In the shadows of the sixty year old ruins of the Trojan-Satsop nuclear plant in south-east Redmond, around the clear ticking waters of Beaver Lake the lost and the desperate have found a home. In makeup shelters, tents and squatting in the ruins of abandoned buildings people have found what some might call a home. Fighting for survival, for food, for shelter every day.
Shiawase Atomics has built a new plant next to the ruins of the destroyed reactor, for the contaminated land was cheap and nobody could say whether the radioactivity of the wastelands has its source in the old or in the new plant.
Between the de-humanized guards behind that four-meter wall of concrete, steel and concertina wire, in their hazmat suits, accompanied by their drones, keeping the dangerous critters and cancerous slum-dwellers at bay and the rusty barbed wire fences around the disaster area that try to keep the contaminated inside, a very unique community has arisen in the smouldering embers of disaster.
At the core of the old Containment Zone, 60 squareclicks stretching between Squatter’s Mall north, Monohan Vehicles south, Pine Lake east the NAN border with Snoqualmie River west lies the heavily irradiated Core Zone, three by four clicks of urban wasteland that has been reoccupied by deformed nature. Bloated weeds have seized the concrete spaces and hungry vines have clawed their way into the cracked and rusted industrial complexes. Delapidated dwellings of this formerly bustling cityscape abound with grotesque vermin and long forgotten memories. A home for the lost, the damned, the twisted and the maimed, many of them mortally ill, cancerous and without hope. Roaming freely among them the mutated, warped in mind and body, Strange spirits stalking and whispering to each other in the deepest recesses of this Hellhole. A home for those that try to stay alive between those dangerous creatures, squatting together in small communities of necessity as long as it fits their needs.
North of this rotten core, squeezed between the wastelands and the urban sprawl of the Barrens you find the Squatters Mall, which functions as the main barter center between the dangerous toxic zone and the rest of the sprawl. Where the daring scavengers or traders sell loot from raids with good profit and get goods to trade to the people inside in return. West of the core lands is the fallout area, which is still considered an exclusion area, but guarded weakly with lots of abandoned buildings and houses, cut through by the trafficked 202 Glow City Road and ending on the banks of the polluted upper Snoqualmie River.
In the polluted astral space the unwholesome sickly green light of the plant is shining over the area and the spirits have been driven away. Those who stayed have long ago embraced the poison sun in a twisted way.
Like the Free Church of Radium, where their well respected followers with their pulley carts sell fresh water in exchange for bottles with fresh human piss. Or the Body Mall a twisted bazaar south the center of the disaster zone, where in the decayed ruin of a four floor mall not only has set up the barter and commercial center of the region, but also a filthy couple of cheap body-shops and meat-mechanic clinics which perform the undisputed worst of their kind of art.
Nothing is useless, nothing gets wasted. Even those dead bodies found on the streets and in the corners, murdered for a pair of shoes, snuffed by some overdose or those just killed and maimed for the thrill.
The worst gang of all are the Rusted Stilettos, a mutant gang that haunts the area and never seems to die out. This mortal ill gang of mutants with mutant critters of nightmarish pets is the scourge of the area, some say they are the healing flame of radiation. With a mix of fear and respect. And where you find the mark of their blood-cross painted on the wall, you find the maimed and tortured carcass of their paint pot right below. “SALVATION” written under it.
It is the magnet of the sick and twisted. And those that manage to survive here survive everything. And those who survive may have left the body swinging in the gusty wind with a sign ‘MUTANT’ hanging over his chest.
Welcome stranger, welcome to the vortex of suffering. Welcome to the last truly free spot in Seattle. The last spot to live without paying for rent or a protection racket.