Embedded Files
The wasteland’s changed, darlin’. New words, new sights, pages updated and stories stirred. Thought you knew it? Look again.
A restless pulse still beats across the shattered airwaves. The Radio Rebels are not a group but a shifting, restless network of rogue broadcasters, signal thieves, and radio pirates who hijack the dead frequencies left behind by the old world. They turn silence into survival, dead air into lifelines, and forgotten voices into a roaring chorus of rebellion. Their transmissions crackle with survival tips scavenged from forgotten manuals, outlawed music smuggled from lost cities, scrambled distress calls from other lines and coded warnings about everything from roaming raider gangs to impending sand storms.
The Rebels have no home and no headquarters. Their power lies in their invisibility and in the endless game of cat-and-mouse they play with the tyrants, warlords, and corporations who want to choke the wasteland into submission. Broadcasts leap from hidden repeaters buried in ruined skyscrapers and jerry-rigged transmitters mounted on rusted trucks, to forgotten satellites still tumbling silently in orbit.
They are masters of misinformation and subterfuge. Their rumours can spark revolts, confusing their enemies with false signals and phantom broadcasts, and expose the lies that prop up oppressive regimes. Some say the Rebels have spies woven into every faction, tuning in to every whispered deal, every secret back-alley murder plot. Others swear the Rebels are more than just messengers that their broadcasts shape reality itself, turning nobodies into heroes and summoning resistance armies from dust.
QUINCY 'FREQUENCY' JONES
QUINCY 'FREQUENCY' JONES
(She/They)
At just 26 years old, Quincy Jones, known to the wasteland as “Frequency” carries the weight of a hundred lifetimes in her voice. Her broadcast station is a moving fortress of static and wires, a ramshackle sanctuary mounted on the back of an old semi-truck, its radio towers patched together. Inside, the walls are lined with dusty vinyl records and flickering consoles, relics of a bygone era. No one knows where the next transmission will come from. It might be crackling from a rusted radio in the back of an abandoned diner, or whispered through a dusty receiver in the hands of a kid who's loosing sight of the horizon. Frequency’s voice cuts through the static like a beacon, speaking almost directly to you, offering hope, warning of danger, calling you to stand up and fight.
"DJ Frequency here sending another transmission to those traversing the Lost Lands. Looks like we’ve got quite the dust bowl coming our way so you folks better protect yourselves out there.
Baron’s Bounty claims another life in Sector 5. Guess they weren’t quick enough, eh? Don’t you worry folks, Baron won’t getcha unless you’ve been real naughty. There are some wolves in the prowl in Sector 2 and the eye is always watching.
Before you’re subject to the wasteland and its inhabitants once again, remember this folks: there is no honor among thieves, long live the Bombers, chivalry isn’t dead thanks to our fine feathered friends, but most importantly — stay tuned and stay alive.
Frequency, out!"
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