Punkers and New Wavers run rampent in the irradiated deserts of Nevada, but there is little to fear from theses fashion-conscious foes. More concerned with posturing and pumping their old-world jams than putting up a good fight, these punkers pack a pretty pitiful punch! Behind these meshed-muscle-flexing meatheads is little in the way of challenge for fully trained Desert Rangers.
Punkers and New Wavers talk big and brandish butterfly blades, but this is a front to hide the fact that they are wasteland wanderers like the rest of the survivors in the world. If you were to remove their sweet shades you would be met by a weary stare and see the same sad-eyed gaze of a powerless person, adrift but not yet drowned in an ocean of happenstance. What events conspired to force them to be born into a world already claimed and destroyed by the overreaching greed of others who came before, now long dead? What choice do they have to lash out and attempt to claim the little that luck had left them? How many of their raider ilk perish while trying simply to make a living?
It almost makes you feel bad for blasting them to oblivion with your lasguns and meson canons.
