Breaker 666

The 51st state is...peculiar, to say the least. Not found on any map, of any date, this state connects all states of the U.S. of A. Of course, things tend to happen, especially here. The Road takes all, even if you don't know it. The origin of the 51st state is shrouded in lies, legal tape, conflicting accounts of when it was formed and where it goes. In here, anything can get in, if you know how, and for the right price. Humans, Devils, and other things... This land was older than any of us, I reckon. The voodoo witches called this land Nueva Mundo. The Englishmen, Neverland. The Ispancialos, El Dorado. Countless tales of lost lands appear to be linked to this place, but no one knows for sure. But one thing is for sure: There be demons here.

-Anonymous

What is Breaker 666?

Breaker 666 is the 70s midwest of America. It’s big Rigs and Choppers. It’s Rock n’ Roll. It’s fire and gasoline. It’s the USA’s 51st State: Devilier.

The World

Ghost Rider like characters are present in the form of Revenants or Revs, undying badasses that only remain on the mortal plane of existence due to some unfinished business/Selling their soul to a higher/Lower power.

I think we could take some inspiration from S.T.A.L.K.E.R. Basically, "The Road" is an area that people are more or less stuck in and unexplainable things happen. I was going for a S.T.A.L.K.E.R. but with rural Americana vibe when I came up with the fluff pieces I wrote (I did the first ones for the rails and the cities).

I think making boundaries would be good. That was my idea when making the cities too dangerous to go into for "some" reason. That way you keep the rural feel without players venturing into big cities and changing it to more World of Darkness territory.

Ever take a big road trip through the west? Isolation is a big part of the road, sometimes you'll be going your way and not see a damn thing but the open landscape. Great spires of rock and wide open stretches of nothing but dirt and death. The only thing keeping you sane is the fading classic rock station and the occasional odd town on the road. The lonely little towns that lie along your path are always a weird, the people are friendly, happy that someone bothered to stop by. It's just enough to leave you uneasy

Technology

Modern technology such as GPS, mobile phones and the Internet have not been invented (yet?). Communication is done primarily through CB Radio and word-of-mouth.

The 51st State of America.

Maybe place it in "The 51st State"? A made up state that "borders" a bunch of midwestern states thar you can only get to if someone shows you the way? That way we can get people in towns who see nothing wrong with truckers with flaming skulls who come into a diner and order a cold coffee

Not sure who said it, but I recall someone taking about people riding the roads in "the 51st state of America" bordering many of the Midwestern States.

I really like the idea of there being a place you can get to just by driving, but can't find on any maps. It could be a good place to have the highest concentration or weird stuff. If you know the right roads to take, you could go from Nevada to Kansas in only a couple hours.

Why don't we combine the "51st state" and "Hell intersected with this world" ideas into one, but the 51st state somehow borders the entire south and the midwest and is where the largest concentration of weird shit happens. This could also explain why the 51st state is so full of commuters and truckers. Knowing the roads of the 51st state is invaluable to the freight industry and you can make a killing moving things across the states at breakneck speed. Problem is, there's enough weird and dangerous shit in the 51st state that you just might not make it out alive.

It could be a portion of hell that has become overlayed with the real world that you can only get to if you know how. Once there, get on State Road 666 and you can get from Georgia to Oklahoma in a few hours if you play your cards right.

It totally could have. Maybe normies know about it, but don't want to go because it's 2spooky or, they just don't have much of a need for it. You could have the odd group of normies trying to make a road trip down SR 666, but it would be extremely rare and any time somebody came up with the idea and pitched it to their friends they'd say, "I've seen enough horror movies to know that's a bad idea, Lenny."

Would the 51st look at all different? Or would you not be able to tell you were in it unless you tried finding yourself on a map. People could easily get lost if they don't even know where the 51st begins or ends.

That's a good idea. The 51st state isn't immediately recognizable aside from being a tad spookier than normal, but lucky for people who accidentally find their way there, if they ask where they are at a local diner the locals will tell them to turn back and gtfo if they know what's good for them. Unlucky for them, finding your way back out is an extra challenge in and of itself.

I love it.

A consequence of this is you get feeder roads and towns with part of their population made up of would be roadtrippers or joy riders who gave up trying to leave and just settled down.

On the flip side, you get bands of nomadic station wagons raiders made up of torn JC Penny buttonups and mom jeans raiding roadblocking, and capturing and torturing people for "directions."

Maybe since it's a bit of Hell literally on Earth, it's only possible to accidentally wind up in the 51st state if you have some kind of sin in your heart. Kind of like Silent Hill. The pure hearted can only find Route 666 if they really want to. Like maybe some people are drawn to the 51st state from the outside by some inner calling. It could be the wickedness in their heart or it could be some sort of massive guilt that they subconsciously feel they should be punished for.

