Everytown is a ready-made, highly customizable locale for a Twilight: 2013 Campaign.
As written, the locations of Everytown are purposely named by their function and the NPCs called by their trade or position in the town rather than given names so the GM can easily modify them to reflect the locale and society they choose for their campaign. The intent is to maximize utility for every group playing Twilight: 2013, while retaining a plausible feel of a community of survivors that has survived the Last Year relatively intact.
Everytown is the root and trunk of a tree that, it is hoped, will bear much adventuring fruit for players. The follow-on scenarios connected to Everytown will be branches of that tree, usable on their own if grafted into another campaign, but adding adventure to the Everytown setting.
Tomlinson grimaced as he cocked his head sideways, trying to shelter his face from the bitter wind that clawed through his light poncho and filthy fatigues. He reached one hand up to close one nostril and blew snot from his nose, overpressure making his ears pop painfully. He closed his eyes in exhausted irritation, knowing he hadn't blown the snot clear of his weapon.
"Look sharp," the sergeant barked, for about the millionth goddamn time.
The batteries for their NVG's had crapped out about mile three hundred of the long march and Tomlinson long since given up on trying to peer into the pre-dawn darkness. Besides, Crawford would let him know when he really needed to be on the look out for hostiles; the Cajun had a nose for trouble.
Still, knowing the sergeant wouldn't be satisfied without some form of response, Tomlinson shuffled around so the sergeant could see his legs moving and think he'd been obeyed. Sarge claimed there was a village out here somewhere, but just now Tomlinson could give a shit. He had his suspicions that the sergeant was lying; that they hadn't received orders from company command when the general retreat started, that they were entirely on their own. He was, however, absolutely sure that only some degree of discipline would get them through this, and if Sarge wanted that responsibility, he was welcome to it.
Crawford took his foot off the gas, cluing Tomlinson that he needed to be looking around. He dutifully peered into the growing dawn and made out a cluster of buildings lining the road ahead. There was a river between the village and their position, a destroyed or washed-out bridge sagging into the shallow flow.
"This is it," Tomlinson heard the sergeant mutter through the open turret ring.
"How do you know?" Hernandez asked from the back seat.
"'Cause it's the only place on the map this distance from the MLR.," the sergeant grated in his best ‘stop asking me stupid questions' voice.
"What's it called?" Hernandez asked.
"It's called Everytown, FNG," Crawford snapped.
"No it ain't."
Tomlinson grinned, knowing the looks Hernandez was getting. Aside from the stupidity of the argument, Crawford had a low-grade hate for the young Mexican. Tomlinson hadn't bothered to find out why.
"What he means, Hernandez, is that it's just like every other F-ing town we've passed through: That it ain't home," Sarge explained though gritted teeth, "Now shut the hell up and come with me. Tomlinson, you're covering from here. Someone wake Paulson up. I'm gonna see if we can't find a local."