The Rust Belt
The Rust Belt
Industrial Ruins – Faction: @The Gear Rats
@The Rust Belt is a kingdom of fire and iron, stitched together from the carcasses of the old world’s industry. Collapsed smokestacks jut like broken spears into a sky smeared with the haze of burning oil and melted plastic. Foundries lie gutted but not dead, their skeletal frames converted into fortresses by the Gear Rats—scrap-armored raiders who see rust not as decay, but as proof of strength. Shipping yards have become their killing fields, warehouses their war vaults, and conveyor lines their highways of slaughter.
The Rats live and breathe the grind of machinery. Armor is hammered from forklift plating and tank hulls. Weapons are born from industrial saws, pneumatic drills, and scavenged mining gear. Every scrap of metal in the district is claimed, cataloged, and taxed by their warlord, Cog, a giant in soot-caked power armor whose voice carries like a forge hammer across steel. Salvage runs are planned with the precision of military campaigns, and those who fail their quotas often find themselves “recycled” in the Molten Pit—an arena where loyalty is tested in blood against the roar of flame.
The district itself is alive with mechanical noise. Pipes shriek with redirected steam, gantries tremble under the weight of chained engines, and conveyor belts churn endlessly with no purpose but to remind all who enter: here, the machine is eternal, and you are fuel. From this iron crucible, the Gear Rats launch their raids—not just against rival factions, but against anyone foolish enough to own metal they can’t defend.
Current State of the Belt. The Rats have stitched a moving fortress across the district: Smelter Row (lined cupolas and crucibles, now blast-walled), Crane Spine (gantries slung with chains and magnet hooks), Slagsea (a cooled lake of rippled glassy waste used as a kill-plain), and Rivet Cathedral (a cathedral-sized press hall turned council pit). Supply crawlers (“Axle Trains”) run at dawn under tarped catwalks; spotters ring steel in set rhythms so crews don’t vanish in steam or smoke.
Iron Crown Dispute (Cog vs. Calder). The Rats answer to two centers of gravity: Cog, the warlord in soot-caked power armor who rules the pits by spectacle, and [Graft “Rat-King” Calder, currently a Gear Rats foreman,] who runs ledgers, fans, and uptime. Cog wants more armor and engines; Calder wants bearings, belts, and air. Their rivalry vents as “Quotas & Coffins” arguments—how many bodies a metric of steel is worth. When Cog’s Molten Pit “recycles” a quota-breaker, Calder quietly tallies the lost skill on a slate and raises prices to the outsiders who made that death necessary.
The Belt vs. Everyone Else
Solar Guardians — Alloy for the Helio Spine.
The Guardians need mirror frames, mountings, and cable trays. They pay in batteries, foam, and torch fluid. [Kara Solis, currently a member of the Solar Guardians,] brokered the Rail-Spine Reheat—a rolling mill restarted to shape substation struts.
Friction: Scheduled burns clash with foundry cycles. If a radiant sweep hits mid-pour, slag pops and men burn. The Rats now hang blackout drapes over skylight gaps during Guardian runs and bang slow bell beats (“Dim Hour”) to pause cranes. Miss the beat and the magnet drops.
Hydro Hegemony — Quench is Thirst.
Quenching eats water. [Gideon Rake, currently with Hydro Hegemony,] imposed Quench Quotas and “purity surcharges,” claiming grease in mains and metal ions spiking after night pours.
Blue-Quiet Drags (mirror-faced leak teams) descend valve galleries under Gear Rat escort. Twice they didn’t come back. Now Hegemony drags wear pike cages; the Rats mutter that cages block shots and get people killed.
After the Boil-Off Incident (a valve clamp during a heat—steam surge, two dead, one missing), Calder filed a grievance slate; Cog answered by welding the slate into a boss’s pauldron.
Shadow Syndicate — The Ledger Forge.
The Black Market runs on the Belt’s guts: servo rigs, respirators, and cut steel. [Marius Vale, currently with the Shadow Syndicate,] sanctioned Stamp Keys—hand presses that emboss groove patterns into receipts—so the Rats get paid and buyers don’t get knifed.
