People think it's like a desert, some kind of vacuous space where nothing can live, but that's mostly because people are self-centred jerks. Plenty of things live in the wasteland. Just nothing you'd want to bring home to meet the family. Radscorpions, mobile algae, razorwolves, that kind of thing.
The ground is poison. It eats through boots, if you give it enough time. The water is worse. The only trees left have chrome roots, and drop fruit that will pierce your skull if you're not careful where you step.
Every day in the wasteland is another struggle, another fight to survive against the things that nature has shaped through brutal punishment, into the hardiest bastards ever to walk this earth. A colony tried to start up, once. I still hit up their little ghost town for supplies every now and again. Good solar panels.
They didn't see what I saw when I looked out of the City. They saw a new land for their families to grow. Wrong. The wasteland has no room for sentimentality, for selflessness. Humans can't live here, they're too soft. Too caring. Drop two of them in the swamp and they'll be dead in hours. But human, singular... well, so long as you're ready to adapt, you can thrive.
You know what the food chain is? It's the chain I use to beat the other things that live hear to death so I can eat them. And if you want to survive, you'll do it to. Now get lost. This is my 800,000 hectares of god-forgotten swamp.
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