most important aspects of Wasteland society today. This is made especially clear when traveling between the settlement of Megaton and that of Rivet City. From the open Wastes to the formerly Mutant-infested cask of Downtown DC, whether or not you took a 5.56mm bullet to the brainpan could often depend on the color of your shirt. It was generally accepted, however, that taking a mini-nuke to the face was dependent on not getting on the bad side of the Wasteland's Messiah.
If you had the fortune to be wearing simple combat armor, the only real trouble you might have is from Super Mutants and bands of raiders. If that armor was painted black, someone might mistake you for an old Talon merc, and shoot on sight. Simple clothing, and maybe a coat, was the safest to approach people with. Made you look harmless. Mostly.
But power armor… If anyone besides the Brotherhood of Steel still wears this pre-War technological marvel, more power to them. It's imposing, heavy and increases your natural strength by a factor of five – but it has a certain connotation in the Wastes. Silver and white means Brotherhood, saviors, warriors of good. Black and gold armor used to mean Enclave, terror and death. Not so much any more, but people still remember when the sight of black power armor meant to run and hide.
Disguises tend not to work with settlements or factions in Washington. And frankly, it's usually because anyone who needs a disguise never does even the most cursory research. It is of note that simply hunching your shoulders and ripping your shirt will not make ghouls like you. At the Guide office in Megaton, this fact was discovered in the very early days of writing with field officers vanishing near the Tenpenny tunnels out to the west.
Most communities are tightly enough knit to make an impostor easy to spot. A scuffed boot, a badly painted logo, even the way your arms swing when you walk gives away the lie to anyone looking for it. The bottom line is this: don't think putting on your dead enemy's kilt is going to keep his buddies from shooting you. Go out for a pint instead, it's safer.
It is worth mentioning that the best place to acquire a cold beer in the Wastes is probably Tenpenny Tower. Not the most inviting place and a good place to get your head shot off, but the beer is damn tasty. The second-best place for alcohol in the Wastes lies in the Underworld of the National Mall. Paint thinner couldn't do a better job of numbing your taste buds. Don't insult the owner. She'll kill you.
As an open and, oftentimes, contradictory assistant to surviving in the Capital Wasteland, we would be remiss to disinclude some of the finest locations for the gathering or changing of clothing in your home.
The safest, perhaps, is Potomac Attire located in Rivet City. The prices are, quite frankly, utter Deathclaw's kidneys, but the quality is above all from the tender, loving care Mr. Bannon placed in each garment and piece of armor.
The most accessible is Crow's caravan, the man who delivers the very means to remake yourself. You can find him most readily at Canterbury Commons, Megaton and Rivet City.
Last, but certainly not least, is Dave's Outlet all the way up in, you guessed it, the glorious Democratic People's Republic of Dave. Seeking 100% leather goods? Dave's your man. He paid up to write that, but in all honestly his leatherworking is pretty nice despite the crazy in President Dave's head.
Wastelander's lives might depend on the clothing they're wearing. But don't stress about it. Go home, wear some cheap pre-War cotton and don't get caught in the wrong town with the wrong pants.
It was important to blend in out there in the Wastes. That's part of the reason the Kid had a threadbare knapsack slung across his back and a suit of metal, spiked armor over his otherwise only mildly dehydrated body.
He passed by a raider camp with barely a nasty comment slung towards him. It had been weeks, but this was the first time the Kid had seen any clue of an alliance between raider groups. He'd suspected that some of them work together from time to time, but never had any real proof.
Not getting shot at on the Capital Beltway was always a plus – and considering it's the fastest way into the northern downtown area, he grinned in delight before trying his best to hide his almost shining teeth from the passing female enemies.
The Kid had some ideas about how men and women interacted in raider bands, but kept the assumptions to himself. His stomach turned when he thought about that too much – or maybe it's all the barely filtered water he'd been drinking lately. Gods the water out here is terrible! But what can one man do?
At the northwestern tip of DC proper, the Kid took a long look up the river. He could see his destination in the distance: an old highway overpass turned town out by the old Meresti Metro station. On his last pass through Megaton, he'd taken up a little extra work from Moira. Playing courier was within the Kid's skillset. And besides, it's good money for little more than a mildly dangerous walk.
He dumped the metal armor in a fairly distinctive set of bushes near a wrecked boat on the riverbed. So long as no one came across it, he might be able to creep back down the Loop back for more work. The last of he first batch of research assignments had almost run dry and he would have to be close to Moira for the last one.
At the base of the onramp to Arefu, the tiny, twenty-person settlement, the Kid noted three mildly malnourished Brahman grazing the short, dry reminders that plant life still grows a little there. There wasn't the telltale of a town above him, but being so small it wasn't too surprising.
At the top of the ramp, he noted the concrete barrier with a shadow sticking out from behind it. Over the top of the bit of cover, a small grenade flew out of a launch tube right at the Kid.
Not that he had anything to worry about. It landed halfway between him and whoever fired it and exploded harmlessly, spreading a little fire over the top of the concrete structure.
Almost on autopilot, the Kid made a leaping dive for the concrete divider and brought the old man behind it down in one smooth action. From face up on the ground, the man demanded, "Get the hell off me! Help, help, god damn it!"
The few residents came scampering out of their tin and aluminum homes to see the Kid scuffling with the town Mayor, Evan King, judging by the strangely out of place badge hung from his neck.
"Damn the lot of you, get him off'a me!"
The Kid released the grip he had over King's arms and legs, slowing coming back to stand in front of the townspeople.
King got unsteadily to his feet.
"Who the hell are you? You ain't with the Family, huh?"
