post-poc seed: a pre-poc laser pointer

a pre-poc laser pointer: an annoying toy

orig: a cat toy, useful for blinding pilots

now: a target-finder, useful for blinding pilots

odd: the initials AS+KV are crudely carved into the barrel

A simple, click-to-activate laser pointer that emits a somewhat scattered green beam, with initials scratched into the aluminum barrel by a blunt penknife. A tiny solar panel means the battery oughta stay charged for good.

post-poc seed: doc rot

Doc Rot: a medic

orig: a stoic mechanic

now: a stoic paramedic

odd: she saves and catalogues blood and stool samples from every patient she treats

voice: low, monotonic, infrequently heard

Doc Rot spent a lotta years working out the details of man-made things. Having perfected her mechanical skills, she moved onto the details of the things that make men. She’s still working on that. Though she’s no doctor, she’s a competent-enough medic, assuming you’ve got no alternative. Doc Rot’s got a lockbox full of blood and stool samples, best left unexamined.

post-poc seed: nimble

Nimble: an archaeologist

orig: a bodyguard for a wealthy waster

now: a collector of pre-poc oddments

odd: claims to remember the pre-poc days, though she’s way too young

voice: authoritative, full of bravado

Nimble protected the safety of some rich waster, ’til he took a slug to the gut on her day off. Now, she obsessively hoards all manner of shit from the pre-poc, which she claims to have vivid — and unverifiable — memories of. She gets violent if anyone tries to hold out some artifact from her, claiming the oddments “belong in a museum” — whatever that is.

post-poc seed: boink

Boink: a restaurateur

orig: a construction worker, building monuments to the Bling King

now: a chef who never makes the same meal twice

odd: he puts a part of himself into every dish: tears, blood, toenails, etc.

voice: quiet, deferential, humble

Boink laboured for years, selling his strength, to construct the endless parade of salutory monuments demanded by the Bling King, until he’d finally had enough: he wanted to build small, temporary works, rather than gigantic, permanent ones. Now, he uses the raw materials of the wastes to cook a thousand different meals — never the same thing twice — and he puts some small token of himself into each one, be it an eyelash, some spit, or something far more foul.

post-poc seed: arthur’s home movies

Arthur’s Home Movies: a boxy sedan full of pictures and sounds

orig: a mid-century, steel-framed town car

now: an intimate venue for exciting entertainment

odd: the car battery still works for lighting and sound, though it’s been obsolete for decades

A grey, boxy sedan, standing on concrete blocks. Wasters can pile into the seats to watch a “movie” — an attendant flashes illustrated cards at pre-determined times in concert with staticky recordings played through the car’s speakers. Seems to be an endless supply of stories from around the world — mostly twisted, post-poc versions of creation myths, sitcoms, travelogues. Somehow, the car’s lights and radio still work after all this time. No one knows who the hell Arthur is.

post-poc seed: the midden pool

The Midden Pool: a communal pile of e-waste

orig: outdoor municipal swimming pool

now: pit for non-organic, repurpose-able refuse

odd: a fungus consumes all bio-matter virtually overnight

This pit was once a blue-tiled municipal swimming pool, complete with depth markers and shallow/deep ends. These days, it’s used as a community scrap heap for tinkerers — if some piece of gear or rubble may have use to someone savvy, it gets dumped here, free for the taking. Only synthetic materials survive in the pit, though; some tiny fungus rapidly consumes all bio-matter. The fungus appears to be confined to the Midden. Might be a good spot to ‘store’ a body…

post-poc seed: nozzle-guess casino

Nozzle-Guess Casino: a small gambling den

orig: a gas station/convenience store

now: an impromptu casino, where people guess gas readouts

odd: the proprietor, Tool, is covered in tattoos of previous winning numbers

A few derelict gas pumps remain outside a run-down convenience shop. The fuel tanks have long run dry, but the pumps are still used; gamblers squeeze the nozzle’s trigger and try to guess the exact digits on the readout when released. Teams, head-to-head, solo gauntlet; all sorts of variations of the game exist. Tool, the owner, is covered in ballpoint-ink tattoos of winning numbers from contests past.