Welcome to Survivors Hotline, Questions, Chaos,
and Consequences, where you bring the questions,
we bring the judgment, and together we discover
just how preventable most of your problems actually
are. The Wasteland has no shortage of terrible
decisions. Fortunately, survivors are kind enough
to send us their worst concerns so the rest of
us can learn exactly what not to do. This is
where I do my best to provide guidance, and also
where I repeatedly lose faith in humanity. Today,
I am joined by Jace Holloway, who's going to
help me with reading the questions and answering
anything that I might not have a full understanding
of. Say hello, Jace. Hi, everybody. I'm Jace
Holloway. I'm the host of Tales from a Reluctant
Survivor. I'm also the Racelands resident writer.
And speaking of writing, I just wanted to tell
you all about - Jace, we already talked about
this. Never mind, people. Okay, let's begin.
Jace, what's the first question? Question one
is, I found an old survival guide that says drinking
mystery liquid helps build immunity. Should I
trust it? Should they trust it? Well, if I'm
unity, you mean hallucinations, spontaneous organ
failure and glowing in the dark. Yeah, sure.
Trust it. Otherwise, no one wins when you drink
unidentified liquids. Why is this still a question?
Why do people look at something that is clearly
radioactive, shrug, and think, eh, maybe it's
a superpower serum? Is survival just a hobby
to you? Is reckless experimentation your passion?
Because listen, if it glows, if it bubbles aggressively,
If it smells faintly like old iron and dirty
socks, put it down and walk away. This is not
complicated, people. OK, let's go on to the next
question. Yeah, let's see what other moronic
crap we can get into. OK, the next question.
How do I make people think I'm a seasoned wasteland
warrior without actually knowing anything? Confidence
in layering. Wear extra belts, unnecessary pouches,
and carry at least one oversized knife. No one
questions the heavily accessorized. Honestly,
this one I can respect. You want to survive based
on pure aesthetic intimidation. That's great.
But understand it only works if you commit. You
want people to assume you're dangerous? Drape
yourself in a sheer amount of weaponry that defies
all logic. Do you need six belts? No. But will
people hesitate before messing with somebody
wearing sex belts? Absolutely. However, and this
needs to be said, there is a fine line between
intimidating wasteland warrior and walking parody.
Full body spikes, overuse of leather, a trench
coat that dramatically billows whenever you enter
a room. It's been done. It's been overdone. Do
you want people to respect you or do you want
them to whispering behind your back like Is this
guy cosplaying Mad Max or... Look, fashion in
the Wasteland is already impractical. But let's
be honest, we don't need more people dressing
like they just walked out of a post -apocalyptic
thing cosplay gathering during Why Are We Doing
This Again Day. You need functional intimidation.
Not the aesthetic of someone who raids the ruins
of old thrift stores looking for battle -ready
gear. If you absolutely must wear spikes, keep
them minimal. Otherwise, you're one accidental
stumble away from impaling yourself with your
own shoulder pad. Leather? Fine, but don't layer
so much that you start sweating out your body's
own water supply. And if you insist on dark,
dramatic sunglasses, at least make sure you can
still actually see in the dark. Survival first.
Fashion second. Bottom line, do less. Less is
more. You can look dangerous without looking
like the cover band version of every post -apocalyptic
movie villain. Choose wisely. And you know, I
just want to add that I actually do cover a lot
about Wasteland Fashion and my new upcoming -
No, Jace. This is not the right time. Just read
the next question, please. Okay, fine, whatever.
Okay, next question. I ate something I couldn't
identify. I feel fine for now. How long until
I should panic? You have a six -hour window before
you learn whether this was food or an irreversible
mistake. If you start hearing colors, you're
probably not going to make it. The first mistake
was eating something unrecognizable. The second
mistake was coming to me for reassurance. Because
listen, I am not the person who's going to tell
you, don't worry, you'll be fine. No, you are
not fine. You are currently a science experiment
in progress, and the only variable is how much
pain and agony you are about to experience. Best
case? Mild stomach discomfort. Worst case? You
start speaking an ancient language that no one
remembers. There is a real chance your body is
currently negotiating with reality itself. You
may undergo a transformation that no one asked
for. Have you ever wanted to vibrate at a frequency
only small insects can hear? No? Well, you may
not get a choice. And let's be real. This is
how we get more mutants. This is how we get more
zombies. And if the universe is feeling particularly
vindictive, this is how we get mutant zombies.
