wl_motorcity
Installation: wl_motorcity.bsp into half-life\wasteland\maps, rain.spr into half-life\valve\sprites.  Text file goes wherever.

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History repeats itself.

The dissolution of order and authority always leads to lawlessness - proven fact for thousands of years.  After the fall, things were no different.  The wild, scattered pattern of Russian nuclear strikes left many American cities unscathed by nuclear blasts, these symbols of America becoming desolate ghosts, populated only by mutated creatures and the mangled bodies of the time before the war.  Such was the fate of Detroit, the center of the American automotive industry, known as "Motor City."  The industrial complex fell apart - the infrastructre destroyed, the raw materials cut off - but their husks stayed, and gangs have set up hideouts between rows of machinery, safe from Motor City's vicious acid rain.
One such industrial area is currently a hot spot in the gang war - the High Rollers having taken over a car parts plant and associated rail depot and, clearing out the squatters living there, claiming it for their own.

The other gangs, returning from the seasonal plunder of the outland villages, have come to their headquarters expecting to revel in their victories...but there are trespassers.  The High Rollers are here.  Soon, rainwater, blood, and brass shell casings will mix in the potholes as the gangs try to take back their turf.

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This map is based on the Roleplaying thread "Motor City" in the Wasteland Roleplaying forums and subsequently the Head On A Stick forums.  As such, some locations from the thread exist, though not in a location that would fit...the Apartment the TA shot a .50 rifle from, Greasy Joe's eatery/drinking establishment, Doc Matt's, the jail...It's my interpretation, all squashed together to fit in a map with tolerable R_Speeds, but who says that's ignoble?  Look at wl_needles - nothing like the one in Wasteland. :)

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Name: wl_motorcity
Author: Bob The Wanderer
E_Mail: vaultdweller44@hotmail.com
Website: www.far-out-dude.com (I'm the 'L337 Tank')
Other: I like post-nuke games, although Fallout: Tactics started promising and became merely tolerable.
Thanks to: Gaist and the rest of the WHL crew, Gatac, Thomas_Anderson (That guy's personal Jesus Christ!) Infested_Paladin, Bobbin Threadbare, and the rest of the Wasteland Roleplaying crew...Valve, even though I disrespect them deeply sometimes - Existence at Mod Expo?  Losers...
Music listened to while making: The Beatles (Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, Abbey Road, White Album) Foo Fighters (The Colour and the Shape), NIN (Quake II Soundtrack), Red Storm Entertainment (Rainbow Six Soundtrack)

Prefabs: Deathkill's Corvega (both the "merely rusty" and "slightly toasted" versions); Freon's HL ERC Rain tutorial and sprites (thanks - brilliance!)
Problems:
Compile Machine: Athlon T-Bird 1Ghz, 256mb RAM, GeForce 2
Compile Time: Dunno.
R_Speeds: The factory gives me hell in this department...but I've kept it very tolerably in the 750 range.  There are one or two unnoticable points where it spikes to an unremarkable  900.  Averages: Street 700, indoors 150-400.  Tolerable in the extreme! (Assuming you're not in software render on a Pentium 133...)
Tools: WorldCraft 3.3 (HELL yeah!), Zoner's HLTools 2.5.1 (The almighty...)

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Tex knew he was in trouble.

It seemed odd enough to start - the door flung open, a campfire still smoldering between two assembly lines.  Recently extinguished.  Squatters.

The dusty rays of light were ordinary enough, no tell-tale signs of invasion.

The first real notion of tresspassers was the 5.56mm rifle bullet that whizzed past Tex's face and disintegrated the nearest High Roller's head.  Tex reached for his Desert Eagle, seven snap-shots in the direction of the gunshot.  The catwalk.  They're on the catwalk.  Tex leaped behind a conveyor belt as a pipebomb rolled along the ground and, seconds later, riddled a number of High Rollers with shrapnel, throwing them to the floor.  By the time Tex came back up, a fresh clip was in the Desert Eagle.

They're all on the catwalk.

Tex sprinted outside, bullets hissing dangerously close to his ears.  Past the breached door and to the left was a generator shed...he yanked the starter cord a few times and the machine sputtered to life, ethanol coursing through its veins.  Muffled screams and electrical cracks emanated through the doorway...the old traps still worked, he thought.  This last thought was immediately splattered across the back wall as he was beaten to a quick-draw by an MP5-wielding squatter.  The squatter's blue-and-yellow jumpsuit pulled Tex's vision away from his maniacally laughing face as the High Roller's limp body collapsed to the ground.