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Post by Pelch Gobwit on Oct 14, 2009 13:07:54 GMT -5
"As someone put it, this year sucks. It's been back to square one for a tired out old street dwarf called Pelch Gobwit. Rumor has it someone put out a hit on Drassell and left him a pile of smoking meat. Then someone hit my place and burnt it to the ground. Mao went one way. I went another and who the frag knows what happened to anyone else. It's been back to garbage can cuisine for me. Hiding is a strategy I'm familiar with."
"The city hasn't been doing so well either since KD&A hauled hoop out of this burg. The Corp's been downsizing like crazy, prices been going through the roof and the media has been telling me what a wonderful world of drek we live in if only some of us brain dead morons would only co-operate more while they finish gang raping us. No cigarettes allowed afterword, nor KY Jelly either. Do you feel the love?"
"With my luck I just knew the good times wouldn't last. Lately, I've been having a real powerful urge to eat every now and again. Frag! There's so many shops and business's closed up and they were soon followed by the eating places and hotels, that all you got to eat is cement. Travel dropped to nothing, They outlawed cars in the city except for the rich and taxed the living drek out of everyone else. By the way all you humans are still racist fraggers."
"Maybe I ought to get into politics. I heard the ACE Tomato building was closed. I didn't take the chance of getting near the place. Hopefully the fraggers have either forgotten me by now or they think I'm dead. Hiding out a year will do that to a guy."
"So what am I doing now? Well, I'm getting ready to rob the city depository. No, I'm not fragging joking. I'm supposed to be going to meet this drek hot mage called Kaimloim. Don't know what meta type he is or anything about him but he's the fragging Johnson. He needed a guy good with locks and one thing I've gotten good at is busting Security doors. I have no clue to who else may show but at this stage of the game a bullet is looking a lot friendlier than starving and I'm not going gently into that good night."
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Post by Pelch Gobwit on Oct 15, 2009 12:31:54 GMT -5
Actually, it's more like I'm going gently into that good day. What a wonderful fragging Seattle day it is too. Gloomy, cold, drizzle and a right nasty piece of wind. I almost got run over by a city bus.
Krass once told me that there is an inherent beauty in squalor--the down-market loveliness of strip clubs, dive bars, prostitution, public drunkards, and ranting lunatics. The beauty of all things naughty, unseemly, and dirty. I suppose that such 'beauty' (as he defines it, I got my own opinion) exists in every society, and always will."
Krass was right about one thing. There is a reason prostitution is the world's oldest profession. It's the same reason why Prohibition and the War on Drugs both failed. It's why strip clubs are a part of all urban landscapes. People will always seek out new and sleazy sensations; it's an impulse that can't be legislated away. Sin is dangerous, of course, but danger reminds us that we are alive and why we might want to stay that way.
It explains the fact that when times get tough more people tend to spend their hard earned for a taste of good times and sins. Who wants to face reality every day? Maybe I should become a Seattle tourist guide.
Seattle, like most American cities, tries to sweep squalor from public view. The politico's don't like to admit that the urge for sleaze exists in our hearts. Not here. Not in our fair city. And while this kind of denial may keep the city's meeker residents happy, the end result of our attempts to deny our baser urges is scattered squalor. Here in Seattle, prostitution thrives on Highway 99, drugs are readily available on Second Avenue and Pike Street, and strip clubs, save for Déjà Vu Showgirls and the Lusty Lady downtown, reside in Lake City and just outside of town. The result: Passing through Seattle, you encounter squalor again and again.
With Seattle's economy currently in the toilet, now is a time for bold thinking, new ideas, and fresh new "revenue enhancements," as they say. It is, in other words, the perfect time for our city officials--and our city as a whole--to take this leap. And as scary of an idea as a Seattle red-light district may seem, it's not like the concept is an unproven one--Hamburg, Amsterdam, and many other cities have red-light districts that are not only the heart of all sleaze in those cities, but tourist attractions as well. Plus, there's an added benefit: By inviting all of Seattle's sleazy businesses and illegal trades into one neighborhood, sin, squalor, and crime would be drained from other neighborhoods. This, in turn, would make sin in Seattle easier to police, not to mention regulate and, yes, tax; strip clubs, porn shops, brothels, jack shacks--each offers much taxation opportunity, revenues our state, and our city, sorely need so they can get a new source of revenue to rip off.
Krass would have probably put it at South Lake Union. That area has been earmarked for Bio-Tech expansion forever. It just never happened. Don't fret, Mr. Mayor, you can still have your cute little trolley line--after all, it would be a perfect addition to a dirty South Lake Union. Indeed, a line running from the hotels in downtown straight to the Mercer Mess would help boost coffers on both sides; again, if Amsterdam and Hamburg are any indication, red-light districts are boons for tourism. The trolley would allow the more timid tourists to have a quick peek at Seattle's sinners without having to rub shoulders with them.
