Wayne Default

~ start
if QuestManager.get_quest_status_by_uuid("defe0121-ff72-43f4-a4f0-81a50b096ca8").get_status() == 1:
	Wayne: *He looks up from a stack of cassette tapes, setting down a battered notepad.*
		Hey there. Wavelength - Wayne Rivera. Welcome to the tower.

	if StateItems.get_character_inventory_items_amount_by_prototype_v2("5f6d75d2-5d49-40c4-a547-c5d0f72f7c38") == 0:
		Wayne: *He looks up from his equipment.*
			Looking for something specific?
		- I'm looking for a page with numbers you mentioned in your broadcast
			Wayne: *He sets down his work, nodding slowly.*
				The journal page. Right.
				*A slight pause.*
				Been wondering when someone would come asking about that.
			Wayne: *He rifles through a box under his desk, careful with its contents.*
				Found this about eight months back. Trade with a scavenger from out east - guy said he pulled it from some collapsed research facility.
				*He pulls out a weathered page in a plastic sleeve.*
				Couldn't read most of it. Not English. But those numbers...
				*He taps the circled coordinates.*
				Those, I understood.
			- Can I have a copy?
				Wayne: *He walks over to a jury-rigged photocopier in the corner.*
					Made this thing work last year. One of my better days.
					*The machine whirs and clicks, producing a slightly faded but readable copy.*
					Here you go.
				Wayne: *He hands you the copy, still warm from the machine.* [#give_item=defe0121-ff72-43f4-a4f0-81a50b096ca8|5f6d75d2-5d49-40c4-a547-c5d0f72f7c38]
					*You received an item [Page with Coordinates #2]*
				Wayne: *He returns to his desk, thoughtful.*
					Those coordinates point somewhere in the deep red zone. Northeast.
					*He meets your eyes.*
					Be careful out there. Whatever was important enough to write down like that... probably still dangerous.
				- I have more questions => repeat_questions
	else:
		Wayne: I see you already have my note!
else:
	Wayne: *He looks up from a stack of cassette tapes, setting down a battered notepad.*
		Hey there. Wavelength - Wayne Rivera. Welcome to the tower.
	- Tell me about the Tower => nan_tower_question
	- What's the news out there? => news_question
	- Anything strange you notice? => mysteries_question  
	- That's all for now
		Wayne: Keep your radio on. [#end]
=> END

~ repeat_questions
Wayne: What do you want to know?
- Tell me about the Tower => nan_tower_question
- What's the news out there? => news_question
- Anything strange you notice? => mysteries_question  
- That's all for now
	Wayne: Keep your radio on. [#end]
=> END

~ nan_tower_question
Wayne: *He leans back, the chair creaking under him.*
	Neon Apocalypse Network. NAN. Started about... six years ago? Found this old radio tower in the middle of nowhere, figured someone should use it...
	Nobody claimed it. No faction tag. Just rusted equipment, solar panels and a generator that still worked if you kicked it right.
Wayne: *He taps one of the cassette players on his console.*
	Got most of this gear from scavengers. Some I fixed myself. You'd be surprised what people throw away.
	*He holds up a tape, labeled in faded marker.*
	This one came from a collapsed house outside Twin Rocks. The Cars, '84. Owner didn't make it out.
Wayne: *His voice drops slightly, more serious.*
	I play music from before. 1980s mostly, some late '70s. Not because it's better - though it is - but because it's all we have left of who we were.
	*He meets your eyes.*
	Every song is someone's summer. Someone's first dance. Last normal day before everything ended.
Wayne: *He gestures to a hand-drawn map on the wall, covered in pins.*
	People bring me tapes. I catalog them, restore what I can, broadcast them. In exchange?
	*He shrugs.*
	I tell them what's happening out there. Caravan routes. Weather. Which places to avoid.
	Nothing fancy. Just trying to connect people. Make the wasteland feel smaller.
Wayne: *He returns to his work, sorting through tapes.*
	Some nights I get fifty listeners. Some nights maybe five. Doesn't matter. Someone's out there, hearing music their parents heard. Remembering what home sounded like.
	That's worth the isolation.
- I have more questions => repeat_questions
- That's all for now
	Wayne: Keep your radio on. [#end]
=> END

