It wasn’t easy, I know.

Since you were born, everything you knew was suffering and injustice. You spent your childhood in a dying and hopeless world, surrounded by rusted remains of something you could not understand. They called it Postworld.

You knew, like everyone knew, that long ago happened … something. Something that ravaged the Gone World, leaving the few survivors in a constant state of despair, struggling for the simplest of things. You’re not sure about when, neither have your parents have been able to tell you. Not that anyone cared, anyway.

Your origin doesn’t matter: maybe you’re one of the lucky ones, who grew up in a decent Outpost with miracles such as cultivated fields and electricity, or an ever-moving convoy in search of food and opportunities. Maybe it got really bad instead, and you were born with the mark of mutation. It happens, it happens more and more often. And if it’s the case, then tell me: did your mother abandon you or did she keep you with her? Maybe she was a mutant too, or not … is she still alive anyway? I doubt it.

Then you grew up. At some point, you realized that you had to kill or be killed. You fetched your first weapon, a knife, perhaps, or a crude stick. You have discovered the Shockers, those strange weapons that shoot darts. I bet you’ve been struck by them several times. A bad lot, isn’t it? But they do not kill. Almost never. But believe me, a burst of that stuff breaks armor and bones like dry branches. I know it.

So you killed, and you grow up and became part of your community. Who knows what your path was … did you become a warrior? A doctor? A mechanic? Something strange?

Perhaps in your territory one of the Factions was predominant, and you received the Hyena mark, or the Gamma Kiss of Saint Curie. Who knows, you might have joined a Rave Rhapsody or have been struck by the Iris teachings. Maybe you’ve also heard the call to adventure so many Landseeker feel, or the mad push for building stuff of the Prebellums. It was the spark of the Internal Self Combustion, or the Seraglio’s simple lust for violence? Have you tried the indescribable joy of a motorcycle ride with the Brides, or have you been seduced by the pleasure of deciding between life and death in the halls of the Gulag?

Who knows. Many who come here are still free of choice. Will you find your way, or perhaps will you remain among the undecided? It’s your choice, after all, and we do not oblige anyone.

Let’s talk about the reason you are here. It is obvious: you too have heard of this place. Rad City. The last hope of mankind. A strange name for a town, right? But it is a strange city. Miraculous, I would say.

Yes, the rumors were true. Here security is guaranteed by Trauma Korps. Watch them, they are real. White masks, black vests. I guarantee you that they are as deadly as it sounds. Those weapons? Realguns. Nothing to do with Shockers. A shot of those, and your head explodes like a scab. Do not challenge them. They’re here for your safety, but they will not hesitate to deal with you, if you cause trouble.

But the most important thing is another, believe me. Here, we are free from the curse of radiation. Mind you, I have nothing against the Saint and her entourage. Continue to mix your blood with acid, if you wish. But here the children are born healthy and strong, as it once was. Pink skin and healthy. Here we have defeated the curse that is killing and changing our children in the cradle.

This is why you’re here.

For this reason, under the supervision of the Trauma, you faced the horror of the Bleedings, the trials that guaranteed you access to Rad City. I do not know how you overcome it: maybe proving yourself an extraordinary warrior, perhaps using your skills to get by. Perhaps the Trauma themselves intervened to spare you, perhaps you hid the whole trial and you sneaked in at the right time for win.

In any case, you did it.

You arrived.

You survived.

And your true life is about to begin.

Welcome to Rad City, Citizen.