Nevertheless, the apocalypses didn’t leave an empty planet. Wasteland’s population was reduced to less than a tenth of 1 per cent of what it had been – but that remnant had access to the wreckage of a global society and the vast stockpiles of resources which had sustained it. With close collaboration and careful stewarding, the survivors could have begun the painstakingly slow process of rebuilding.
Instead, they began fighting. Barely had the bombs stopped falling when the first wrench duels were fought over dog food and the first motorcycle gangs were leathering up and hitting the road to find other motorcycle gangs to go to war with. It’s been going on ever since.
Wasteland Today
This culture of mandatory violence might seem crazy, given how much the survivors clearly had to benefit from cooperation. But then, cooperation just isn’t what you do after an apocalypse, is it? And besides, if any psychiatrists had survived the ends of the world,[14] they might have made quiet note of the fact that everyone was a lot less anxious and miserable than they had been when they were worrying about the end of the world. And so it goes on. Empires bloom and collapse in the desert, and occasionally some fresh horror of the old world will be unleashed – a cache of nuclear warheads will be set off by some would-be atomic Caesar, or a legion of supersoldiers will awake from cryogenic stasis and go on a rampage. By and large, however, it’s never long before life in the Wasteland returns to business as usual, offering a comforting familiarity for travellers.
Climate and Terrain
Wasteland’s climate is more varied than one might assume at first. Even so, pretty much all of it could be grouped under the broad heading of ‘total dogshit’. Thanks to the evaporation of the seas, the majority of the world’s surface is covered in searingly hot salt flats, broken occasionally by the yawning remnants of oceanic trenches, and scoured regularly by ferocious radioactive dust storms. It’s all drier than a nine-hour lecture on the history of paperclips – and when there is rain it’s usually corrosive enough to strip flesh from bone. Some water remains in the highlands, leading to patches of half-arsed savannah, but pools of the stuff rarely last long without being poisoned by gits in trucks with angry faces painted on them. Rumours abound that at the heart of the Wasteland, nature has reclaimed the wilderness, resulting in an oasis of green land unspoiled by human interference – but this is exactly the sort of ‘promised land’ bollocks that keeps half of Wasteland’s prophets in business, and so should be taken with a pinch of radioactive salt.[15]
OLDTIMES TELLY
Where better to learn about Wasteland’s history than from one of the traditional ‘oldtimes telly’ sessions in the Badlands? These theatrical extravaganzas are less about preserving facts than they are about creating huge stories full of gods and monsters. Nevertheless, they usually end with two emaciated labourers dressed as legendary corporate mascots fighting over a dog tendon. These storytelling events are often held on the eve of big clashes between warlords, as it gets everyone pumped up on national myth and mitigates the risk of anyone seeing their opponents as human. After all, it’s a lot easier to ram a harpoon through someone’s neck when you know they don’t venerate the same ancient fast-food brands as you.
Wildlife
After the apocalypses, the number of animal species left in Wasteland wouldn’t even have filled one of those depressing zoos where they put wigs on dogs and insist they’re lions.[16] Almost the only things to survive were vermin, domestic animals and anything with low enough self-esteem to eat rubbish.[17] Even so, Wasteland is a surprisingly good wildlife destination: thanks to the vast quantity of radiation and mutagenic chemicals that flooded the atmosphere in the death throes of the old world, these biological leftovers rapidly mutated into an expansive bestiary of slavering predators.
Zoologists looking over field notes from Wasteland tend to sniff haughtily, proclaiming that ‘evolution doesn’t work that way’ and that substantive change takes millions of years, regardless of how many toxic chemicals you throw at the problem. These know-it-alls also query how a world of barren desert – with no plants to speak of – can support an ecosystem almost entirely comprising apex predators. But they don’t ask many questions when they’re being chased through a ruined supermarket by a six-foot wasp with muscly arms, do they?[18]
Anyway, here are some of the more exotic types of creature you can expect to spot during a trip to the Wastes:
Big ol’ rats (Rattus Magnus): They say that on Wasteland you’re never more than six feet away from a rat. But then again, they also say that a grim messiah called the Burger Lord sleeps at the centre of the planet, waiting to be summoned by the construction of a sky-spanning golden arch. They say a lot of things here. Still, there are a lot of rats, and they’ve evolved into a bewildering array of different forms, from the dreaded Cheetah Rats that can run down a motorcycle from a standing start, to the Eagle Rats, squeaking majestically as they circle distant mesas.
Miracle Dogs (Canis Mirabilis): They say that dogs are man’s best friend, but they’re barely acquaintances when compared with Miracle Dogs. Whether through mutation, pre-crisis genetic engineering, nanotech or some other euphemism for magic,[19] these canines, which resemble delightfully fat golden retrievers, have the ability to consume dust and rocks and excrete pure water. If it wasn’t for these incredible living chemical factories, most of Wasteland’s survivors would have died of thirst long ago.[20]
DON’T MISS: KANGAROO COURTS
In many Wasteland settlements it’s common
