So You've Been Exiled From The Detroit Megacity: How To Not Die For A Year

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So You've Been Exiled From The Detroit Megacity: How To Not Die For A Year

By Philip Kindred | July 2nd, 2070 | 529,012 Views
Alright, so. Fuck only knows what you did to get kicked out. Walked out of work with some paper clips, punched out a Guard while drunk, maybe even tried to advocate for the Sprawlers! But through only moderate fault of your own you're going to be kicked out of Society for a year until the Megacity is satisfied you've repented.

A SOURCE OF FIRE
Yeah. No stoves out there, or HVAC, or clean water. You're gonna want fire. Now, Sparkers are available cheap express mail from SovAsia, or at the Junk Market (shhh! More on that later.) But honestly, you can't go wrong with a cheap plastic Canary Yellow. Make it two or three. You're gonna need 'em. If you were a Pearson Junior Jungler as a kid and Dad shelled out the requisite dosh for Advanced Survival, you might know how to make fire with two sticks and some tinder! Lucky you-but unfortunately for the rest of us, that's copyrighted information I can't share here. For those of you too skint for a lighter, you can use a piece of foil and an AA battery...but good luck, you're gonna need it.

A SOURCE OF WATER
Or, clean water, at the very least. Listen hoss-right now, before your utilities get shut off and the Guards drag you out of the city, fill a few bottles with water. Those'll last you a day. Maybe two. While you're at it, grab a kettle, pot, or empty can. Water outside the walls will give you the trots or worse, and on the off chance you didn't pay attention in school, DON'T DRINK THE WATER FROM THE BLACK SWAMP. Not unless you want to die with blood streaming from every hole in your body. Black Swamp water has a characteristic sharp chemical odor-easily smelled from arm's length, which is about as close as you should get. If you don't know where water came from, don't drink it until you've boiled it or run it through a PW-Tronics Water Tester ($75 (Congo)(DBay)(PW-Tronics Official Website)). If you're satisfied that your water is not, in fact, going to chemically scour your colon free of all that pesky 'healthy lining', then throw that shit in whatever pot, kettle, or empty can you grabbed and boil it before you pour it into your face.

A SOURCE OF FOOD
Near the city, there's not a whole lot of options for wildlife. For five kilometers outside the sprawl every cat, dog, squirrel, fox, rat, or seagull is either in someone's belly, in someone's cage, or in someone's pot. Ditto anything green with more nutritional value than grass or less fiber than bushes. Outside those five kilometers, you'll do just fine with a handmade squirrel trap (find ]here[, BY-NC-SA, differs by 75% from the Pearson Junior Jungler "Squirrel Taker!" copyright) or rat trap. Or both. Trust me, you're going to want both. White berries are never safe to eat, blue or black berries are always safe, and red berries are a gamble. Don't eat any mushrooms you see unless you took the aforementioned Advanced Class, because if you went to the trouble of reading this instead of requesting an PharmaCon EndIt, I doubt you want to die.

SOMEWHERE SAFE TO SLEEP
If you went to sleepovers as a kid or camped as an adult, you're already halfway there-grab your sleeping bag and stick it under your arm-unless you've shelled out for a Pearson Pharaoh ($100, (Congo)(DBay)(Pearson Official Website)), in which case stick it in your bag, it won't take up the entire thing. If you didn't, go grab whichever of your blankets is the least comfortable-it'll probably be the most durable. You've got three options-renting someone's tent and hoping they don't rob you, hiding in the woods (which sometimes have decent cabins! That are often occupied.) or the St. James Parkade. In the latter case, if you've got at least $20, you can spend the night in safety...or, if you've got $45, in comfort. $145 will get you luxury-of a sort-but let's face it, if you've got that kind of dosh, you need to hang onto it.
Should you find a quiet, sheltered place to sleep, drink some water and tie up the bottle with a rock or some screws inside it between some trees, a doorway, or any other way someone could get to you.

At this point, you're fed, watered, and not dead yet! Good man, you've survived your first day. Just 364 left to go.