Yeah, like this will ever happen.
Anyway, I'm headed toward 1315 1st Ave, a place called the Lusty Lady. Which, as I already stated is out near Hwy 99 also known as Alaskan Way. That's where I'm supposed to meet this Johnson. The place has a history of course.
The Seattle Lusty Lady, known originally as the Amusement Center, was opened in the 1970s by two business associates, who soon after opened the other location in San Francisco. Originally, both Lusty Ladys showed 16mm peep show films only, but in 1983 live nude dancers were added and became the main focus of the businesses. Until 2003 they were both owned by the same company; in that year the San Francisco franchise was bought by the strippers working there and began to be managed as a worker cooperative. The San Francisco branch had already entered the news in 1997 when it became the second (and as of 2009 only) successfully unionized sex business in the U.S.
Former Lusty Lady employee Siobhan Brooks commented in a 1997 article in Z magazine that "In some cases the media misquoted us as being the first strip club to unionize. But the first strip club to unionize was Pacer's in San Diego. However, Pacer's union, Hotel Management, Employee Management, Local 30, negotiated an open clause in its contract. Open shop means there's no requirement that employees join the union, so the club recruited workers and discouraged them from joining the union and were able to decertify the union" so the union at Pacer's, the first of its kind, was short-lived.
The Seattle Lusty Lady opened in the 1970s and moved to its present location at 1315 First Ave in downtown Seattle near Pike Place Market in 1985. The club is well known for its frequently changing and often amusing marquee announcements. The Lusty Lady is immediately across the street from the Seattle Art Museum and the marquee often comments on current exhibits or the Hammering Man statue. Mimi Gates, stepmother of Bill Gates and director of the Seattle Art Museum, said "The Lusty Lady's marquee is a Seattle landmark."
In 2006, the Seattle Lusty Lady survived a threatened wrecking ball when the building's owner, a Seattle family, refused a multi-million-dollar tear-down offer from developers of a new Four Seasons Hotel next door. The owners instead received $850,000 "for air rights to the views over their property". Employees celebrated by posting on their reader board: "We're Open, Not Clothed!"
On the inside two peep shows operate similarly: Several nude women dance simultaneously on a stage, separated by glass windows from the customers who each stand in their own booth, paying by the minute. No tipping is possible and the dancers are paid an hourly wage. (The top wage for dancers in Seattle in 2001 was $27 per hour, the top wage in San Francisco in 2003 was $26 per hour.) Some of the booths in the Seattle operation have one-way mirror glass; these were removed in San Francisco after worker protests. The dancers are also available for one-on-one shows in glass-separated private booths where tipping is possible. In addition, coin-operated booths showing porn videos are available.
Lusty Lady occasionally features "art days", exhibiting erotic photographs and paintings in the hallways. In February 2002, both peep shows featured a video art exhibition called "Peepshow 28", with one channel in all video booths devoted to showing a sequence of 64 short videos exploring voyeurism, exhibitionism and sexuality.
Once a year, Lusty Lady organizes a "Play Day": the dancers walk around, explain the operation of the club to customers, and allow behind-the-scenes peeks.
You getting the picture? I was obviously meeting with my Johnson at one of these private booths. Are you kind of wondering how our old buddy Johnson was going to be able to explain a stripper, himself and a dwarf all in the same spot?
I was.
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Post by Pelch Gobwit on Oct 16, 2009 12:01:56 GMT -5
First though I had to make a little detour. I went by the meeting point and continued for a way down the street. Sure I could have walked into a back alley but I might have to sleep there some night. Never drek where you might eat. Besides, I was being followed.
She was nothing special to look at and dressed to show it. Which means she wasn't showing much more than your average girl next store. Shoulder length brown hair. Tall. Thin. The type they call athletic. Long thin face and eyes hidden behind a pair of Norinaga eye-shades. Human. Long fragging nails and she looked like she had never laughed a day in her life.
Why the details?
I'm a detail kind of guy. Sometimes you learn things by watching people. Especially if they're tailing you. She wasn't very good at it, or I wouldn't have made her. Still it's hard to do a tail job one on one. I didn't see a weapon. That might make her a mage. Anyone else would be so jacked that it would be obvious. I saw no one helping her and no body guards.
Why would an innocent girl be following a street bum?
Most wouldn't even look in my direction. I might inflict my smelly and degenerate presence on them and worse yet ask for a handout.
I smiled.
I turned around walked straight up to her. She looked uneasy.
"Hey lady, can you spare 10 NuYen for a guy who's down on his luck?"
