To Live and Die in LA...

Pause
I'm wasted and can't find my way home.

The lights reflect off what used to be the 101. Experience tells you most of the next section still has road but the lane paint has long been worn off. Since you’re currently worried about raiders and mutant scorpions, lane weaving is not an issue. Moans come from the back and someone, Winger most likely, opens a beer. The adrenalin has worn off but the smell of blood hasn’t and likely won’t. That pre-run malaise sets in. Gotta get that back cleaned.
You turn on the trid that Hamfist installed so the Neanderthals with no headware can see the local stations as you’re all on the road. The screen flickers to life.

“…an emergency vote in Sacramento CFS has just taken place. Proposition 14 has failed buy a majority vote and, in light of the extreme circumstances, with the controversial last minute changes, enforcing the measure at midnight tonight. Simply put viewers; Los Angeles, The City of Angles, has been ejected from the CFS.
This unprecedented vote was called for by the President after word leaked out on the notorious hotbed of sedition and liberalism, Shadowland – located in the Denver neutral zone – leaked that ‘the fix was in’ so to speak. That it had already been decided by the President and the senate that LA should be left to its own fate. This vote was scheduled to be taken at the end of session in November.
Once word reached the trid-stations – panic set in. UCS military was put on high alert and it seemed that martial law was unavoidable. In addition to a call for peace the President also said he would take immediate command of the situation in “The immediate best interest of our most important citizens.”
Two hours later he called an emergency meeting of the legislator and Prop 14, which was to keep LA funded and part of the CFS was defeated. Ironically by the same margin predicted in the false documents unlawfully obtained by Shadowland.”
The image shifted from Holly Brighton to a city one fire.
“Long a bastion against the law of the CFS, the LA Free Zone, as it is now being called, has stood for liberalism and the smug elitist attitude that have prevailed out society for many a generation and I, for one am happy to see the CFS government tak-“
An empty beer can fries from the back of the van striking the panel at a random spot and the station changes.
“…on the scene, Mark?”
“Well Cindy as you can imagine there is quite a bit of rioting going on.” The ‘street’ reporter is in a helicopter flying between an area on some of the middle levels. Human and in his early twenties he looks too calm. “I haven’t seen anything like this since covering the Night of Rage. Too long have we sat by and –“
The image shows a large light stream out from the orange and black background. The image shakes – there is a scream –
Bump in the road – station change.
“…issued the following statement.” Another blonde talking head head turns and we cut too -
A man in a Lone Star uniform standing at a podium, the Lone Star badge looms behind him.
“Lone Star has looked at the contract for the CFS and has determined that the contract is for the Free states only. LA is welcome to negotiate its own contract and on receiving the usual bond and down payments we will be happy to continue to provide the top level of service that all Lone Star customers have come to expect.
In the meantime, Lone Star has begun an immediate pull out of all forces not covered under emergency situations. Emergency forces will be removed with the expiration of the Los Angeles contract when it formally leaves the CFS – tonight at 12:00 local standard. Any private individual and corporate contract will, of course still be honored. Anyone wishing to receive private Lone Star care is welcome to contact our matrix node at…”
Bump
“Flames have engulfed several levels and mayhem seems to have taken over the lower levels. Several of the higher levels blew the walkways reaching to them and a general evacuation of the city seems to be taking place by the superrich. Two midtowers have collapsed and several large explosions have taken place in the San Pedro Barrens area. In addition awaken creatures from the LA Zoo seemed to have escaped. Two spirits were seen outside the Chinese Theater blasting all grav cars and any one coming within a few meters of the theater….”
You reach out and turn off the trid. You can hear in the back Senna and Winger arguing over the last power bar. They seem very far away.
Fuel gauge is riding ‘E’. One of the tanks might have a hole in it. Gotta stop and steal some more gas soon.

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Deserts and dinos
A foray in to the Mojave

(Coming soon – a time line of events)

~
Dr. Camden
~

She woke up in a cage. Concrete, bars on one side and a single metal toilet, a camera in the corner makes a ‘whirring’ sound every few moments. It looked like every prison cell she’d ever seen in the trids. She was naked. There was some gauze and bandages over her recent wounds.

