WARNING SIGNS

Date: 10.24.2224

Location: Red Rocket, Lafayette Outskirts

Jean Dean stopped us at the door this morning. His glowing eyes steady, his voice low, almost fatherly.

“Chief, listen. The Brotherhood don’t come ‘round here for chatter. They come for tech, for power, and they don’t care what they burn down to get it. And the ferals out there—they’re not like me and mine. They’re gone. Radiated past reason. They see you, they bite, that’s all. Don’t take that for granted when you roam.”

I didn’t. None of us did. In this terrain, dismissal is death.

He gripped the edge of the doorframe and added one more word before we left:

“Don’t leave the area too soon. Stay another night. I’ll see ya when you get back.”

The way he said it wasn’t suggestion—it was weight. A man who’s read the terrain, survived it, and knows how it moves. I trust the Deans’ sense of timing.

We agreed. One more night here. Then we’ll read the tracks again.

---

Scavenge plan:

• Myself: Terrain scan and STATION calibration, marking resource routes and risk pockets.

• Pinball: Technical sweep—metal salvage, electronics, any signal nodes.

• Lt. Clancy: Security, overwatch. Keeps his rifle close, eyes sharper after last night’s talk.

• Larry: Left to his own devices but shadowed. I don’t trust his hands not to pocket what doesn’t belong to him.

---

We moved out with light packs. The swamp pressed heavy around us, still buzzing with that toxic drone. The Dean family’s warning sat in my mind like a loaded chamber.

Tonight, we return. If Jean’s read is right—and I believe it is—the night will bring more than just silence.

—The Big Chief