She thought for a moment. I had obviously caught her off guard. She could have just given me the money. She didn't do that. She could have run away. She didn't do that either. She could have screamed and the Star would be kicking my hoop but she didn't do that either.
"You are the one called Villa Reston? She asked me with a quirky smile on her face. I had to revise my first opinion. She did have a sense of humor. It was just well hidden. Now she caught me off guard. I thought for a moment.
"Never heard of him." I lied through my lice infested beard with bad teeth and stinky breath. She recoiled a bit in disgust. Sometimes it pays to know that your a one man weapon just standing on the street. It had been getting harder to steal toothpaste and water. Let alone bullets. My guns were empty so I cultivated a real bad-hoop look lately.
For those that know me. Villa Reston was the name I had given to the Johnson who might be thinking of hiring me. The fact that this 'all UCAS' girl knew it meant either Johnson's security was compromised or the Johnson was paranoid and maybe this little girl was her backup for the meet? The possibility was that this was my Johnson. How many think I would go meet a Johnson without knowing a darn thing about them? This wasn't my Johnson.
I wasn't worried though. I was a Z Street graduate. If she pulled a gun on me.
I'd just lay down and die.
That would teach her to frag with me.
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Post by Pelch Gobwit on Oct 18, 2009 14:06:08 GMT -5
'My Johnson is just not going to like this. My fixer is going to have a fit. Still it's better than me leading the fragging Star to the meet. How the heck did the Star get onto me BEFORE I even got hired? Johnson's security must be for Drek, it reminds me of Z Street. An ominous sign indeed.
Turns out 'All UCAS Girl' belongs to the Star. Magical Arts Division. Name: Officer Kali. Yeah, she's another fragging mage. Type? Who cares at this stage? I hope not Snake. If I see another half baked Snake Shaman it will be too fragging soon even if it's in my next life.
You guessed it. I've been hauled in for questioning. They want me to do my civic duty and tell them for free everything they want to know about the job they figure I'm in on. That's some good news. They jumped the gun. Their knowledge has big gaps. I could tell them anything but sometimes lies can tell about what you're not doing and eliminate some paths. I tell them nothing.
Next they offer money. Surely a guy like me could USE some friends in the Star and some extra cash. You know that come on. It's the gift that keeps on shafting. If I were to tell them now for money, for sure they'd pay it, every penny and then a little later I'd dance like a puppet on a string every time they wanted something. The 'Or Else' is they let it out I'm a squeal and show the money payment to prove it. Jesus had such a friend, his name was Judass or something like that. Besides I hate the fragging Star and wouldn't give them the time of day.
I give the fraggers nothing except the old dwarf stone face. It works so well it takes them 10 minutes to realize that behind all that hair, I'm asleep. I guess the snores finally gave it away. They kicked the chair out from under me and 'accidentally' poured boiling coffee on me to wake me up. You know the routine.
They do the good and bad cop and then the bad and bad cop and then the threats begin. It's the cop playbook like it was written in stone. You'd think these guys would get a new act, like beheading.
Seems I'm a prime candidate for the high crime of vagrancy. Like that's a real threat. I get a dry cell, a bath, a haircut, delousing and a meal. They quickly decide that threat won't work and may cost more in these troubled times than they want to go through the paper work of collecting. Don't you just love hard times?
Finally they try the old bit about how they'll put out I did squeal and wait for some hard boy to ventilate my hide. Then they snatch him a get the info anyway. Is it worth dying for? I don't tell them they would be doing me a favor but they seem to note my complete lack of concern when I just smile back at them and laugh.
So now most have left to talk it over with someone important. I look at the mirror and flip them the bird. Then go back to sleep.
They haven't even done the Miranda yet because get this, I haven't been charged yet. I'm in for questioning and there's no law yet that says you can't be questioned for a long time.
At least if I get hoop fragged in the joint it will put some color in my cheeks.....both sets.
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Post by Pelch Gobwit on Oct 19, 2009 15:40:21 GMT -5
What the frag does that mean. The past is now. It means they ran DNA, prints, Bertillon, retina and a whole bunch of other things and came up with a series of names that says we are all the same people. Many of those names are linked to unsolved crimes.
Kali has a grin that says, 'JACKPOT' and the attitude that I may be doing some time. She thinks she has a lever. I think a good lawyer could have me out of here in an hour. Problem? I don't have a good lawyer handy at the moment and now she's got more reason to hold me longer. It's already been twenty-eight hours and I still haven't been able to contact anyone. I'm still being held in solitary while they look for more handles.
I continue to say nothing. Never try to out stubborn a dwarf.