~ news_question
Wayne: *He pulls out a different notebook - this one marked "News Log" with recent dates.*
	You want the wasteland digest? Hold on.
	*He flips through recent entries.*
	Biggest story right now is the Salt Flats situation. That chemical disaster up north displaced... what, couple thousand people?
Wayne: *He taps a map notation.*
	Refugee caravans have been rolling through for weeks now. Aniid Kin took in the most, but they're stretched thin.
	*He looks up.*
	Prosperity won't take any. Twin Rocks is "reviewing applications." The Frontier's basically a tent city at this point.
	*A pause.*
	People who had homes three months ago, now sleeping in camps. If they're lucky.
Wayne: *He flips to another page, his tone shifting slightly.*
	Tensions are running high between the city-states. Nothing new there, but it's getting worse.
	Twin Rocks and Prosperity have always competed, but lately?
	*He shrugs.*
	Twin Rocks controls the water. Prosperity has the manufacturing. Each one thinks they're indispensable. Both are probably right.
Wayne: *He leans forward, elbows on the console.*
	Been hearing reports of supply caravans getting hit more often. Raiders, officially. But some of those raids are too coordinated.
	Too convenient.
	*He meets your eyes.*
	I don't broadcast that part. Too many people with guns and grievances listening. But yeah. Cold war's heating up.
Wayne: *His expression darkens slightly.*
	Then there's the new player. The Scrappers.
	*He pulls out a separate sheet with scattered notes, question marks.*
	Started hearing about them maybe four, five months back. Raider group operating out of the mountains northeast.
Wayne: *He reads from his notes, clearly skeptical but unsettled.*
	Reports are... inconsistent. Impossible, really. But multiple sources, different locations, same stories.
	*He looks up.*
	They don't sleep. Fight for days without rest. Some caravanner swears he shot one three times center mass - guy didn't even slow down.
Wayne: *He sets down the notes, uncomfortable.*
	One merchant claims he saw them walk through fire during a camp raid. Not around it. Through it.
	*A pause.*
	Building was burning, collapsing. They just walked in, took what they wanted, walked out.
Wayne: *He files the notes away, ready to move on.*
	Just another day in the wasteland. Refugees looking for homes, cities squaring up, and raiders who might not be entirely human anymore.
	*A pause.*
	Keep your radio on. Things change fast out here.
- I have more questions => repeat_questions
- That's all for now
	Wayne: Keep your radio on. [#end]
=> END

~ mysteries_question
Wayne: *He lets out a long breath, setting down his work entirely.*
	You want weird? I've got weird. Comes with the territory when you're broadcasting into the void every night.
	*He gestures to a shelf lined with battered notebooks.*
	I keep logs. Every broadcast, every signal, every anomaly. Been doing it since day one.
Wayne: *He pulls down a notebook, flips to a marked page.*
	September 27th. Every year, same date. Static patterns that aren't random.
	*He shows you waveform sketches he's drawn.*
	Started noticing it year three. Always between 0200 and 0400 hours.
Wayne: *His voice lowers, like he's admitting something embarrassing.*
	Sometimes I hear voices in them. Not recordings - live transmissions. Talking about launches, cities going dark, countdown timers.
	*He looks at you, defensive.*
	I know how that sounds. Believe me. But I've got recordings.
Wayne: *He pulls out another notebook, this one marked "Anomalies."*
	The Scar - that purple thing in the sky? It pulses. Slowly, but it does. Most people don't notice because they're not watching every night like I am.
	*He taps a chart he's made.*
	When it gets brighter, things happen. Electronics fail. Or work when they shouldn't.
Wayne: *He stands, paces slightly in the cramped space.*
	People report hearing things. Conversations from empty rooms. Footprints that start and stop nowhere.
	*He looks out the tower window.*
	Last year, someone swore they saw a helicopter fly over the northern ridge.
Wayne: *He turns back to you, earnest.*
	Most disturbing? The echoes. Broadcasts that come through my equipment in dead hours - voices announcing news from before the bombs fell. Like they're still happening.
	*He gestures to his recording equipment.*
	I've got one on tape. Voice says it's October 3rd, 1988. Clear as day. Talking about harvest projections in Kansas.
	*A pause.*
	Kansas is a crater.
Wayne: *He returns to his chair, suddenly looking tired.*
	Time feels wrong sometimes. Especially when the Scar is bright. Hours pass like minutes. Or the opposite.
	*He absently touches his watch - wound mechanical, no batteries.*
	I've learned to trust this more than my electronics on bad nights. At least this stays consistent.
Wayne: *He looks at his notebooks, his recordings, his maps.*
	Maybe I'm just spending too much time alone up here. Hearing things that aren't there, seeing patterns in random noise.
	*He meets your eyes.*
	But the recordings don't lie. Something's happening out there. The Scar remembers. Or it's trying to tell us something.
Wayne: *He picks up a tape, ready to get back to work.*
	My grandmother used to say radio waves never really die. They just keep traveling, getting weaker, but never gone.
	*A slight smile, tired.*
	Maybe that's all this is. Old signals bouncing around, finding their way back decades later. Echoes of things that were.
	*He pauses.*
	Or maybe time isn't as solid as we think it is. Not anymore.
- I have more questions => repeat_questions
- That's all for now
	Wayne: Keep your radio on. [#end]
=> END