Placeholder Back in the 2030's The United States had taken a full hit from the great collapse. Once a country known for it's unity, was all united but in name only.

Everybody did their own thing at that point, with the remaining corporations pretty much running the show in their respective states. To the rest of the world, they were reffered to as "The Fractured States Of America".

Except for Texas.

You see Texas always had been it's own entity. It's spirit was just built different from the get-go. Self-reliance was as ingrained in you as air is.

So naturally, despite the governing bodies being a bit of lipservice in that time, it pretty much ran like it's own country.

It was a natural thing. When other states fell flat on their faces, Texans had adopted sipper batteries, because it simplified matter. It made sense. Why wait for another blackout, when you can have your own all powered up and idiot-proof.

Visitors to the state, noted that it felt like the wild frontier had come back, and Texas just shrugged.

Among those men and women, was a man known as George "Bolt" Sherman, a 50 year old man, with a video channel, giving his opinion and builds. Known affectionately as "Uncle Bolt" among his listeners. He had called his home "The Forge Yonder". It was place where the tech of old had found a final resting place, until Bolt decided what to make that thing into. He built many robots there, who ended up trundling along the streets of Marfa, hauling loads of all kind.

He also had built himself one he called "Sweet tea" whom he had programmed to behave like a good horse, a nod to his grandfather who raised them. "If I make one as smart as a horse, then that is probably more useful than one of them chatterboxes you see around".

Now just because Texas built on common sense, it didn't mean that it didn't have their moments where wisdom didn't get the memo. One of those times was when the state, led by some less than honorable folk, decided to cut back on the benefits of people who had done their services in the United States Military.

It was then his now famous speech came to be known. At the protest, there were many news outlets present, and they went among protests, asking the various protestors their reason they were here. When one woman came to him as asked his reasons, he took a deep sigh and spoke his mind;

"We treat our vets like garbage. We all seen it over the years. How many are homeless? How many are addicts? Do you think they woke up one morning, had a coffee and said "I am going to be broken man?" Nope. They didn't. We broke them with their service. We gave them a special kind of hell to protect us. And this is thank you? No. Just as the soldier is protecting our rights and freedom -we the people - It is our duty to protect the soldier from our foolishness, our entitlement and our own apathy. To do anything less, is dishonorable".

Those words, spoken out of not anger but rightous indignation, went viral. These were not the words of some talking head, some company town influencer looking for a few more subscribers or a politician lining up his re-election. These were the words of a man who had seen his fellow man stumble and had it heartbroken into a thousand pieces.

Many came to his channel, and started to pay attention to his builds, his thoughts, and his approach. These words and honesty, struck a chord to many Texans and also many across the planet.

But just as life's road had many twists and turns, there was was a storm brewing, Hurricane season was on it's way and what came to be known as "the devil's three daughters", three mega hurricanes, arrived in succession.

Bolt had his ear up to the signals and the weather reports. He had a knack to cut through the fluff and knew what was coming. His channel focused on how to reinforce a home and basic prep. That storm would hit several states, and if his advice helped a few people not go hungry or cold, he did his part.

Still for a man like him, a man raised on git-her-done and can-do, it still left him uneasy. Resources were spread thinner than tissue paper and he knew some would think they had done enough to weather out the hurricane.

The devil's three daughters, Debby, Fiona and Martha, however, lived up to their namesake and devastation followed.

Media coverage showed the disaster. Flooded streets, looting, National guard? Stretched too thin. Due to the fractured nature of the US, other states were giving thoughts and prayers not even worth the dust on a church's pew.

He was going through his newsfeed, and gave a cynical chuckle.

"Well look at that Joey." Said Bolt to his cat, scratching him under the chin. "The politicians are giving us not even a second thought. It's very easy to stay optimistic when you are sipping a pina colada in Cancun".

Sure enough He knew something like this was going to happen. "As my meemaw once said, you don't wait until you are thirsty to dig a well." and this uneasy feeling he had felt prior to the storms, he used as fuel for what came naturally to a man like him.

He fired up his livefeed and looked directly in the camera.

"Alright folks. Don't know if you are paying attention to th'news, But those three hurricane did a number on Houston, I mean it literally turned it to Venice. People are trapped, the first responders and National guard are pretty banged up, the military can do only so much. Me? I am going down there to pitch in and I am not going there empty-handed. No sir. You know me too well."

