<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 wasn't exactly a normal day for this bandit hideout, but it was a good day all the same. The sun seemed slightly less unbearable, the mutated and horrible beasts of the Texan wasteland had only been a slight day, the leader of the group was in a good mood, and they had captured three members of an enemy group, perfect for torturing and beating . The last things where related, the three poor souls on their knees, hands tied behind their backs, beaten and bloodied. In front of them was a large, scar covered man, wearing jagged metal armor and holding a metal bat, ready to teach people what happened when they got on his bad side.<br/><br/>Unfortunately for him, he never had the chance. A bullet flew through the air, meeting the back of the man's head. Then bits and pieces of the man's brain met the ground.<br/><br/>"That's that." The one who fired the gun said. One Jackson Mercer, who shifted from his sniping position. The rest of the group didn't matter to him, his job was only to take out the leader, and he was looking pretty damn taken out from where Jackson was laying. He was far enough away that he doubted any of the thugs would spot him, but if they did, he had plenty of bullets left. He considered the idea of helping the prisoners, but he realized they were already dead. If the bandits weren't already killing them, their wounds would soon enough. He didn't have enough medical supplies to share, sadly.<br/><br/>He made his way off, making sure to use any 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. Jackson sighed at the idea, the idea being the second most annoying thing he could think of. The most annoying was not being able to find the employer afterwards. "<span style="font-style: italic">Well, not finding them at least saves a bullet, I guess."</span><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. 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 felt the whole thing was quite interesting, and it reminded him of the occasional though of switching his person-hunting job for an animal-hunting job. He wasn't 100% why he didn't, to be honest, he was sure he would be good at it. Perhaps part of him, deep down, just didn't think he would be exciting enough? He pushed their thoughts out of his mind, deciding now was not the time to worry about such things. One day, maybe, but today was the day to visit his favorite building in any town that had one.<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 unique touch to the town, however, was the custom to cover the outsides of the buildings with gecko hides, leading to a town full of indigo and silver, with the occasional splotch of gold.  Some green and violets broke up  the other colors here and there, these skins imported from hunters travelling in from other places. The color of gecko hide on the building indicated the type of building they were, but Jackson only knew gold meant places to waste your money. If he had to presume, it was to catch the eyes of tourists, of which this town had plenty.<br/><br/>Due to the constant source of food and food from the geckos, Gecko Plains had turned into a rather large trading hub. Not the largest in Texas, but it was third or fourth place, at best. Not only that, but one could see Houston, a shining city of technology, in the horizon. Jackson himself didn't much care about entering the large city, but a incredibly large amount of people did, and Gecko Plains was a popular place to stop during a journey to Houston. And a popular place to say when one was assuredly rejected from entering the city. Not just anybody got to get into a place that important, after all.<br/><br/>Jackson 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. He would buy something to drink, get wasted, and hope nothing else exciting would happen that day.