Primm has been taken over by escaped convicts.
In what seems to be a massive bureaucratic and military castastrophe, the local correctional facility saw its members rise up and take control of their immediate region. Unfortunately, this includes Primm. They call themselves the Powder Gangers, after the fact that they belonged to chain gangs the NCR used to blow mines and build railways into the Wasteland. The NCR, as it is apparent, has no response. Even the camp situated across from Primm seems unable to deal with the threat, citing poor equipment and lack of orders.
I’m not entirely unfamiliar with the NCR, but this sort of bureaucratic hand-wringing has been common lately. A sign that perhaps the republic is growing far too big, too fast without the realization that their governance is full of flaws. Our last democracy suffered the same paralysis of action when it came to disastrous incidents and that led to the war. What about the Mojave wasteland is any different not. The Powder Gangers are seemingly better equipped than NCR soldiers and this does not bode well for the future of the NCR in the region, or in general.
So with Primm out of bounds, I turned south to the Mojave Outpost.
The New California Republic is very proud of their history.
It seems strange that the fledgling republic is so willing to ostentatiously stake their claim upon the western entrance of the wasteland with this monument, yet still be under-equipped to deal with the Powder Ganger situation. Sergeant Jackson at the outpost informs me that the majority of soldiers have been moved further eastwards, towards Hoover Dam and Camp Forlorn hope where they are doing battle with Caesar’s Legion. He’s only left with recruits which he’s reluctant to send into battle with the Powder Gangers. That seems prudent, but he also seems reluctant to send them into battle with giant ants and the insects that plagued the I-95. In return for some supplies, I helped him in clearing the road of mutated insects, but am starting to wonder if the NCR has the capabilities to truly hold the Mojave Wasteland.
A sniper on the roof informed me of smoke coming from the nearby town of Nipton. It’s there I will head to next.
It seems there are good folk in the wasteland.
Head hurts on account of being shot. That courier job turned out to be more dangerous than anyone would have suspected. The platinum chip that I was carrying attracted the attention of a man in a suit and the great Khans. I have read about the great Khans. They use to be from the West, till the Tribal chased them off, or legend has it. I don’t suppose I’m in full possession of my faculties, but I suspect I will run into them sooner or later. Still, they were never my primary purpose in the wasteland. I’m here to chronicle the societies that exist here. I can still do that.
A lot of that is thanks to the Goodsprings. It’s a small town on the Western edge of the wasteland, population of no more than 30 people or so. It’s a tiny little hideaway in between New Vegas and the Mojave Outpost where I came through. There’s not a lot going on here except for a clean source of water and some Brahmin, but the folk here are good simple folk. Doc Mitchell in particular. He’s the doctor that patched me up. Apparently, he comes from a vault as well. Vault 21, located up in New Vegas. He moved from there with his wife and settled here. Then there’s Sunny Smiles, and Trudy, all willing to help a stranger in need way out here. It’s strange that such a community can not only survive, but thrive. Perhaps it’s because it’s away from any raider’s attention.
Until Joe Cobb that is.
A ex-chain gang member from the nearby correctional facility, Joe Cobb threatened to take over the town, even tried to enlist the sympathies of myself. I had very little understanding of what these “powder gangers” wanted but even as a chronicler, I felt it was within my right to aid in the fight against Cobb and his gang. I suppose the law of the wasteland would eventually have Goodsprings succumb to whatever stronger forces pervade out there, but as a favor to return for bringing myself back from the dead, it seemed like the right thing to do.
The existence of good folk in a small town in the middle of the wasteland indicate that there’s still human decency left in the world. They might be rare, or even endangered in such an environment, but the presence of Goodsprings give hope to the idea that perhaps people can pull together to overcome the obstacles of our ruined past. Perhaps they are the only town with such quality, perhaps it’s a quintessential quality that never died even when the bombs hit. Either way, there are good folk in Goodsprings and I did my best in keeping it that way.
Next Stop. Primm.