The Commonwealth of Salem

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Salem Commonwealth

The Salem Commonwealth is the Gem of the East as far as the Goodly Matrons and Fathers are concerned, but in reality it’s a city by the sea, hemmed in by ad-hoc wall made up of sealed up abandoned houses, scuttled buses and cars and other bits of cement, brick and debris. It’s not pretty from the outside, but on the inside the Commonwealth is a tiny lil’ utopia, at least by these Muricans standards. The Old Ways carry weight behind those walls, and people carry on as though very little has changed over the past twenty years. It’s so Murican it’s damn near UH-Murican! Patriarchs and their Trophy Wives strut their stuff from Pickman Street all the way to Filmore Road, proudly displaying whatever costume jewelry they can get their greedy hands on.

The whole place runs like a tourist trap, only it’s just for the citizens and that’s the way they like it. Anyone that comes it had better have a good reason or maybe even a chaperon. It’s not unheard of for outsiders to come in, especially in order to keep the Commonwealth flowing like clockwork. These Muricans like their luxuries and they’re willing to do just about anything to get it, outside of losing face (example: doing their own dirty work).

The Commonwealth has it’s ’have’s and ‘have-not’s though, making some distinction between citizens and those that hold some clout. The twelve families of Salem that seem to be the center of all the mouth-watering gossip that gets bandied about take great efforts to remain at the center of all that gossip, pretty much ruling things with an iron fist. It’s the perfect place to raise a family, as long as you don’t mind keeping up with the Jones (especially since not keeping up means getting the boot). Now if only they could get a handle on all that voo-doo-hoo-doo vinyl nonsense the kids seem to keep getting in to…

The Salem Sox

The Salem Sox are the elite police force that tend to the needs of the Commonwealth, and occasionally amuse themselves by tending to the lawless bunch of freaky-deakies that inhabit the crumbling ruins of colonials and squat, square little offices and shops that make up the outskirts of the Commonwealth. They dress and behave in a fashion that resembles and honors the first Ballclub called up to serve and defending the Murican way. They wear white uniforms – pleated pants with service uniform coats, along with their trademark red jackboots. They typically come armed with their ‘ballclubs’ and a pistol or rifle. At least the typical mook. They’ve been known to roll out with uniformed officers in full on Beaneater Ball Club attire – armored on the torso and face, and packing a Thompson. Then you’ve got the soldiers that ‘volunteer’ when they draw the short straw, ending up as one of those collared, ‘roided up freaks they keep by the gates to keep the other freaks in line (fight fire with fire, right?). In charge of the lot is Babe Ruth, one tough bitch that bends about as easy as rebar and comes down as heavy, too. At a glance you’d think she drew command just from her looks, but her figure isn’t the only thing she wields. The word on the street is that she’s as tough as leather, with dead-eye aim and an even better swing. She’s merciless, and cruel to boot, preferring to execute prisoners via decapitation – at bat.

The Commonwealth of Salem

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