Forgers flooded Knife Stair with beeswax key impressions; Vale purged a dozen Keys in one night. Prices dipped for two days (fear discount), then climbed higher.
Tension: The Syndicate wants predictable output. Cog loves surprise raids for tribute. Calder alone keeps contracts alive by swapping loads and sending decoys into the smoke.
Citadel Council — Glass vs. Grit.
Dome reinforcement convoys pass through the Belt. After alloy hijacks, the Citadel rerouted under armored bus-bridges and offered a Bountied Salvage Registry: turn in captured braces, get ration tokens and permits.
[Viera Senn, currently on the Citadel Council,] dangled a legal “Licensed Yard” inside the Belt if the Rats post fire buckets and tally books. Cog laughed; Calder asked how many buckets. Talks stall whenever the Council calls the Belt a “theft zone” on public holo and buys its steel in private.
Perimeter Watch — Uptime at the Wall.
The Watch gets fan motors, welded firing slits, and track links from the Belt—and hates the salvage lien the Rats claim after every battle.
Calder runs dawn Rattle Runs to haul parts to the wall. When Raiders cut a Rattle Run last month, the Watch let Rats pull salvage from the berm for two hours—no questions—then slammed the gate. Everyone won and nobody smiles.
Raiders — Steel Hunger.
Ironclad Krell covets tread and plate, and Inferno Iris loves smoke flowing downwind of a pour. Cog meets raids with magnet drops: he times a crane swing so a two-ton plate shears bike columns. Skullbreaker Kael answers by ramming slag piles until they avalanche.
The Rats pre-wire slag poppers—buried jars that burst when the pour hits air—turning the Slagsea into a glittering storm. It blinds raiders… and sometimes Rats.
Static Cult — Hush in the Girders.
Sermon nights from the Radio Silence Zone bleed down the old trunk lines. Magnet cranes misstep, tool kits demagnetize, and a low hum creeps into men’s jaws. The Rats hang click-keys—pocket metronomes—to keep a steady rhythm that drowns the Cult’s pulse.
Calder wants ferrite chokes on every feed. Cog prefers smashing the “singing” junction boxes with a sledge.
Silent Walkers — Observed, Not Aligned.
They’ve crossed the Slagsea twice at dawn, feet unblistered, chalk sigils on a rusted water tower, gone before the steam lifts. The Rats log them on the slate as present and keep the fire lit.
Shamblers, Spark, and Substrates
Shamblers avoid hot steel but flow along the conveyor cut corridors. The Rats blow brass whistles when a stasis minute hits; then torches carve lanes and shove the dead into quenched pits.
Spark shows up as “pour dust”—glittering cuts sold to keep hands steady. Users twitch to unheard rhythms; grinders catch thumbs. Calder bans Spark in the pits; Cog “encourages courage.”
Chrysal filament collects in baghouse filters like metallic frost; men who clean it complain of copper tongues and headaches. It sells to Syndicate chemists who swear it “stiffens” certain composites. The Rats don’t ask.
Recent Notables (last 3–6 months)
Red Furnace Sunday: A radiant sweep collided with a heat. Kara Solis re-aimed a mirror off a bus windshield to spare Smelter Row; two raider bikes turned pyre; three pour lines finished clean.
Blue-Quiet Seize: Hegemony clamped a quench line mid-pour during a “purity audit.” Steam flash, scaffold collapse, one dead, one missing. The Watch escorted leak crews out under booing Rats; Calder and Rake haven’t spoken since.
Mag-Drop at Crane Spine: Cog timed a plate swing into Krell’s spearhead; seven bikes flattened. Raiders torched the slag berm in revenge; the Rats’ foam monks held the line.
Ledger Purge Night (Belt Chapter): Vale nullified six counterfeit Keys in Rivet Cathedral; two fixers vanished into the neon a week later, ghostware-clean.