• Never thought I'd be writing my autobiography so soon. I don't know all of those tricks that scribes and writers use, so I'll just try my best with writing this. After all, I never learned to write until I was 15, and then I had to learn much of it myself.

    Let me start out by saying I have no clue where exactly I was born, or lived the first four years of my life. I remember only a little about it... Tall metal walls, lying in my bed after being woken up by gunshots, and the strongest- my mom. Her face is blurry, but I can remember her voice, calling out my name, Chase. Then there's the memory of being in that caravan when I turned five... Finally old enough to leave the city. When we came back, everything was gone. Burned to the gound, razed by dogs and humans alike. After that, I lived with the traders, moving from one place to the other.

    I remember being lost at around ten, and that city was where I lived for the next seven years. Raider attacs were frequent, but they never got past Winchester or Jericho. I even helped a couple of times with my .22 pistol...
    Not that I did much but duck shots and shoot in the air.

    Ahh, here's where everything gets interesting. When I turned 17, I fell in love with the sheriff's daughter. And I'm not talking about puppy love here... I even asked her to marry me, several times. The sheriff didn't like that- He even shot at me once to make me leave. Eventually, I got in his face after he peppered me with rock salt. I had no idea what I was thinking- I was a complete idiot. He kicked my a**, ripped my ear in half, and kicked me out of the city.

    After wandering for what seemed like years, I collapsed in the middle of the desert. Next thing I knew, I was being carried off by three big, husky men in rag-tag armor, to a Raqider city. Of course I fought- I thought I was going to be a slave. I wasn't- they were simply being 'Good samaritans'. Pfft. I fought with tooth and nail once they put me down, but It was pointless. They were six and seven feet tall, and I was a malnourished, dehydrated skeleton of a 17-year old punk. I got konked over the head and put in the medical ward for a week. Afterward, I realised they were after anything I had on me... All I had was some caps for food and some old pieces of half-working, shoddily repaired powered combat armor.

    I thought to myself- If I couldn't beat them, why not join them? It's not like I could do anything else. I asked the leader what I had to do to join, and he answered with a simple, "You're in." Of course, there was the initiation- I still have scars. And... Here I am now, siting with a rifle in my lap and a welder's mask on my face. If anyone finds this, know you're reading the history of Jag, the greatest raider in the wastes. -End transmission-