Discovery Gaming Community

How ya'll doing. I'm Reb, and this here is my brother Zeb. We're Junkers.

Here's a little family portrait.



As you can see, Zeb was blessed with the looks, whilst I got the brains.

Zeb's always been the knock-about rebel type, what with his disarming good looks and all. So soon as he turned 18 he took off seeking his fortune. But the universe is a hard place, and he never did find the pot of gold at the end of his rainbow. In the end he got in with those no-good drifters and scavengers, the Junkers. But he seemed happy enough with his lot.

As for me, I was the "good" son. I stayed at home and helped out with the family hog business. After pappy passed on, I was all set to take over. And I don't mind saying I did mighty well. We expanded, and I was doing deals as far away as Kusari. Money was rolling in and things were looking real fine back at the Snotgrass homestead.

Well, I never been lucky in love, as you probably surmised. But even a feller uglier than the rear-end of a 600lb porker looks handsome with a large bank account. Unfortunately that tends to attract the wrong kind of gal. Long story short, after a string of unfortunate choices in the marriage department I was left sipping cheap whiskey out of a plastic cup.

After my 3rd wife left me, I figured that's it. No more women for ol' Reb here. No sir. Of course by then it was too late. I had a ton of alimony back payments and the local sheriff breaking down my door.

So I took like ol' Zeb there -- I scrounged up enough money to buy an old CSV, and headed out somewhere the debt collectors and my ex-wives would never find me. Into the Jersey junk fields.

Those Junkers were real nice bunch of boys. They took me in when no one else would, and gave me a job. They even gave me a nickname, "Trashman". I scrape the scum off of the scrap metal and put it into barrels.

It ain't so bad. Things are starting to look up for yours truly. I think I found a buyer, some ALG feller willing to pay money for that muck.

Like my ol' grandpappy used to say, "Man came from waste oil, and thence he will return!"

Howdy folks, Trashman Reb of the Junkers here.

As I was telling you last time, I managed to escape my bleak past and settled into a semblance of life out on Rochester. Now those barrels of muck I produced, there wan't a lot of call for them, so we just used to just set 'em adrift in the debris fields.

But Lady Luck smiled. I just happened on a ALG feller who thought he might be able recycle that stuff, and we made a deal. 12 creds per barrel for as many as we can get him, and he swings by every couple of months to take delivery.

Now my Junker buddies were mighty impressed with my entrepreneur skills. They figured a feller with my silver tongue was wasted scraping junk, so they set me to trading. They advanced me some money to fix up my old CSV real purdy, with a proper cargo space and all. I was free to make the run over to Manhattan and beyond, to haul whatever needed haulin' there and back, and pocket whatever profits came my way. I had to keep my hat tipped low over my face so as not to be recognised by the sheriff, I'm telling you!

One of the things I was hauling back was food items and livestock -- hogs that is, and how's that for irony?

Whilst over on Manhattan I came across a poor one-legged feller down on his luck. Offered to give him a ride back to Rochester, even fixed him up with my old job of oil recycling. Kept saying he wanted to join the Rogues, and I told him, buddy, you don't wanna get yourself mixed up with that crazy lot. But he's got a lot of bottled up anger. Hope he doesn't come to a bad end, Lady Luck's already given him one free pass.

Things were going along mighty nice for a while. I'd been over to Baltimore, down to Detroit, and across to Pittsburg in my trading. The Junkers even gave me the codes to find Buffalo, all tucked away in the treacherous Badlands, where a feller with a strong stomach can make real good money hauling stuff we don't mention in polite company. Yep, things were swmming along real fine.

Then Fortune turned her back. One day when doing some dealings on Manhattan, one of my ex-wives just happened along. When she saw me and how I'd started to get back on my feet, well she went ballistic. She was just like a ship cruising too close to the sun, demanding alimony and screaming about being destitute. I says, don't look like your doing it too tough by the looks of that rock on your finger.

Well she just stormed off to fetch the sheriff. So I finished my dealing and high-tailed it outa there. But I barely gets past Newark, when blammo, I got three Bounty Hunter taking pot shots at me. That damn harpy of an ex done take out a bounty on me!

I couldn't believe my eyes. Lucky these Junkers crates are built tough, with those Bounty Hunters using ole your's truly for target practice. So I punched her into cruise and sailed out of weapons range, leaving them cussing in my wake.

Well I got back to Rochester with my ship, my cargo, and myself all intact. But now I had a bounty on my head, and every low-down varmit and s**tkicker in Sirius looking for me. My Junker buddies had a good old laugh when I told them. But they said not to worry, the only Bounty Hunter found on a Junkers base is a dead Bounty Hunter....