On another note, what about people physically born in the 51st state? Should they just be somewhat normal for the most part but in a very abnormal place or are 51st natives inherently affected by the landscape upon birth? Or is it just impossible to give birth to anything but stillborn children in the 51st state?

Only sommun with a dark spot in'er heart find their way to tha 51st. An I ain't talkin about 'lied ta daddy bout the boyfriend' or 'cheated on yer taxes'. I'm talkin dark. Tha unrepentant pee-do-file, tha wife beater, the adulterer, a man with blood on 'is hands who craves more. Dun'nut matta how small, ya got ah dark spot an ya ride the 666, ya might jus fin yaself in tha 51st.

An I bet thas how ya got here. I ain't gonna ask what's ya spot, but we all know ya got one.

They say tha only way out is to clean up. Fix yaself, repent, walk straight, wipe away tha spot. But I don know anyone who's made it out. People disappear though, thas fa sure...

Speakin of which, tha first piece of advice I'll give ya is this: if'n you eva hear a hog rumblin, a head rattlin growl tha howls across the desert, squeezes ya soul, makes ya grind ya teeth, makes ya wanna jump outta ya skin... ya hide, an ya hide well. No one who meets Big P is seen again. They say he ain't even human, an angel, maybe, a demon, who knows. But when he rides on sommun, all we hear is screams.

So keep ya head low and out of the way an ya might last.

Perhaps that's the thing: all roads lead somewhere in the 51st state. They all contect, cross or merge with other roads. The exception, is Deadend. And from what I'm told, once you start heading down it there isn't much room to turn around.

The Dead-end I could see making Deadend a semi mythical place. Somewhere the Revs are trying to get to, where the pot of gold is, etc. >We run all night an' run like hell, we jus' may meet up again at Deadend. >Keep chasing that dream, old son, you'll find the cash out at Deadend.

OP POST Devilier. Pronounced Deh-VIL-yay, en Francais-style.

This is the Unrecognized State, legally the 51st. But the land that made it was incorporated into the Union directly after the Louisiana Purchase. It exists both in and out of reality. Any nook and cranny backroad in the United States could land you here in your great-grandfather's time, but thanks to Eisenhower there is now absolutely only one road in: Route 666. There are laws here, but no governors, no taxmen, and only limited law enforcement. You see, this place was…gifted, let's say, to the United States as a way to cross the massive continent it had purchased. Old, old, OLD laws had stated that whoever could cross the land could take possession of it. During Meriwether Lewis and William Clark's great journey west, a second group of explorers was directed to build plans for a Great Western Road. Very few people even knew about the existence of the Road, and it was considered a military and political secret until well into the Seventies and Eighties. However, there have been people who used the land, most notably the old rail barons, who saw an opportunity to slam rails down on territory they wouldn't have to negotiate treaty for. But they made a bad deal with a REALLY bad contractor. The Devilier Railroad was, in a word, Scratched. It still operates, but in a very different capacity. After World War Two, the existence of the Road, and Devilier itself, became a state secret. Luckily, it couldn't really be surveillance, its peculiar geography preventing such, but it was considered paramount to build a /functional/ road across the state, that could theoretically connect to the official road network. Eisenhower approved the notion and thus Route 666 (official itemization: The Devilier Corridor) was created. The process was very complicated and involved a HELL of a lot of legal wrangling with certain very unsavory elements.

When finally the Free Information Act passed through Congress, the existence of the Road was open to anyone willing to look. Shipping companies and businesses used the road to move "black" cargo, i.e. proprietary goods and such, across the country.

>From a Dept. of Interior report, dated 1988. Twenty years pre-Event.

The People

"Racin' cycles are for nannies to most folk's mind, but they're not unheard of. But if you're a real Rider of the Road, you've got something with weight to go with the muscle. Big ol' choppers, roving bands of muscle car maniacs, anything built to ride hard and ride LOUD." -Anonymous

"It's at times like this that I turn to The Good Book. Genesis Five Oh." >opens a bible shaped case and draws out a Taurus .50 cal

The most common type of person you’ll find out there are the Truckers. The fellas who drive the big rigs cross-country.

Most biker-gangs use Choppers and Touring Bikes because they spend all day on them. Dirt and Racing bikes aren’t designed for short distance. Would be fine for bikers who are in a regular gang.

Trade

>Weigh stations measure both net weight and net souls. >souls are a recognized and legal cargo for sale and transport. But only if they've been inspected,stamped, measured and all the proper paperwork has been filled and filed.

>as such black market trade of. Unmarked souls is a good choice for "not quite on the level" cargo for a quick and dangerous profit.

The Law

In the old world, they were governed by the law of man. It led to destruction, decadence, and degeneracy. And so God punished the wicked, and set fire to the world we know today.

