War. War never changes.
Since the dawn of time, man has sought to gain advantage over his fellow; to exploit the innocent to help himself. Even the most innocent can become guilty. People pervert; parties perish; governments corrupt; nations fall. It is in this that the world came to an end. Locked deep in a war over resources, persecutions rage, mobs combine, armies assemble and calumny defames. America, Russia, and China fall to the same feelings that have plagued humanity since its inception: greed, lust, envy. But none of them listened to the elders of old. None of them even learned the simple proverb: revenge is a dish best served cold. Fireballs from the gates of Hell itself rained down upon the inhabitants of the world. Billions of souls cried out in horror on that day in 2077, but were suddenly silenced as their homes fell to ashes, enveloped in flames sparked by the demons sent from the devils above.
It was from those ashes that another world rose. A world similar to the old in many ways. A man could not trust his brother; a son, his father. Though small communities developed, few, if any, of them were founded on precepts of peace and trust. Society reflected the desolated landscape’s fate: bleak, doomed to fail. But it worked well enough, for a time. Several factions crafted empires from the ashes, rising from the dust to perform grandiose works, to unify the people of the wastelands. Among those grew the notorious Caesar's Legion, the radical Brotherhood of Steel, the self-righteous New California Republic, the delusional Enclave, and many others of many goals and many visions.
These numerous, unmerciful factions, locked in endless war for their respective regions, wanted to gain control of as much land as possible. Land brought resources, and resources brought wealth. Wealth brought people, who in turn brought more land. They were caught in the same cycle that trapped their fathers, the devils from above. Many wished to remain aloof from these many parties, to retain their libertarian independence but war... War never changes.
As the new War enveloped the Texas wasteland, the pre-war cartels only grew in wealth in influence. Chems were needed now, more than ever. They kept away the pain. They kept away the misery. And, most importantly, they were addictive. Almost every soul in the wasteland became addicted to one chem or another. As the Texas chapter of the Brotherhood of Steel pushed south, bringing “civilization” to the inhabitants by purging the mutants, the factions in the Mexican south pushed North. That was their chem trade, a territory they could not afford to lose, if they wanted to remain powerful in the sight of the people, their customers.
You are a smuggler, child of two inhabitants of the former Vault 39 in Lone Star in the North of the Texas Commonwealth. Your home has been long over run by the Brotherhood, Legionaries and others, but you managed to escape the war zone by heading south, to seek your fortune. You find none, only more death and destruction. A neophyte seventeen year old is not well suited for the Texas Wasteland, but a group of Mexican Cartel members, long exposed to the harsh environment, mercifully, against their better judgement, rescue you from a radioactive tornado, giving you shelter for the night. As a forced payment for their “kind” deed, you agree to return with them to the Chem Capital, a group of settlements north of the ruins of Mexico City, La Ciudad de Los Palacios.
In the four years since your rescue, you have performed numerous smuggles across the Rio Grande into the Texas wasteland, bringing in thousands of caps for your cartel, and yourself. You are no longer a weak boy, but a war-hardened man, sculpted by battle, like the landscape. In attempt to escape the devils seeking to take your home, you found employment with another flock: a different name, but all the same ideas, all the same desires. Because war… War never changes.