He turned the camera to his latest creations. Three dullards, the size of small pickups, off-road tires and with pontoons that look like the devil himself had welded oildrums together on a drunken dare.

"Meet my three new friends", he continued, "these dullards have been modified to be amphibious. They are going to be my backup, my workhorses and I am riding on my other dullard, sweet tea and start pitching in. If you want to help, coordinates are in the chatroom. I'm done talking."

He turned to his dullard, and gave them a once over and nodded. "Curly! Larry!! Moe!! Sound off!"

Each dullard responded with a drawn out "Hello", mimicking their namesake, their sensors looking alive, like a good dog waiting for a command. He opened the garage door, and walked over to Sweet Tea

Unlike her brothers, Sweet Tea had a similar built, slightly larger, made out of a cargo dullard with about a dozen modifications done, including, more prominent, a cockpit.

"Plot coordinates for Houston Sweet tea" as he jumped in and buckled himself in and fired up his playlist. "Running down a dream" by Tom Petty resounded and off they left the Forge Yonder, not as a rescuer, not as a hero, just as neighbour seeing his neighbor needing more than a hand.

The old highways had fallen into disrepair, Curly, Larry and Moe raced behind him in a convoy, following Sweet tea's navigation system and Bolt's verbal commands.

The playlist went on. Sometimes stopping so the dullards could recharge and for Bolt to take a break from riding and having a stretch and some lunch. Soon enough they were arriving to Houston. He saw that the road was flooded and had to take a detour. He also had found out where some volunteer were holing up and changed directions

"CURLY! LARRY! MOE! HARD RIGHT!!" Roared Bolt as they went offroad to reach a flooded area. The Dullards hit the water and soon enough the iron-clad three were making their way where he saw people stuck on roofs.

He parked Sweet tea and jumped aboard Moe, the largest of the dullards. "Moe, keep going." He found a small family, Two women and one kid. "Hop aboard. Know anybody else that's stuck? Here, I got coffee too and hot chocolate for the boy."

After bringing out a dozen people out of the waters, He drives them to a local school that was unaffected area of the flood that was currently being used as halfway point, the locals bewildered by the looks of this man and his four machines.

"Found these poor folk in a bit of a bind." he said to one of the volunteers. Who's in charge? Me and my bots are here to help.

The volunteer, a string-bean of a man, confused, pointed to a woman, 40's, a bit on the plump side but with a motherly disposition. Bolt stepped forward and nodded. She looked up. "Yes?"

- "Hello. I figured you need a few more hands."

- "The good lord knows that many hands make light work."

- "Is there a spot I can park my team? They need to recharge"

- "Over there past the parking lot."

"Charming." He thought to himself. He signed to his dullards "Come and park" to his team and Sweet tea parked first, and the three parked themselves. He then deployed an awning from all four, flexible solar panels that provided the charge they needed. He took out a cot from the back of Sweet tea and once unfolded, he went to sleep.

the next day, he busied himself into making sweet tea into a basic mobile command center and charging station for him and his team. While she kept charging external sippers, he gave live reports to his fans, prompting a mass of volunteers to assist.

As Bolt was setting up his coffee station, he saw an elder, a man who definitely seen better days judging by the way he knew more about skipped meals than social events.

He noticed his jacket, faded digital camo and a division badge. "Have a seat, I got coffee going." The man replied "I ain't got any script or mondo". Bolt smiled and grunted."Don't you think you gave enough as it is? Now have some coffee, like a fresh idea, it won't stay warm for long." And he handed the man a steaming cup of joe.

The name's Bolt by the way." "Danny Rivers. Friends call me patches." He looked at his machines,"That's a nice setup you got there. Did you serve?"

Bolt scratches the back of his neck. "Nope. Although I had plenty of friends who served by in the day. Back when it actually mattered. It still matters mind you, but now, it's been hard to figure out to who. In any case, I am here to give a hand. You look like a rooster who raised cain. Go lie down on that cot over there after you down this coffee. I'll have lunch ready in about an hour."

