South Pass, Wyoming.

It's a historic place. A relatively wide patch of flatlands and small rolling hills bisecting the mighty Rocky Mountains. An Antebellum highway runs through this place, relatively untouched by the nuclear fires which cleansed the world in 2077.

Your caravan is coming up upon it. Trade is starting to begin between upstarting Mississippi River communities and the established polities of New California and the Great Basin, and this route is a popular one.

However...something stands in your way. You're stopped by a large, well-built wall of brick with steel reinforcings and barbed wire, seemingly spanning from the river in one direction to the mountains in the other direction. A mighty motor-controlled gate spans over the highway.

A man in advanced-looking power armor with an intimidating-looking assault rifle comes through the gate.

"At ease, traveller. We're no tax collectors."

He quips, then stepping up towards you.

"Welcome to Ranger Station Saint Mary; I'm Scyther. We're gonna perform a routine check for contraband in your caravan cargo, is that understood?"