MONEY
Oh, I know Detroit Dollars aren't allowed out of the city. You know they're not allowed out of the city. Every Sprawler knows. But fear not! Ain't nobody actually enforces that shit. Go to the Junk Market and you can exchange what little you stuffed into your backpack before you were sent out of the City for enough money to get...maybe a month's worth of food, if you get in line at the Last Chance. So you're going to need to start...

SCAVENGING
Looting, theft, call it what you like-if whoever lived there is dead now, it's yours. Go find a building ten kilometers from the Sprawl-just walk in one direction for two hours-and go digging. Bring a flashlight for sure, and a shovel or a crowbar if you have one. Rifle through piles of rubble and celebrate if you find a multitool, then stash that shit because it's precious. In general, if it isn't rotten, broken, or covered in slime someone will pay for it.
Then walk back. For two hours. To the Junk Market. If you have any bodyfat now, let me tell you-it's about to be a thing of the past.

SELF-DEFENSE
On the way back from your local rubble pile with your sack of old world crap-or your armful of old world crap, sacks let alone a backpack are precious in the Sprawl-you are almost guaranteed to run into someone. If you're lucky, they won't want your stuff. If you're really unlucky, they'll have a red hoody or a necklace of human teeth-THAT means Bad Mutha, and that means RUN until you find a Guard. Unless! You somehow got access to a gun or bow while you were still in our fair city's good graces. If you have a history of punching dudes before you took a swing at that guard, that works too. If you paid for the Bows and Bowcraft course in your Junior Jungler troop, you're set-paper, string, and broken glass are everywhere around the Sprawl, and you probably walked past a stand of trees on the way to the local ruin.
Luckily, most inhabitants of the Sprawl-Looter or Guard-just want to live another day. Smile, be polite, and take cover yesterday if they've got a bow or a gun. You don't know if that gun's loaded, and the sufficiently jittery will shoot first and ask questions later. If they don't, smile widely, don't look like a threat, and you'll pass amicably.
If someone starts charging after you and doesn't respond after a single offered ceasefire, start running yourself or get ready to defend yourself. Breathe out, aim, and fire.

THE AFTERMATH
You survived! Hope you brought some meds, because odds are strong-especially if you punched, stabbed, or clubbed your way out-that you're bleeding. If you've got painkillers, take 'em. If you've got a bottle of booze or some spray antiseptic, apply it to your wounds before you tie a clean rag on top. If you haven't got any clean rags, use dirty ones. If you haven't got any dirty rags, choose whichever piece of you or your opponent's clothing is most damaged and tear it apart before tying it in place.
With that done, go look at their stuff. Nobody will blink, trust me. Take whatever's valuable, put on any clothes in better shape than your own, and go back to the Junk Market. If you feel weak, go get something to eat and buy a night at the Parkade to heal. Play it cool until you're feeling 100% again.

And there you go.

This assumes that you're going to want to stay close to the Sprawl-which is, unless you made a habit of hunting or camping, your safest bet. Follow this advice and in a year you should be alive to reenter the city-worn, lean, hungry, with a thousand yard stare...but alive.

To reiterate:

PRIORITY ITEMS FROM YOUR HOME OR IMMEDIATE PURCHASE
A bow and arrows OR a firearm and ammunition
A pot, can, or kettle to boil water in
A lighter or other source of fire
A sleeping bag or sturdy blanket
Any form of first aid kit, or at least a bottle of alcohol and some rags
2-4 bottles of clean water
A flashlight
A small knife or multitool
ANY FORM OF BACKPACK but especially a Pearson Yukon ($75, (Congo)(DBay)(Pearson Official Website))

Optional quality-of-life items
PW-Tronics Water Tester ($75 (Congo)(DBay)(PW-Tronics Official Website))
Cage-type rat trap
A crowbar or shovel
Night-vision goggles
Canned foods (heavy and of limited utility, but worth a fair bit at the Junk Market)
Salt and other spices (you're going to want them)
Nanorobot Medkit (if you have one of these by some miracle, hang onto it)

Good luck, and don't pet the dogmen.