Most of what she has is circumstantial. All the above mentioned could have been spoofed. Any real evidence is out of date and we know how good the Star is at storing away evidence. Meaning they might or might not find it period and if they do It's probably been contaminated in some way.
So before I can get a lawyer they have to charge me with something. They want it to be big for obvious reasons. Otherwise, I'm still just a person of interest. If they get nothing in forty-eight hours and make no charges they have to let me go.
That's when they'll start following me again. This time with enough backups that I probably won't be able to slip them.
I'm kind of wondering what the Johnson is doing.
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Post by Pelch Gobwit on Oct 22, 2009 11:01:17 GMT -5
.....no one can hear you Drek!
It has been a glorious, highly spectacular, fun-filled extravaganza in the loving care of Lone Star City Services Police Unit. I'd put it right up there with four shotguns and a pair of handcuffs.
After fifty jam packed hours it seems like the fun will never end.
I know I was supposed to be released after 48 hours if I wasn't booked or toe-tagged.
I WAS released.
If you haven't figured it out yet then it's time for me to add to your Seattle education.
Let's start with the fact that governments and large organizations like Doctor's, Police units, Corps and other such places do not always follow the intent of the law as much as they follow the literal interpretation of whatever laws currently exist for them.
This means that they will 'at times when it suits them' obey the literal intent of the law whilst at the same time performing procedures designed to circumvent that law. They give the appearance of honesty while still getting what they want. In the real world it's all about getting what you really want.
To spell it out with an example, sometimes there are laws about how a prisoner should be treated. Especially if they haven't been found guilty yet.
I remind you all that accidents do happen.
Coffee can be spilled on you. You can be deprived of sleep. They can put you in a cell with an animal who wants to make you his joy-toy. The less law observed and the lower the 'OVERSIGHT' on these laws the more you can get away with. It also helps if you pick those that have no way to fight back either mentally or physically.
Now let's get to the interrogators. In the old days in dungeons they had the title of 'Royal Torturers or just torturers'. It was their job to heat up the irons, keep the thumbscrews in order and have the racks and spikes in first class condition. In those times all it took was a Lord with the the manpower and the ability to use 'Low Justice' to haul your hoop in and start on your attitude adjustment. No jury need worry about dealing with the sordid details of justice.
Today it's a little more complex but it still works in remarkably the same way.
Interrogators despite having a few more tools and instruments at their command and an upgrade in name change, are still pretty much the same not so nice people as any people anywhere in the wide wonderfull world.
Just because you change a skunks name doesn't mean it smells any sweeter.
They are not nice people, but like assassins, they perform a useful service for the elite. They do what their masters demand of them. Each deludes himself in different ways. Some like doing it. It's a power rush. Some do it for a cause but convince themselves they are not responsible. They're only following orders. Some feel they are performing a service and it pays well. There are as many reasons as there are people. The other side of that is that they all deliver.
The interrogator has a variety of tools and methods, many based on the wonderful science of psychology and all having been tested rigorously as tried and true techniques. How the tools are used is another version of the old tale. You balance the need for the possible information the subject holds against the time and expense of actually getting it. As we have all seen there are many ways to get information but how far are they willing to go? As far as their masters allow them to go.
Let's take WWII or the War on Terror. In war, it has always been easy to torture prisoners. You have a dangerous enemy who knows things that will save lives on your side but if they're on your side they deserve saving even if when you met them you'd find out they are the same kind of scum as you.
There are no watchdogs constantly with the prisoners to report to if they are abused. At least none that will credit them with anything like the truth. After all it's a prisoners job to lie, cheat, steal and generally mess over anyone that captures them short of hurting or killing them.
So it's easier in a War. Until about that time you lose the war or some hoop-hole comes along afterward to out the techniques used against them. After all the government made and signed the treaties about the rules of interrogation and we know that interrogators rigorously followed those rules. I laugh that Congress blamed Bush for the rules they had made on proper interrogation before he even got in office.
Does anyone not brain dead still think Bush really knew anything about the methods before they were used and outed. Remember interrogators, fanatics, terrorists, military and assholes will go beyond the intent of any rules they are given.
If you think you are Scott-free as an interrogator to inflict pain and death, nothing much holds you back. Enemies can easily vanish in a war. Also, using some of the more subtle tools can be expensive. Again you balance this against the time needed to procure the required information.
Does anyone else think that the military interrogators in the War on Terror did not have access to some pretty sophisticated drugs as well as the psychology they did sometimes use. Like finding out one tough guy would spill his guts because of a harmless bug? Even the Germans had scopolomine in WWII.
They didn't use it on prisoners in war camps much. Expense vs Time vs degree of vulnerability.
The question is how far do you want to go to cover your hoop and get what your Lord wants in a timely and useful manner. Does anyone besides me wonder why they just didn't get them addicted? Another tool of the trade. Crack cocaine.