Man's law is no more. We serve the highest law: God's Law. And we are his judge, his jury, and his executioner. May we lead the wayward back to righteousness, defend the suffering, and punish the sinner.

For the great day of his wrath is come; and who shall be able to stand?

Legends.

The Trains

Nobody's seen trains run since it happened. Nobody's seen anyone come back from walking on the tracks either. But the whistles always blow, and the trucks still stop at the tracks. It's a Rule of the Road.

Those arms go down, the bells toll, and the trucks stop. A couple minutes pass… The bells stop, the arms raise. The trucks rumble back to life, and keep on haulin'

I saw someone try to jump the tracks while the arms were down. Nobody found the poor bastard's body afterwards.

"It was horrible. We, maybe five of us on one side, a whole mess o' bikers on the other when The Arms came down. I was checkin' my map when it happened, I was lucky. I never actually saw it. All I heard was a chorus of shouting, and some horns. I looked up, and some damn fool in riding leathers ducked under The Arms.I looked away all quick-like, and the whole place went real quiet. I didn't peek over my dash until the damned bells stop driving their spikes int' my skull, and when I did, all them bikers, the ones in front, at least, had their arms across their faces. As we rolled on, I checked my mirrors. One bike left behind. I still cross those tracks every now and then, and that bike is still there. Sat in the middle of the road. I go around it. Everyone does. We all slow right on down, and remember the poor bastard who sought to remind us: Obey The Arms."

“If you break down on the rail and hear those bells, just leave your rig. No cargo's worth whatever kind of hell awaits if you stick around. If you hear the whistles, its too late.”

Heard tell there's a man who walks them tracks. Real skinny feller, wears a red suit and carries no luggage.Met a guy who saw him at the rail corss, just standin there. Walked up to the guys window and introduced himself as,"Scratch."

The Cities.

Folk don't talk much about 'em, but it's well known you stay away from the cities. Stick to towns and truckstops if you gotta rest, but stay clear away from any exit with a population counter higher than 10,000 if you know what's good for you.

I've heard tell by some braver than me who ventured into Atlanta thinkin' they could siphon some fuel from the no-go areas in the metro area. They didn't even make it to the city limits before their hair started standin' on end. Said the sky turnt dark at noon and even with their brights on couldn't see more'n a few feet infront of them. Strange things in the shadows, looked a bit like men but wrong. They figured it was them things makin' all the howlin' they heard. Turned tail and booked it before they even made it off the turnpike.

Now, I ain't no historian or nothin', but most folks are of the mind that whatever happened before The Road happened there, in them big cities. Don't know what it was, but I damn sure know I ain't gonna be the one to find out.

Ten-four, good buddy, but I heard tell it ain't jess them cities that have gone all twisted, neither. I was three days to the left coast on a double-trailer rig, riding pace with the convoy, when up pulls my pal Big Red, rolling bat-from-hell the other way. Now, Big Red ain't been afeared of nothin' since the day he could put foot to the pedal, but he told me that what had happened to him night 'fore turned his hair plum white. He got up on the CB with me, frighted clear to death and said, "Little Dog, if you love Jesus and that that scrawny hide of yours, never, EVER get caught off the Road. There'll be signs and suchlike offering a quicker route, but DON'T. Things…"

I never saw Big Red again. His rig was found in downtown Denver a couple weeks ago, burnt out of gas and the horn still blowing. No sign of Red.

Angels, Demons and the Supernatural

Angels

"I must declare today that I am a FRIEND of Jesus, YES beloved I am! Come on all you tired, weakened road warriors, lay down your loads and ROLL into His loving arms, Amen!" >now, driver, the good Lord has a task for you. You ready to be a Holy Roller, good buddy? >That's a ten-four Mr. Sunshine OR >One big negatory, Halo, I ride by my damn self!

Them halos mean well, but they's got no idea when to keep those big flappin' wings outta other people's business. Sometimes we gotta be subtle-like when we're takin' care o' things, but a halo don't know nothin' 'bout subtle. Most think they can solve everythin' with a sermon and a smile but once they move on to preach the good word somewhete else things fall right back to where they were--'cept we all got more guilt in our hearts for fallin' and that can make some desperate folks a lot worse. That roamin' angel on the radio though is somethin' else. He always gets his goods delivered on time cause wherever he goes it's a bright'n'sunny day. Truckers try to tail Mr. Sunshine if their route'll let 'em, 'cause they know conditions on the road'll be perfect and drivers'll be a little more friendly in the lanes.

Demons

Can crossroads devils be a thing? Ranging from lesser demons up to Old Scratch himself?

“Foolish is the traveler who meets a well dressed gentleman walking down the road at night, selling the answer for all life's ills at a low, low price, and stops to listen.”