She couldn’t focus. Every few moments it was like her brain reset. She had no idea of the time passing simply because her thoughts couldn’t hold together for more than a moment. Astral projection was impossible. The world would start to fade and then Snap! She’d be right back in the cell.

Drugs, she thought.It has to be drugs.

She waited, nervous and scared.

Images seemed to flash but she couldn’t make sense of them without the ability to concentrate; A beautiful elven man with long silver hair, human mercs and a troll.
It must be the drugs. The troll was peeking at her. He said something once but when she tried to sit up and reply she fell over and that seemed to scare him. He ran off. She glimpsed his shirt.

Vince Valiant? Space Merc?

Wasn’t that some kind of kids trid show?

After a while she was taken out of the cell, strapped to a chair and wheeled in to another room. The beautiful elf was there – taunting. She wasn’t sure about what; only the arrogance of his voice came through the haze. The elf injected her with a blue substance.
The worlds seemed to come together.

“She seems ready.” He said to no one.

The sound of a door opening behind her.

A chubby little man hurriedly came in to her field of view.
“Hello! What is my name.” he laughs with innocent delight. He looks like Santa Clause. Cherubic face and a snow white beard. He is putting a lab coat on.

“She’s a mage.” the elf mentions as he stands up and puts his face close to hers.
“Be a good little humanis and you just might live to talk about it.” He finds this funny and laughs out loud. Then a look of disgust crosses his elven features and he smacks her across the face.

Santa Clause wheels some equipment up to her chair.
“You know I read one of your papers you wrote a few years ago on surgery in ancient cultures. It was well written but from a purest point of view I must say…”
He was hooking up leads and checking monitors. His voice continued in a cheerful, friendly tone.

“…don’t’ feel the Mesoamericans had a better grasp of what is now modern accepted techniques then anyone else. In the South Pacific, for example, there were several tribes who had a supreme and sublime grasp of human anatomy. Almost as if…”

Her eyes tried to follow his hands as he started hooking up wires. She involuntarily started to hyperventilate. She tried to speak.

“No, no, my dear. Please – at this precise moment don’t’ over tax yourself. We must get to know each other first. Well I did enjoy your work. It showed genuine insight.”

Pain shot up her spine. She cried out and gasped when it stopped.

“See? I’ve just learned something about you. How about this?”

Her left eye almost jumped out of her socket as a lance – white hot- reached every area of the eye. When the pain subsided it settled to an ache in her jaw.

“I’ll tell you anything…” she gasped, “please…”

I’m not interested in anything right now. Just feeling my way around – as they say.”
Santa and the elf laughed. The old man pulled out a slender instrument and moved closer to her face, the hand with the instrument lowering out of her field of vision going below, the blue eyes twinkling.

“Now here is something you may find interesting…”

~

From the Professor –

The numerous references to the ‘Cyclic Order’ he believes a reference to the Ring Cycle or the a series tales of a cursed treasure in Scandinavian folklore.
“The Ring Cycle” of operatic fame.
Straight German Translation is: Zyklische Reihenfolge
Or for Ring Cycle: Ring Zyklus.
However he believes this is a mistranslation. an occurrence when the literal translation doesn’t or can’t cover the actual translation, or when the translator isn’t aware of social or historical nuisances that chance the meaning of certain words.
In this case the Ring Cycle is a curse on mankind. The Volstag family, blessed by Woden, is brought low by the All Father and the passing of the power of the family from one generation to another is intergral to the story. In addition the curse or the ring or cursed treasure being passed from one generation to another ties the story together,
In ancient Swedish the Ring cycle is translated as: Winen Zyklus.
Or Winter Ring. Or, as it appears in latter texts: Winen Nacht.
Now anyone will tell you that in the European languages the adjective comes before the noun. (Whitehouse – Casablanca) However as you will note this is not the case – or as the professor disagrees; in this case the noun is in the right place and the noun is the ‘Night’, ‘Winter’ describing ‘Night’.
An in ancient Swedish or Norse mythology there is only one place/time that this translation might fit: the Winter Night of the Gods that takes place after the death of Balder the god of summer or as it is better known – Ragnarok.