We confiscate it by the truck loads every year. One hit and you're a card carrying member for life. You'll sell out anyone for your next hit. With all the free drug experimentation in the old US you can imagine the things they could do. I'm surprised som brain fried interrogator hadn't suggested free drugs for the guys in the prison camps all supplied by what we confiscate in our war on drugs.
Maybe more on that later. What I'm leading up to here is that interrogators and large organizations will, as they call it, bend the rules without actually breaking them.
Say they have to let a guy go in forty-eight hours or charge him with a crime and then allow him to contact lawyers and such. Say you don't want him doing that and he ain't even got the money for a vid call. Why you release him out on the street, after giving him food he can't eat and no sleep because of a guard who keeps checking to make sure you are all right.
As he staggers down the street a car from another precinct stops. This citizen/terrorist/perp looks drunk, or like a vagrant or even maybe even sick. The nice officer hauls him in just to make sure the citizen is not going to croak on the street. Purely to help the poor sod out.
The process starts all over again for another forty-eight hours of good times. You see it's not the fact that you do good or bad things to a possible terrorist like me. It's the appearance and justifications you can use when dealing with a terrorist like me and besides I deserved it right? I'm the bad guy trying to destabilize the Lords.
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Post by Pelch Gobwit on Oct 26, 2009 16:31:11 GMT -5
I'm out of it about half the time now. I was starving before I got in here. Now they got a tube stuck in me. I hope they have applesauce in the bag. I like applesauce.
At this point they are saying a lot of words punctuated by slaps to the chops. I knew I had a beard for some reason. They have to really wind up for me to feel it through all the facial padding.
These guys keep asking me questions but I am well past the point of comprehension. I tell them about how Daffy Duck was always a friend of mine. This seems to get them interested.
They give me another needle in the arm. They say this one is pain killer. I decide they must want to know all about Daffy so I start talking.
In a moment of lucidity I wonder if they'll be combing the streets for him soon.
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Post by Pelch Gobwit on Nov 3, 2009 9:07:16 GMT -5
... and I haven't improved with age.
Well the Star finally decided I was wasting their valuable time. All those man hours and they hadn't gotten any closer to anything than they did when they started.
Accountants.
You can always count on them to put their sharpened pencils deep into the hoop of any investigation. Like I stated earlier. They have to balance expense against gain. With me it was all expense and no gain. No Johnson had invited retaliation and given them more clues by either rushing his plans or trying to crack me out because they just luv'd me so much. They had also been watching the Depository. Outside of stirring up the workers and management there, they had nothing. It seems this Johnson was a bit smarter than all the previous ones I had put together. He was running on two cylinders while they had all been running on none.
That doesn't mean they let me go though. I told you that interrogators will BEND rules. They had to have something to show for their failure to adjust my attitude so that I would willing cooperate in my one rutting.
First, they fixed me back up so that I looked nasty but healthy. Second, they hauled in some street warrior who had the handle of Daffy Duck. Boy was that troll surprised and not to happy when they let him know that I had ratted him out. He had confessed to all kinds of drek. He of course implicated me as the mastermind so he could get his revenge and get better conditions and time off. Third, they then plastered him and me all over the airwaves as the desperado's behind a foiled attempt by the brave men and woman of Lone Star. to rob the UCAS Depository. You can bet the newscasts rolled in that like pigs in drek.
My trial was speedy and quick. I was the uncooperative one who wouldn't cooperate. Obviously I was unrepentant. The judge made a big thing about that and I got a righteous twenty years in the local Seattle Slam. The guy who turned in his fake testimony got five years and they found several 'cell mates' that also got reduced sentences testifying how I bragged about all this to them.
There was no mention by my court appointed moron that I had been in solitary and if I hadn't talked to the honest interrogators, then why would I be stupid enough to talk to other captured criminals. Nor was their any mention of the interrogations techniques used. Par for the course.
So there I was, the Great Depository Failed Robber, heading off to the pen. My new cell mate? Daffy Duck.
The very worst part of all this mess is that I'm not getting paid in even dire rat drek! This year sucks.
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Post by Pelch Gobwit on Nov 4, 2009 9:51:22 GMT -5
"I'm having an old friend for dinner."
Prison.
Here you can find every terrorist, low life, scum sucking, baby raping, maniac killer and loser in the world.
I should fit right in.
I got off the bus with the shackles on my wrists and ankles and enough chains to keep King Kong under control.
As an attempted robber of the biggest bank in Seattle, that had earned me some prestige. I wasn't treated too badly. I got the exam of course and the new outfit and the delousing. The part I hated was when they shaved all my hair off. As a shaved off dwarf I looked smaller, like a wet cat. Bald is not a look I enjoy.
