NuclearNerds
Mar 17

I’m excited to launch a writing challenge to collaborate on a story featuring two characters: the Nerd Survivor and the Marauder. Here’s how it works: you can choose to write for either character, and I’ll publish your story on our website, linked to the character you select, with full credit given to you as the writer. One week from today, on March 24, 2025, I’ll pick my favorite entry. You’re free to name them whatever you like and write about anything that inspires you—whether it’s an epic clash between the two in battle or their gritty struggle to survive in The Wasteland. The direction is entirely up to you. Feel free to include gore, violence, and any language that fits your vision—there are no restrictions. Let your creativity run wild!

For inspiration, or ideas on what life in the Nuclear Nerds Wasteland is like, you can check out our comics here: https://m.tapas.io/series/Nuclear-Nerds-of-the-Accidental-Apocalypse-/info3

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    Mar 17

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    Mar 20
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NuclearNerds
Mar 20

In the scorched bones of a nuclear wasteland, Daisy May—her name a cruel joke in this hellhole—hunkered behind a gutted semi-truck, her sawblade bat slick with grime. The sky was a piss-yellow smear, ash falling like snow, and the air reeked of charred metal and rot. Daisy’s cowboy hat sat crooked, blue goggles fogged with sweat as she scanned the horizon. Marauders were out there, their bikes snarling like rabid dogs, hunting for stragglers to gut for sport. “Fuckin’ vultures,” she muttered, spitting into the cracked dirt.

She needed supplies bad—bandages, food, maybe some clean water that didn’t glow. A half-collapsed supermarket sat a quarter-mile off, its neon sign flickering like a dying heartbeat. But the open ground between her and the store was a kill zone. Marauders loved perching in the jagged remains of skyscrapers, picking off idiots who didn’t know better. Daisy adjusted her tattered nurse dress, the hem crusted with blood—some hers, most not. Her boots scraped softly as she dropped into a shallow ravine, barbed wire whip coiled at her hip. “Gotta move fast, Daisy girl,” she whispered to herself, voice low and rough.

The supermarket’s busted doors loomed ahead, glass crunching underfoot as she slipped inside. The stench hit her like a fist—spoiled meat and piss, mixed with the tang of rust. Shelves were picked clean, but she spotted a dented can of peaches and a pack of iodine tablets behind a toppled display. “Well, damn, ain’t you a pretty sight,” she cooed, stuffing them into her satchel. A faint hum froze her solid. A bike engine, close—too close.

“Gotcha now, bitch!” a Marauder’s voice boomed from outside, gravelly and mean. Daisy peeked through a shattered window. He was a big bastard, leather-clad, a machete strapped to his back, his bike idling as he sniffed the air like a hound. “I smell your sweet ass, girlie! Come out and play, or I’ll carve you up slow!”

Daisy’s lips curled into a feral grin. “Oh, you dumb fuck,” she whispered, slipping a jagged shard of rebar into her glove. She crept to the back of the store, heart hammering, and found a side exit choked with debris. The Marauder’s boots crunched closer, his shadow stretching long across the floor. “I know you’re in there!” he roared, kicking over a shelf with a crash. “Gonna string you up by your guts, make you scream for me!”

“Not today, asshole,” Daisy hissed under her breath. She shoved through the exit, ducking into an alley littered with bones and rusted cans. The Marauder’s bike revved, and she heard him shout to another—there were two of them now. “Fan out, she’s close!” the first one barked. Daisy’s grip tightened on her sawblade bat as she pressed herself against a crumbling wall, the cold brick biting into her back.

She spotted a rusted fire escape dangling above. With a grunt, she leapt, catching the ladder with one hand, her satchel swinging wildly. She hauled herself up, the metal groaning under her weight, and flattened herself on the roof. Below, the second Marauder—a wiry fuck with a mohawk—scanned the alley. “She’s gotta be here, boss!” he yelled, pulling a pistol from his belt.

Daisy held her breath, waiting. The first Marauder circled back, his machete gleaming in the dim light. “Find her, or I’ll gut you instead!” he snarled. Daisy’s eyes narrowed. She could take one, maybe, but two was a death sentence. For now, she’d wait, her peaches and iodine worth more than their blood. In this shithole, survival meant playing smart—until the moment came to paint the wasteland red.