Raider’s Camp

Raider’s Camp
Wasteland Outpost – Unaligned

Beyond the last solid line of @The Perimeter Watch , where barricades crumble into scattered gunposts and the wilds swallow the road, the @Raider’s Camp spreads like a disease. It isn’t one place—it’s a sprawl of ruin stitched together with blood and bone: shattered overpasses turned into sniper nests, bombed-out motels doubling as slaughter pens, scrapyards where rusted engines are welded into kill-machines. Here, the air is thick with propane fumes and the stench of charred meat.

The Raiders who haunt this zone are too erratic for the Gear Rats, too wild for the Syndicate, too stupid—or too proud—to bend knee to any banner. They live for motion and mayhem, swarming in spike-covered war rigs, sunburnt skin painted in crude sigils of blood and ash. Every convoy is a mobile altar to destruction, its wheels wrapped in chains, its grills studded with the skulls of those who failed to outrun them. Their leaders—scarred brutes like @Furnace Faraday, @Glitch, @Inferno Iris, @Ironclad Krell, or @Skullbreaker Kael—rule through fear, betrayal, and a constant need to prove they’re the meanest thing still breathing.

The Perimeter Watch hits them when they can, but large offensives are rare—every push into Raider territory risks a counter-swarm that could breach the city’s edge. Inside New Vance, “Raider” is a curse. Out here, it’s survival, stripped of law, loyalty, or reason. And when the night burns red over the horizon, the message is clear enough without words: they’re hungry again.