Those who survive The Churn will gather resources from a forgotten time to survive. Fury Rona is one such survivor…
FURY RONA: THE LORE
Rona picked through the junkheap of wormy old furniture and ripped up tires one careful step at a time. Infection was a concern, what with all the scrap metal that had been gobbled up and retched out rusted by mutants during the churn times. “I know you’re here, Maggie,” she crooned, plucking up a wrinkled old comic book that had been through a gullet. Pictures were nice, but nobody knew the words anymore. She flicked the book away and toed open an upended wooden cabinet. “Maggie!” she called into it, “you in there?” but only a few brown blattamites scuttled away from the light.
She moved on, plucking stuff up for keeps. Railroad spikes were always useful but this heap was near to the old Churnguard Industries, so sometimes you could find a Halcyon core with a drop of juice still in it, or pre-war M.A.C. parts, or tools. Tools you could trade for infused crystal, there being no way to make them. “Mags,” she called again, this time sweet. She climbed up on a rat rod rolled on its side and laid flat to squint into the dark driver’s seat. “Maggie? Heeeere Maggie-Maggie-Maggie.” Reaching into the dark, feeling around for the gear shift, she grabbed something prickly and pulled it into the light. It was a pretty-faced dolly, just the head now, the body lost to history, the hair shorn nearly off. She’d never owned such a splendid thing.
“Well!” she giggled, “what a lovely day this is.”
“BAAAH!” came the war scream from inside the rat rod. The door opposite opened downward into the tunnels under the junkheap, and a big gun barrel poked up into her face.
Rona jumped to her feet, heavy boots slamming dents into the body of the rat rod, and clipped the dolly head to her belt. Out came her machetes, one for each fist. She banged them onto the metal, making sparks and noise. “Come out Magpie! Don’t you want to fight? Do I have to call you ugly?”
The first shell exploded out of the barrel in a white heat that passed an inch from her eyes and left her ears ringing.
“Ugly, then! Let me see your ugly piggy face, Maggie!” She turned up her nose and oink-oink-oinked, laughing as she hopped off the rat rod and scrambled up a junk pile for a higher vantage point. The gun barrel rose and rose and then there was a hairy hand holding the grip, then a greasy bit of muscle, then the flat-nosed face of The Magpie, boss of the Churnguard Junkheap.
To be continued…
THOUGHTS FROM JUSTINSANE, SUPER EVIL CONCEPT ARTIST:
I wanted to make a post-apocalyptic gladiator. Rona gathers things that can be used as armor, like hockey pads, tires, tank treads, or giant railroad spikes, and welds or bolts them together.
I think Rona burst a few blood vessels while berserking and it threw her off. She’s more of a threat now than ever because she’s too crazy to care. She’s ferocious and badass, but her sweet face and the doll heads give her a crazy look, so she looks like she’s going to defeat you and enjoy it.