After lunch, Patches told him that word had gone around about what he was doing. "They call what you said back at that "The duty of the citizen" on the mesh. Some of us thought you were just letting the moment take you, but seeing you here, where the metal meets the meat? Getting dirty in the trenches? I got no doubts, you are a man who stands by what he says. I used to be in infantry, but I know what a box of tools look like bolt, and I want to move forward. What's the plan?"

The next day, Patches and Bolt started organizing a group of folk who had their dullards and know how. Under his direction, they not only had a convoy that reached back all the way to New York city but also Los Angeles. Goods of all kinds, bought and sold by the people brought raw material, medical supplies and food to help start anew. Patches, brightened up, like a man reborn.

Give a man a sense of purpose and peace can follow. It's not just a question of leadership, it's a question of what loyalty and duty is, and to whom.

And in this case? It was a matter of giving the people what they needed at this point. A helping hand.

Curly, Larry and Moe became a common sight, bringing in more survivors, hauling gear and supplies, all the while sweet tea staying behind to provide a charging station for other volunteers.

One day, a trickle of volunteer who knew who Bolt was came over and said to him "What's next Bolt? What do you want to do?"

"Glad you are all here. The first thing, I want you to go to the head co-ordinator, she's the boss around here and a former Medic and This gentleman over there, Patches will get you ready and sorted out. Now listen, we are not a superhero team, we are neighbours helping neighbours. Any one you know how to use a drone? Could use some eyes in the sky."

A young lady, early 20's came up "I brought my drone, Spare-O." she said. Her blonde hair cut short in a bob. "I won the county drone race for the past three years".

Bolt nodded "That's great. No racing this time. I need you to take it slow. We need to spot the people stuck and let those with the gear go in. Hell I'd rather let the soldiers take the lead in deeper water, my dullards here can't go to far, past ten feet deep? Not sure that's a good idea."

She nodded. "alright but how are we doing this then?". "You fly, send your feed to Sweet tea and I relay it to the first responders."

The days were long. Bolt kept his bots in a convoy for most of the time. Drone feed kept the others informed. Rescue boats were few and it gnawed at him that his bots couldn't be there to help with the lifting. At one point in an other mundane convoy, he spotted a pontoon boat that the storm had sent to shore, designed for water work.

It had no engine, the cockpit had been torn off. The platform? Intact. He stopped Moe and dismounted and looked at it. The gear in his head started to turn. "Ok. Curly, time to become your successor, Curly Joe."

He built himself a makeshift dry-dock and pulled in the boat using Moe and Larry. He then started to canibbalize Curly, adding the bot's motors to the barge. Then, Curly's brains was installed where the directionals were and after using some spare parts he had on hand, The boat became a nimble, functional aquatic bot, ready to assist further.

"Welcome to the fold Curly Joe!" He chuckled. Signalling to Larry to pushing the boat into the water, he began to navigate and push the debris away to make safer paths for rescue boats.

A few times he had to switch to manual in order to compensate for the fact that debris-laden waters are notorious for hidden hazzards. Soon, he was able to patch in a sonar in order to keep track of the dept. A young fisherman, joined him. He knew the coast better than most and had been voluteering with the water rescue teams. He definitely loved Bolt's Curly Joe.

Over the next few months, the waters receeded and Bolt was happy to head home to his home in Marfa, where he could go back to tinkering. As he prepared to leave, patches came up.

"Heading home Bolt?" he asked, uncertain. "The job's done. Got to head back. I got a few new ideas in my head that I want to build." he replied. "Take me with you. I got nothing better to do around here and there are thousands of us who are like me. You are a man who gets it. I saw you work with all of these folk Bolt. You got something going."

Bolt thought about it. And then he smiled "Alright Patches, then you will be my right hand then. Because What I got in mind? It's to build a place where everyone can come and make something of themselves."

"A motorpool?" Patches asked inquisitively. "No. It will be more than that. It will be the Forge Yonder. And it will be where the new Texan Civics Corp will live."

Patches beamed "So there will be a place where an old dog can learn new tricks?"

"Yup. Now let's go!!"

Years later, a poem was written by some anonymous author that day, one that is now laser-cut on a plaque of the Forge Yonder still to this day;

"The Devil's daughters came,

Debby took the coast,

Fiona the rivers and crops,

Martha took the towns.

The lone star was about to fall,

But a thousand hands rose to put it back up in the heavens."