The strangest thing that happened while this was going on, was the guards. It was like they were making an effort to find some excuse to come in and get a look at me. Like they were trying to size me up as a possible turkey dinner. They weren't talking to me. They acted like they weren't interested in me at all but they kept whispering to each other and looking at me when they thought I wasn't aware of them looking. I wondered what kind of game the Star was playing now. What had they told the guards about me? Maybe I was being set up for one of those prison accidents. Maybe I was a cop killer. It didn't give one a positive glow.
When the warden showed up to take a goosey, I could feel the chills going up my backside. This was too much interest for a new inmate.
The other prisoners that had come on the bus with me had noticed it too. Daffy Duck was smiling like it was rabbit season. He kept telling me prison stories of cannibalism. That they rape you, eat you, and sew your hide into their clothes, not necessarily in that order. I could tell he was looking forward to making my next twenty years as nasty as possible. Trolls are so STUPID.
I smiled at him. He didn't like my smile. It hinted that I had plans of my own for him. He looked to his buddies for help. I went back to observing the prison staff. They were definitely up to something, but what?
I had thought Lone Star would wait for things to ease off and settle a little before they messed with me. It was beginning to look like they weren't going to wait that long. I wondered what they had in mind.
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Post by Pelch Gobwit on Dec 5, 2009 9:07:20 GMT -5
...the gift that keeps on giving.
Prison?
It's not so bad. Just proving that you can't always believe everything you hear by the rumor mill. Sure it's not the kind of place that would become the preferred vacation spot of the world. Still it's better than a sharp object in the eye.
For instance. Did you know they have dwarf prison gangs? Orc Prison gangs? Troll prison gangs? Everyone is in a gang. There is safety in numbers.
Today, the Aryan Brotherhood slags are mixing it up with the trolls. Seems Daffy Duck got killed in a highly suspicious manner. Rumor has it that he was served up as the turkey at Thangsgiving by the prison officials rather than them going to the expense of a funeral. The money saved was used to give the guards a bonus.
I passed on the barbecue duck.
Anyway, it seems the Brotherhood got the blame. It happened in one of the cell blocks they control. I was nowhere near the place at the time. It's interesting what 10 cigarettes will buy in here. Especially when you are as prone to 'discover' missing things as I am. I have actually become fairly well off in here. I now have a private cell and a lucrative business which I pay 'some' in protection to the local dwarf ganger boss.
You see dwarves are good at making things. No one wants to frag off the dwarf that just might make the next shiv you want to use. They also have a nasty rep for bombs. They're also good at digging. With the new tunnel I'm having custom built I figure I'll be out of here by Christmas.
I haven't wasted my time though. In the last month I've been going to school. Increasing my knowledge of Security things. When I get out I'll have a nice little nest egg to refinance myself.
Soy to the World, the Dwarf is come.
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Post by Pelch Gobwit on May 5, 2010 9:14:05 GMT -5
Welcome back to the wide wide world of Sport. I've been out of the prison for some time. No one even knows I escaped. It's a nice Seattle morning. The sun is shining through the haze, the birds are cooing smog, and everyone is lean, hungry and fragging homeless.
So you want an update?
I have a new house, recently vacated because the hoop holes foreclosed on the previous tenants. Under a UCAS Federal program of re-apportioning wealth to the destitute I was able to become a first time buyer with free health care. Now ain't that a kick in the shorts. If it weren't for the immigrants I might even have a job.
As it is the thieving skills I learned have been polished like a new NuYen piece and have done well at helping to make a living. You see I got into subcontracting as a fixer. No risk and I get to keep a steep 30% of the take on every run I broker. Jobs are scarce, Omay. People now pay me to find them runs. I've become a legitimate business man, a pillar of the community. I have a Bill Blasted suit and a very fine top hat. Honest Pelchy, that's me. Maybe you caught my commercials on KPOW?
"Need more Junk in your Trunk but haven't got a job? Don't let it get you down. Money is no object, unless you plan to spend it. See Honest Pelchy for all your job needs. He'll put you on the fast track to success."
Take this latest job I have open. The zombies and ghouls have been moving in to a lot of the vacant buildings and with so many people dying from lack of medical care, high taxes and no food, it's become a serious problem. So the financially strapped Seattle government has hit upon a plan. Bounties. Yep, you can earn money by travel ling into the war zones of the city and potting ghouls, zombies and other assorted riff raff. Of course you have to have a license, a very expensive city license to do that. OR you can come to honest Pelchy and get a discount license free.
Well not exactly free.