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I prepared Explosive Runes this morning!

Nifty little guide to not so certain death. Personally, I've never lived long enough to be kicked out of the DMC. I usually just go nuts and live in the middle of god-knows-where... Which is Hell Michigan, in this case. (Real place, I don't really live there).
I would love to read a story about a city-dweller who gets thrown out for a year. Heck, you could even incorporate this guide as a little Easter egg at the beginning, or throughout the story. ex: Character skims through the guide to find information of the people outside the city after spying a man down the road.

Rar! Rar rar rar! Thanks for reading :)

Sounds like a plan. Make the protag one with helicopter parents so he has some half-remembered kung fu and Junior Jungler skills, plus his knowledge from his day job programming, and it could have some legs to it.

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I prepared Explosive Runes this morning!

I was thinking more along the lines of: The protagonists parents never let them do anything dangerous, so the protagonist has to find out what they have to do to survive by reading a manual (the guide).

**Edit**
This is what I was thinking.

Spoiler: Highlight to view
Bruce, hunched over, was pushed into the hover car. He hit his head while being pushed in- this would later leave a nasty bruise that Bruce would have to deal with. Bruce didn't remember what he had done that night, nor would he ever. His only clue was that he had gone to some alleyway bar, a place that was advertising cheap alcohol for that night.
Once at the station, a place no good or bad citizen wanted to be- not even the police force seemed to like it here- Bruce was given his automated sentence. An arm slot opened, and Bruce was directed to insert his arm. The arm slot was part of a bar code tattoo machine, which would print everything there was to know about him on his arm. All folded into a neat bundle of lines.
The machine indicated that it could take up to three minutes, a horrible amount of time to spend in that place. Bruce took the time to really look around the room. It was a bland light grey, and uniformed police walked in and out every so often. A few had put criminals- both new and repeats -into the line that Bruce was in. Some of the officers were in complete riot gear, not a very uncommon sight. Bruce wondered just how many people would die in tonight's riot.
There was a buzz, then one of the officers near Bruce tugged him away from the machine, the next man was systematically given the order to insert his arm. The officer led Bruce on down a corridor, stopping at the second to last door. It was the same color as the rest of the station, a bland light grey. The officer opened the door, and pushed Bruce inside. From this point on the officer wouldn't be around to push Bruce around, no, this was a new hell.
There was a man behind a desk, quietly looking at Bruce. He showed no expression towards Bruce, but motioned for him to sit across from him at the desk.
Bruce sat down, and the man got a paper out of his desk. His searched around a bit for his pen, eventually finding it in the drawer bellow. "Arm," he said.
He could see the confusion of Bruce's face, "Sir, please place your left arm on the table, palm and wrist up,"
Bruce did as he was told, and the man took a scanner from a charging pod on the left of the desk. The scanner gave a faint beep as it read Bruce's information. "Number 2-65c, Bruce Francis Norle, Male. Twenty one years of age, one-fifty pounds, Caucasian," The man began writing on the paper. A tag was printed from the same charging pod that the scanner had come from.
"Please wear this at all times while on or around DMC grounds, failure to comply will result in an additional year on your sentence," the man paused, "So long as you wear your identifying card, you will not be removed from any line leading toward the DMC gate, failure to wear your card will allow any on duty guards to use hostile force as you will not be recognized as a citizen, or former citizen," He paused again for breath, "So long as you wear your identifying card, you may go to any information dealer for a lower fee on any information, you are still a recognized sub-citizen,"
"So I ju.."
"You are to wear the tag at all times when on or around the grounds of the DMC, your current sentence is one year of exile,"

With that ending note, Bruce was greeted by another guard, who escorted him to the main DMC gate. He was told to leave, and not come back to the gate until he had served his year. He was then handed his identifying card, which was stapled into his shirt, nearly going into his chest.

Rar! Rar rar rar! Thanks for reading :)