So when people ask, how does mutation happen?
Just remember, Someone ate something sketchy.
Ignore all the warning signs and now we have
to deal with the consequences of, you know, mutant
zombies. You've got six hours, buddy. Hope you
made peace with yourself and well, everything
else. Um, okay. Glad you can tell us how you
really feel about it. Um, okay. Next question.
A stranger just offered me a deal with the words
trust me and winked at me. He seemed friendly,
but I just don't know. Wow. Okay. So, survival
rule number one. Anyone who says, trust me, in
the wasteland, should immediately be distrusted.
And if they also wink, run. You may think winking
adds charm. Wrong. Winking adds danger. No one
ever winks in the Wasteland unless they know
something you don't, and that something is probably
how fast you're going to regret this decision.
Trust should never be built on tone and facial
expressions alone. Verify first, then trust.
Actually, don't trust, just verify. Let's break
this down. What kind of person just casually
says trust me without giving any details whatsoever?
A con artist. A trader who has something extra
special for you that may or may not be radioactive.
A wanderer who conveniently knows a shortcut
through raider territory but refuses to elaborate
further. Nothing about this situation screams
safe. And the wink? That wink, yeah, that's not
flirtation. That's a prelude to disaster. The
moment you see that wink, you should probably
be backing away slowly. This person has inside
information about the consequences that you are
about to suffer. You know what never follows
a wank? Good times. No one has ever wanked and
then offered a truly beneficial survival tip.
No one has ever wanked and handed over something
that didn't backfire spectacularly. If you ever
find yourself standing in front of someone who
looks just a little too confident in their vague
promises, just excuse yourself and walk the other
way. Bottom line? If someone winks at you and
says, trust me, they're testing how gullible
you are. Don't fail that test. Okay, so the next,
and I guess final question is, I think I accidentally
became the leader of a Raider gang. How do I
get out of this? I think you can take this one,
Jace. You actually have a little bit of experience
with this, don't you? Yeah, I do have a little
bit of experience, so... So actually, you know,
it's, it's bad news. You're probably not getting
out of it. You either lean into it and roll with
ruthless efficiency or retirement involves several
knives. Just make sure you make the right decision.
This is one of those moments where you look back
at your life and pinpoint the exact mistake that
led you there. If you're the leader now, someone
saw something in you, either charisma or complete
disregard for consequences. And now they believe
in you. This means people are expecting things
from you. Strategy orders a clear vision for
their rating future. The worst part, they think
you know what you're doing. So you have a couple
of options. Option one, commit to the role. If
you're in charge, lean into it hard. Start getting
dramatic speeches. Don't ever worry about making
sense. Just sound intense. Wear a long coat.
Cultivate that or a vague menace. And if someone
questions you, narrow your eyes slightly and
say, do you really want to know the answer to
that? They will not ask again. Option two. And
this is the one that I took when I had my, you
know, experience disappear immediately. You have
one chance to escape before people start getting
attached to your leadership style. If you wait
too long. You will find yourself stuck planning
raids, organizing supply runs, and negotiating
territorial disputes like you accidentally got
hired for a job you never applied for. Now, if
you choose that option, do it fast and make it
look intentional. Dramatic exits work best. Say
something cryptic, drop a smoke bomb if you have
one, and vanish before anyone can follow up.
Otherwise, your retirement might involve several
knives and none of them will be decorative. Just
either embrace your new career or flee before
you start collecting responsibility like unpaid
debt. Thank you, Chase. And you know, I am looking
forward to hearing that whole story about how
you got out of being a leader of a raid group.
But anyway, for now, that's all we have for Survivors
Hotline. If your question wasn't answered, don't
worry. It probably wasn't as immediately moronic,
I mean emergent, as the ones featured today.
Tune in next time, assuming you haven't wandered
into a glowing puddle or followed someone who
said trust me. Honestly, the bar for minimal
common sense to surviving is pretty low. Try
not to trip over it. Seriously, how has anyone
survived? Dumb luck is my guess.