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[h2] War...War Never Changes.[/h2]

[Location: Independence, just outside the Tower.]

When atomic fire consumed the earth, those who survived did so in great, underground vaults. When they opened, their inhabitants set out across ruins of the old world to build new societies, establish new villages, forming tribes.

As decades passed, what had been the American south united beneath the flag of the gun toting group known as the NRA. Once an organization called the National Rifle Association, this new version of the group (breaking away from the legendary Regulators) changed its moniker to the New Regulator Alliance and officially formed the New Republic of Texas in their own image. Dedicated to the wild west values of old, the NRA showed these Red Wastes that he or she who has the most guns will lead the charge to reclamation of law and order. As the Republic grew, so did its needs. Other factions rose from the dust and joined the Republic...or fell to their might. 

Together, these groups found a way to thrive and restore some semblance of society and order to this harsh wasteland. It wasn’t perfect...far from it, but it was far better than the alternative. 

Decades passed and many things changed, but the New Republic galloped along all the same. One group, however, had decided to find their way without the protection of the Republic in exchange for true freedom. This town became known as Independence. The founding of Independence happened five years ago to this very day, and the growing community has been preparing to celebrate it’s quinquennial anniversary. It’s the first time the town has been in a good enough place to stop and smell the roses of what they’ve accomplished. Maintaining their sovereignty, establishing their own trade routes, and protecting those that came along for the journey has proven to be an incredible weight to bear...but those in charge of Independence have done just that. This place has earned a little festivity.

Much of the town has gathered outside of the Tower’s open air lobby that acts as a marketplace and entrance to the structure that houses many of the founding members  and well-off residents of the Tower. Populace from both Shantytown and the Tower proper have assembled outside of the dilapidated hotel with their eyes set towards the large balcony four floors up above, waiting for the coming address from their mostly beloved mayor and founder of Independence, Fleece White. Members of Independence’s Administration have taken position up on the balcony as Constance Ambrose goes through her overly optimistic and excited welcoming spiel. Food and merriment are all around, but most people are at least half-paying attention to the advisor’s words. 

“And of course, none of this would be possible without the woman that...ummm...made it possible...So, let me hereby introduce someone that you all know and love…”.

As Constance goes about calling out Mayor White her husband, Cal, appears on the balcony, coming from within the Tower. He walks up to Constance and turns her away from the ramshackle microphone to halt her speech. A brief conversation is had, and all of a sudden Constance runs back into the building with purpose. Obvious confusion begins to arise from those around you as Cal steps up to the microphone and struggles to speak. 

“I...uhh”. He pauses for a long time, running a hand over his mouth and beard. Even from this distance you can see the gears turning in his mind as he tries to form his next words. “I am sorry everyone. Mayor White has fallen very ill. She...uh...can’t come out here for the celebration.” He forces a terribly transparent smile before continuing. “Go ahead and enjoy yourselves and get ya some grub. She’d want us all to celebrate this day nonetheless. Uhh...thanks.” Worried whispers and confusion continue to grow as he fiddles with the microphone in an attempt to turn it off before giving up and turning away awkwardly...hurrying to leave. The other key players on the balcony that haven’t already run into the Tower quickly join him. Except for Haskell, who calmly approaches the microphone himself. With a deep...smooth voice he begins to speak.

“You heard Mr. Ambrose. Now get on with the festivities. Don’t you worry about our mayor. She’s the toughest broad I’ve ever met...and that’s counting the female Direboar that took three of my toes. Get a bite to eat, enjoy the music, drink yourselves into peace, and have a good time.” Haskell unplugs the microphone and takes a long look at the crowd gathered below before slowly making his way inside as well. 

What do you do?