You make a permanent deposit to me of half the cost of the license, 10,000 NuYen, to me. That's my safety margin, because I can't just give you such a valuable document for free. I have palms to grease. Loans to make, special payoffs. This gives you a month of hunting privileges. You go out and pot a bunch of disease carrying humanoid types and even some animal types. The general pay is 150 NuYen a males head, 200 for a females, and 250 for kids! I get 30% of your cash in and the rest is yours free and clear. A good shot with plenty of smarts can make enough in a month to set himself up really well, even in this economy.
The really lucrative part of this? Well in the middle of zombie territory is a female vampire. She runs the place up in Mountlake Terrace. A veritable army of zombies, ghouls and ghastly, maybe even a few man eating beasts like Winigo's and Amaryoq's. You get a hefty bounty for those. The big thing is the female vampire and her cohorts. You want to earn a cool quarter mil NuYen you just bag Anna the Queen Vampire. Evan after the taxes, and my 30% you'll still be well off enough to go independent.
That's money you can take to any owned UCAS Bank.
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Post by Pelch Gobwit on May 6, 2010 14:13:48 GMT -5
A zombie of course.
It pays to advertise. It says so right on the holo.
Three salty looking dudes have come wanting to take advantage of Honest Pelchey's deal of the century. They re obvious losers.
I don't have to ask names. I don't need no stinking collateral or paper work from them. They hand me the ten thousand up front NuYen and I hand them the license. If they don't pay me my cut later? I turn them into the Star (for a hefty finders fee) and claim they stole the document. Simple.
Anyway, like most know-nothing street punks, these guys just got to bargain to show me how bad they are. Shadow-runners my Aunt Petunia's hoop! These guys are so lame, if they were horses they'd already BE glue or dog food.
They want me to pay their expenses, replace ammo, and give them up front money for that. I laugh in their collective faces, tell them to hand back the license and I keep half their deposit for them wasting my time. I point out that I'm not their daddy, at least not that I know of.
One brain trust pulls a Manhunter and aims it at me. So predictable.
My foot was already on the alarm. The one that drops the bullet proof glass between me and them and engages the armored Requiter mini-gun which drops from the ceiling on it's mechanical arm. The laser light glows on his chest.
Even the stupid can learn if the gun is big enough. He puts the Manhunter away before he becomes a leaking puddle of piss on my floor, along with his buddies. If they die trying to shoot it out with me, I keep the whole deposit for house cleaning bills.
I watch them head out the door. Arguing.
They won't be back and I already know I can kiss my 30% away with this bunch. They won't live out the first night in Zombie country. Most likely the scenario will be something like this:
1.) Take their rides (Probably a busted-hooped truck vehicle to carry the bodies and it's probably something they stole) up Northeast to Mountlake Terrace. Get out of car. Obviously check and ready guns. This will of course alert the watching beasts and undead that fresh meat has come to call.
2.) They'll enter the first vacant building they see and set up to ambush. They'll be thinking out all the money their going to make and thinking of ways to spend it.
3.) That night the zombies and such will enter the building from all sides. You'll hear a lot of gunfire and screams. It should be over quickly. After all people got to sleep.
4.) In less than a half hour the building will again be empty and as soup the goons will have had their finest hour. Note to self Go get their stuff in the building and their ride and sell them, probably to Corndork. Make sure I get out before nightfall.
Next?
I hope the next bunch that shows up is a bit smarter than that. Still, I'll make a profit.
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Post by Pelch Gobwit on May 7, 2010 11:59:02 GMT -5
1.) Don't go in light.
2.) Make sure you cover your hoop.
3.) Don't think you're the only one that knows how to hunt.
Interesting isn't it. All you got to do is go introduce a bunch of zombies to some lead pills. Money in the bank. So far only the stupid have stepped forward. What we have here is a decided lack of cojones.
For those watching, you learned from the first bunch what not to do. The undead have thermal vision. Don't want to be seen? Well what screws up thermal vision?
Cold Suits? A little pricey, but in a instance like this, worth every 1/100th NuYen.
Then there are the dazzlers. Moderately expensive but again highly useful.
Thermal clothing and thermal blinds that helps hide your heat signature? Fairly cheep and easy to get. The ideas are endless.
Don't have such things available?
No problem.
Honest Pelchey has it all.
If you got the Gold, I got the goods.
Also go in late afternoon, not during the day when you think they will be vulnerable. They do have guards. Don't get pinned down in one place unless you're sure they can't come at you from all sides in mass quantities.
Against zombies you have the advantage in speed. I suggest you use it. Start near the outskirts and don't get in to deep until you know the territory a bit. Going in cold is fragging stupid.