The Kid gave a quizzical look, raising an eyebrow enough to signify he had barely the start of an idea of what the man was yelling about.
"Those bastards have been terrorizing us for weeks. Just yesterday they slaughtered mosta' our Brahman! This has gone too far!"
One of the residents walked forward to help the older man stand properly.
King said, "I've got kids and women here mostly. I can't defend everyone myself."
"What do you need," the Kid asked, finally speaking aloud.
"Go and figure out what the hell the Family wants! Maybe they'll leave us alone if we just figure that out and give it to them."
"I came around the Beltway. I don't think a raider party cares about payment.
"Kid, you know that for a fact? You come back here alive with news and I'll even find a way to pay you!"
"Oh," the Kid exclaimed. "That reminds me, is there an Ian West here?"
The townspeople looked around at themselves, unsure. One man, maybe the same age or older than Evan King, stepped forward.
"The Wests are dead," he said with mournful dignity. "Ian is missing."
"What," King said. "Why wasn't I told about this?"
"Last night," the man said. "Didn't think it mattered. Busy tidying defenses toward the back of town."
King tried to rally, but gave up in moments only. It wasn't worth arguing about. "Stranger, will you do something about the Family? Will you find Ian? If those despots took him…"
"I'll try," the Kid said. "I can't make any promises I'll even find them or Ian."
Another Arefu resident, a young girl, said, "Try the Metro stations. Grandpa says that's where the raiders and slavers hang out."
The Kid nodded, left without another word; back down the former highway ramp.
In the Wasteland Survival Guide's chapter on mythical creatures, many pre-War stories are recorded and referenced to make an interesting point about the current mutations of many Maryland, Virginia and Pennsylvania animals and plants. Almost no story exists that is actually worse than what the Wasteland lives with on a daily basis. Super Mutants, feral ghouls, Deathclaws; these are all dangerous, but proven killable.
The prevalence of Vampirism in pre-War fiction has, to some extent, made Wastelanders paranoid about the prospect of a blood-sucking, hypnotic creature lurking around old castles. It is, however, important to note that there are few castles anywhere in DC. The closest thing there is to a castle is the President's Mansion, the White House. But with most of it gone and irradiated to high hell, no one finds it likely that even an immortal bat could survive there long.
That leads, or perhaps led, the Kid from Vault 101 to some of his most disbelieved research for the Guide to date: the chapter sub-heading on the Capital Wasteland's own resident Vampire population.
"Welcome, human. I am Vance. Welcome to Meresti."
The Kid stood before one of the oddest men he'd ever met in the Wasteland. Vance was a tall, pale man of only slightly mixed ancestry and carried a sword connected to a motorcycle gas tank on his back.
Not hearing a response, Vance continued.
"Have you come to join our Family, wanderer?"
"I'm looking for Ian West on behalf of the population of Arefu."
"Ah, yes. Young Ian. He has come to us seeking salvation and guidance and I intend on his receiving it."
"Evan King asked that I investigate his kidnapping."
"No such crime was committed by our enclave of Seekers."
"So what about Ian then?"
"He is resting. His… situation is not unlike the rest of ours and he requires a short retreat from the world for his own protection."
"What about you? What exactly is Meresti?"
Vance was not a man easily offended, but did show discomfort at the question. "Meresti is our home. It is a place of healing and of learning control."
"Control over what?"
"Young wanderer, let me share with you a story familiar to most of our Family. In my youth, I was a boy of simple tastes and knowledge that stimulant packs and radiation medication were just how people lived. But one day, I found myself thirsting for something I'd never known. I awoke in the yard of our settlement, my teeth around another child's wrist and I reveled in the taste.
"Human blood poured out of that child and I drank until I could not. That was when I knew. I ran from that settlement and never returned. By the time I was a man, I had settled here and found others who needed the years of resistance I had gathered about myself to the Hunger.
I am helping my Family, Ian included, in learning to resist their more… vampiric urges."
"So you're claiming to be a cabal of vampires," the Kid couldn't help but ask.
"Please. I thought you might see more reason than that. Do you believe me to be able to shift form into that of a bat and fly? Preposterous! But you bring up a good point."
"You utilize myths of vampirism in drawing parallels in why you shouldn't drink the blood of humans. Is that it?"
"Close. I have chosen this supernatural creature as my guide to teach my Family not to eat the flesh of a man. The blood is one aspect, one which comes back – but to give into the Hunger is, while forgivable, a danger we face each day.
"Many of our kind never flock here, so we must search. We know what signs to seek in that search. I spotted this aspect in young Ian almost as quickly as spotting him in the township of Arefu."
"His sister is worried about him."
"I did not know any of his human family remained. She is not of Arefu, is she?"
"No. I'm acting as a courier for her through Craterside Supply in Megaton." The Kid pulled out a slightly crumpled letter addressed to Ian.
"I can deliver this on your behalf," Vance offered.
"I wouldn't be upholding my part of the deal if I let that happen. I said I'd deliver this personally."
Vance looked the Kid over, making his final estimations. "It would seem, human, that you are an honorable man – not one to judge quickly. I shall allow you to see Ian, but remember that you were warned."
I don't normally write notes at the end of stories, but why not? First off, thank you for reading so far. I wasn't going to keep writing if no one was interested, and I intended the first chapter as a sort of testbed to see if the mashup worked. I guess it did to some extent. Second, I'd like to thank my readers so far and extra special thanks to those who left reviews for the first two chapters. All I'll say about future Guide entries is that they will vary from funny to serious, depending on which Wastelander wrote them. But Springvale might be regarded as unfashionable soon, and not just because I know someone there who I personally regard as unfashionable.
Until next time,
Smith