<span style="font-style: italic">War. War never changes.<br/><br/>The end of the world happened in a blink of an eye. In 2077, in a mere two hours, life on earth was near extinguished, atomic flames washing over the planet, removing any unfortunate enough to be caught in the blasts. Life as humanity knew it had ended, replaced with something far worse. <br/><br/>It is now the year 2285, and humanity has struggled to resemble a shadow of it's former self. In an otherwise lawless and deadly land, a few safe havens of civilization have appeared. The city of Houston being one such place, becoming one of the closest things the wasteland has to a bustling metropolis. Using parts from the local space center, it has become a solar powered paradise, a city of the future. A place a person can live a life of peace and safety.<br/><br/>Life in Houston is about to change. <br/><br/>Mysterious kidnappings plaguing larger towns, a mysterious cult-like group with talks of "making Texas strong", and two once powerful groups becoming allies, misfortune is coming to Texas, and countless other troubles. Conflict is looming over the horizon, and the people of the wasteland are  caught right in the middle.</span><br/>------<br/>It was an less than average day for this gang hideout, though a good day despite. The sun was out, the horrible mutated beasts of the Texan wasteland had only been a slight pain, their leader was happy, and they had captured two members of a rival gang! Those last two were related, the two poor souls on their knees, hands tried behind their backs, beaten and bloodied already.  And in front of them, one quite pleased gang leader, about to give any rivals a message about what happens when they mess with him or his gang.<br/><br/>Sadly for him, the message never came, as a sniper shot flew through the wasteland and hit its target true, splattering the leader's brains across the ground.<br/><br/>"That's that." One Jackson Mercer said, standing up from his sniping position. The rest of the thugs didn't matter to him, he was paid to kill their leader and kill the leader he did, so he was gone. He doubted any of them would spot him, considering the distance he was at, but if they did he would handle them as they came. He gave pause to the idea of helping the prisoners, but soon realized if the thugs didn't kill them, their wounds would. And the sniper had no supplies to help with<span style="font-style: italic">that.</span><br/><br/>He strolled off, making sure to use rock outcroppings to hide himself, keeping to any shade he could. The less people saw him, the better. People were nothing but trouble most of the time, and meeting somebody out of civilization usually meant they wanted his time or money, both of which were things he quite liked to keep for himself. Some people might have called that greedy, but he called it saving himself a headache.<br/><br/>As to where he was heading, there was a town nearby. Decently sized, it was a place he could buy supplies and a place to sleep, then head on out. And get paid, if his employer hadn't decided to be clever and run out. At this thought, Jackson let out a sigh. The only thing that got on his nerves more than that, which already pissed him off a great deal, was him not being able to find them afterwards.<br/><br/>After about a hour of walking, he entered the town. Gecko Plains, he thought it was called. Most likely due to nearby planes full of geckos, he presumed, and somebody not quite understanding the concept of homonyms. An old plane graveyard, where decommissioned planes went to rest. Some geckos found the place and felt it was a mighty fine place to make some nests. Turns out, they were right, and the local population exploded.<br/><br/>This, of course, brought hunters. Then people to sell to the hunters. Then the families of the shopkeepers, and a town formed.  Since then, the hunting had been regulated to keep the gecko population healthy enough to survive, makings sure hunters never stopped coming. A pretty good deal for all parties. Geckos get protected, hunters get skins, and the town stays alive.<br/><br/>Jackson, for his part, thought this whole thing was quite interesting, and reminded him of the occasional thoughts of switching his person-hunting job for an animal-hunting job. He pushed those thoughts out of his mind, as he headed towards his favorite building in the town. Maybe one day, but he was too comfortable with his way at the moment.<br/><br/>The town, like a good number of others, consisted mostly of blasted out buildings with some repair done to make them livable in. A nice touch, however, was the custom to cover the outsides of the buildings with gecko pelts, leading to a town full of indigo and silver, with splotches of gold. Some greens and violets were also thrown into the mix, but these were imported from hunters travelling in from other places. The color of the  pelts covering the building meant something, but Jackson only knew that gold meant shops of some sort. More likely to catch the eyes of tourists, he presumed.<br/><br/>He opened the door to the "Singin' Deathclaw", noise and the smell of cheap alcohol blasting him in the face as he did. He smiled, home at last.