Things that walk the Roads

Skinwalker Hitchhikers >your truck is flagged down by a drifter. he seems normal, but he looks hungry...

In a Western setting, men who come back from the dead to ride on arent uncommon. But what about those folks who never seem to break down? Whose smokestacks flash eldritch colours, their engines roaring like beasts. They never carry cargo, seem to live in their vehicles. Wids on the Road.

Monstrous Americans

>Big differences being that monster kind, being the ultimate minority, still gets dicked being second hand citizens and the butt of a lot of discrimination in America.

Potential Classes:

Big Driver: You run a rig, either for yourself or a larger Rigger Company. You haul cargo, are friendly to passengers, and know enough of the Rules of the Road to keep rolling free and easy, coast to coast. Basic class, not too shiny in any respect.

Small Driver: You've got a hot set of wheels, a full tank, and all the open Road in front of ya. This is your car, ain't nobody else gonna touch it, and Jesus help them if somebody scratches your paint. You roll with whoever suits you, whether it be rigs, rollers, or revs.

Biker Brother: You're from a brotherhood of bearded, beer-swilling fast riders. You announce your presence with the mighty growl of a chopper's engine, and you usually roll in with fifty of your friends. You're tough, like to brawl, and are as loud as your bike. It could be, though, that you've lost your Patch, in which case you ride alone. A Brother without a Patch ain't to be trusted…

Holy Roller: You Ride for the Lord! Given a holy mission by a higher power, your rig, bike, or car never breaks down, and you've always got enough gas to help someone out. You keep those ears on, looking to do the god works on the Road and help your fellow travelers. Whether it's helping that church bus roll on to Nashville, or burning rubber to Houston to help some kids, you're rolling righteous. Watch out though, cause the Devil runs the Rails, and you'll have to cross him at least once.

Tech Torquer: You've got the most advanced set of wheels ever set to pavement, and it shows. Your vehicle can do practically anything, outrun any blockade with the push of a button, jump obstacles with a boost, even talk! Your vehicle is your partner, helping you along the Road. But you never know when you might need an upgrade.

Rev: You're dead, son. Simple as that, or maybe not so simple. Due to some Unfinished Business in the here-and-now, you can't roll on to the hereafter till you get your own. Some say you sold your soul to the Devil, others that an angel is possessing your body, but either way you terrify your enemies with fire, fury, and a whole helluva lot of road rage. You are here on the Road for one thing: to see things set aright, so you can pass on. But some choose not to...

"Mountain Man" Trappers, hunters, woodsmen and survivalists; many of the disenfranchised and discarded have made their way to the lawless expanse of Devilier. Surviving on what the land provides, these solitary individuals are expert trackers who have gained first-hand knowledge on the wild life of the 51st state. Rarely seen except at trading posts where they barter Wendigo skins for ammo and supplies, or when hired by bounty hunters or lawmen to track escaped convicts and criminals, they are occaisionally drawn into the adventures of others, usually against their will. Solemn and reserved, Mountain Men usually lack people skills, but there's no one better suited to hunting and killing in the wild.

'Grease Monkey' (Blackthumb or Blackfinger from Mad Max) As handy with a ratchet as they are with a shotgun, Greasemonkies are invaluable for their ability to keep a rig running, especially while moving! Hands black from grease and jangling from dozens of well maintained, custom tools, Greasemonkies are always able to find work in Devilier, but their affinity for engines goes beyond a natural aptitude or a desire to get paid. Some say they've heard Greasemonkies communing with engines, coaxing them into functioning, negotiating the metal and pistons to perform in situations where they shouldn't. Greasemonkies are affable and often manic, easy going and a welcome member of the party, even if they prefer pistons to people.

"Bounty Hunter" (literally Dog, the Bounty Hunter)

"Wizard" With the addition of the 51st state all the devil worshippers, Wicca, wannabe Houdinis and charlatan psychics found they could actually tap into a real, tangible power. whether the power was always there and Devilier revealed it, or if the 51st state brought the magic with it is unknown. What is fact is that certain individuals can tap the power to alter and manipulate the world around them. For some it's as simple as never running dry of fuel on a midnight run to Memphis, for others it's a silver bullet in your chamber on demand. It ain't flashy and it ain't fancy, but it saves and takes lives as well as any firearm. Wizards are met with equal parts distruct, jealousy and apathy, but it's a foolish convoy that doesn't have at least a layman Hexer on board to deal with the unknown.

Encounter Ideas

I assume radio is a thing because trucks, which leads to a bunch of really obvious plot hooks/random encounters/minor characters.

>radio picks up ghost >radio picks up broadcast from past/future >radio station with no physical location that can only be picked up during the full moon/in winter/by the pure of heart >actual physical radio station in an actual physical location but it's run by a mummy or something