You beginning to get the idea? Don't go in fast and stupid. Check out what you're up against, know the territory. Go in with weapons and maybe some backup that works. That nifty Manhunter is going to do you little good if you run across a Winigo. While it will work on Zombies or Ghouls and will put them down after a 'few' shots it's not always fast or powerful enough when you're getting swarmed.
Another little known fact? Zombies, Ghouls, Ghasts and Undead have been known to use weapons as well. Even a Zombie will sometimes carry a Panther Assault Cannon not to shoot at you with but just to knock some holes in the walls so they can get at the meaty parts a little easier.
Now check out Honest Pelcheys preferred method.
1.) Find some fragger you really dislike. Have the go-gangers deliver your Judas Goat to you naked and tied like a turkey. Place lots of fresh BBQ sauce on him and STAKE HIM OUT AT THE EDGE OF THE ZONE WITH A NICE WARM CAMPFIRE to attract attention at nightfall. I personally like to put up a sign that says all you can eat but, this is very important, make sure the sign doesn't get in the way of your shooting area.
Leave the edge of the zone and go to a pre-set up area with a good view. Make sure that the scouts in the area cannot see when you enter your thermal blind.
You see at a good shooting distance outside the zone enter your thermal blinds and using a flash suppressor and silencer on your hunting rifle, pot every zombie that comes out for a look see and free feed after nightfall. Many times even if you shoot them they ignore you as they are not very smart. You probably won't have enough ammo or speed to keep up with them all. Scratch one Goat but by morning you will have bagged your limit easily. They do tend to feed on each other but they will almost always go for the fresh meat first. Which leaves more for you when you turn them in for the bounty. No fuss, no muss. No idiot Goat left to clean up.
I call that a win/win. Goats are especially useful when people take my money without delivering the service and money that is rightly mine. Get the picture. Don't have a goat of your own? No problem. Lot's of people always hacking me off.
Of course mages have other options. They can think that up themselves.
So there you have it. I've shown the brain dead lot of you just one simple, easy and natural way for you to succeed. So are there any so called runners out there who are smart enough to come up with their own method and go for some easy NuYen? Where are all those people yelling for action now?
I'm waiting but I won't keep this offer on the table long.
Who's runner enough to get the job done?
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Post by Pelch Gobwit on May 8, 2010 7:32:10 GMT -5
I waited around in my office till closing time. Guess where my office is yet? The defunct Ace Tomato building. Yep I'm back in the old home HQ. Got it for a song from the city government when Krass and crew left Seattle for bigger and better things having made their pile. I turned the upper part into cheap apartments and the hidden area down below? That's my home. I maintain my offices on the top floor of course. That special elevator that links to my home is really great. Like I said, I'm a business man now, a pillar of the community.
Today's Shadow runner is a different case entirely. It used to be that a good runner had some drive, some ambition, some guts even if they were a little short of brains. Now? I guess they'd rather starve. No scales off my stitz platz. Just means the Seattle playground is all mine. Opportunity knocks again
Take for instance that big fusion plant Krass had built. Yep, gone. City council passed a law shutting it down. Now it's going back to rust and weeds. Luckily the Z Street Lair has it's own power backups because the city service has become so unreliable. It appears Seattle has become a third world country in looks and deed.
When you have a power vacuum like that it leaves the way open to the smart greedy and unscrupulous. That's me and anyone with guts enough to see the opportunity all around them.
I went down to the lair. My old pal Wanker was curled up on a rug. I made sure he was well fed and decided to take the Midget Petite Harley out for a spin. Of course the dog wanted to come. He was in the sidecar before I had the chance to sit tall in the saddle.
I took the turn and whipped out to I-5 North. I passed by the old nightclub, the Siren's Song. The fragging place was closed. Windows had been broken out. No one home. Looks like old Dom was out of business. Hard times I guess. When I could find someone to manage it, I might buy the place and put it back to work.
I went up 5th Ave from there. To the Denney Park area. Lots of gang bangers out smoking the weed. A whole passel of hookers too. When times get tough they'll have their weed but they won't have enough ambition not to starve to death.
I gunned the engine and headed west toward the docks. Might just as well see what's shaking out that way.
I guess Krass and his bunch were pretty decent after all despite Krass. Things sure look bleaker without the Retros running things.
Might be I would have to do something about this.
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Post by Pelch Gobwit on May 10, 2010 19:05:37 GMT -5
...between a virgin and a light bulb?
You can unscrew a light bulb.
Man ever since the City took over the docking guilds, the action here has been terrible. Most of the cargo's are stolen as fast as they are unloaded.
Just collect that big paycheck for doing nothing and get a cut when the criminals unload it for you and then sell it off for double the price. Who bothers with the taxes?
Like I said lots of ways to make illegal money in this town. Time to head for home, get some food and rest and plan my next move.
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