The Wasted West


A letter from Hera Sumi to her mentor, Hal Morgan

You’ll never guess where I am right now. Riding in the back of a truck, next to a ghost rock bomb, on the way back to Junkyard, fleeing from some doomsayers. Seriously. Oh, and there’s an incapacitated cyborg lying next to me. You may not think that this would be the best time or place to be writing a letter, but really, when is these days? So here I am.

It all started out ok. Junkyard asked us to check in on a human/mutant city that had been attacked by the Mutant King recently and was known to worship an unexploded GR bomb (no idea), we wrangled a car out of them to get out there and back, and we even managed to rescue some humans we saw being transported away from the city to be sold into slavery so that we didn’t have to skulk around inside the city ourselves to gather intel. Then, of course, we chased after the bomb we’d seen being loaded on the other side of town and headed off for Junkyard. And let me tell you, trying to speed across the wastes is no fun at all. We managed to take out most of the mutants, but Rosa went down under a hail of machine gun fire. We hauled her into the back of the semi, Phee hopped in the front, and we’ve been driving ever since. Hopefully we make it to Junkyard before the one doomsayer manages to gather reinforcements to come after us. And maybe we’ll even find a spare moment to pull over so that Phee can fix Rosa up. I wouldn’t know where to begin when trying to heal a cyborg, and after seeing Bo’s attempt at driving today, I do not want that man behind a wheel. No way.

Lizzie says hi, by the by. She wouldn’t tell me how she did it, but she had scrounged up some kind of sugar substitute and made cookies. You’ll have to come here if you want your own, but I made sure to have a second in your honor. It was delicious.



Xphile Shaldis

I'm sorry, but we no longer support this web browser. Please upgrade your browser or install Chrome or Firefox to enjoy the full functionality of this site.