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Dale's Dead -o- Bug
Fighting the Good Fight

There were bugs everywhere. These little creepy crawly bastards about the size of quarter nyuyen with stripes on the back like a bee. Kind of like roaches. Ken in billing looked them up and said they were something called a Damascus Beetle. Or was it cricket? It might have been an Acre Beetle. I don’t know. It was definitely a city from the holy land and a word for bug. Antioch Locust? Whatever. It doesn’t matter what they were called. They were fucking everywhere.

I don’t know how we got them. Probably one of our patients. They’re all so disgusting. I thought when I got into being a med tech I’d be helping people. Now all I do is detox chip heads and clean up wounds for gangers and runners. I know I was asking for it by working for a free clinic in the barrens, but I still expected something more. Something fulfilling. Now all I have is nasty losers coming out of their abject poverty to leak bodily fluids all over me.

I’ve been doing a lot of the office management stuff since Janine got stabbed by a Halloweener and moved back to some fly over state, so it fell on me to call the exterminators. I popped on the yellow pages on my computer and called the first one I found. The phone rang a few times and a young lady answered.

“Hello?” the voice said. She had a very soft voice. I could barely hear it. She didn’t seem nervous though, just disinterested. Like I was waking her up from her afternoon nap.

“Hi, is this…” I paused to look on my screen for the name of the company I called. “Kill em Dead Exterminators?”

“No this is Dale’s Dead – O – Bug.” She said like I was bothering her. Bitch.

“Oh, sorry wrong number.”

“No!” She said, much more urgently than anything else she had said. “We’re them… I mean…” She seemed to be grasping for words. “We get that a lot… The… Uh… Phone company messed up our Ad.”

“Oh. Ok.” That was a little weird. Whatever. These bugs need to die. “I have a pest problem and was looking for someone to fix it.”

“Great!” she said. She seemed to be getting more excited now. Like the lethargy from her nap was wearing off. “We’ll be right over! We can be there in about twenty minutes!”

“Don’t you want to know where it is first and what the problem is?” What the fuck? What kind of incompetent assholes did I call?

“Oh. Right. I can take that information.”


They showed about an hour later. They had a white work van with a giant termite on the top. The eyes and butt blinked yellow. The side of the van said in big letters DALE’S DEAD o BUG. There were five of them all dressed in identical yellow jump suits and had gas masks. One was an orc who looked like he hadn’t seen the light of day in a long time. He was a very pale green and looked like he had been up for days. The second was a guy with a bad limp and a beer in his hand who was wearing ridiculous beanie which was doing a just an awful job of hiding all the illegal cyber he had. The third was a small girl who looked like a cross between a street urchin and a goth kid. Then there was a petite Asian woman who didn’t get out of the driver’s seat. The last was a young man with a cigarette in his mouth.

He stumbled up to me and I could immediately smell the booze. He looked me dead in the eyes, took a last long draw of his cigarette flicked it onto the street and said “We’re to solve your bug problem.”

Then he threw up.


They had me sign a contract and then immediately got to work. I don’t know how much these things usually cost, but I would have paid way more. I guess they must know how sketchy they look and low ball on the price. They started bringing in equipment, sprayers and pumps and generators and the like. They said the place would be cleaned out of bugs by in 48 hours and that no one could go in there in the meantime. I didn’t want to shut the place down, but fuck it. Those bugs are awful and it’s not like the place makes any money anyway. Everyone could use a few days off from this shitty job anyway.

I had a bad feeling about giving these guys the keys and leaving them alone in there, but I was actually more concerned that they would do a shit job and I’d have to hire someone else. I put these fears aside because I just didn’t want to deal with it anymore. I left them to do their work and immediately went off to have a few drinks.


When the two days were up two things became immediately clear. Firstly, they had killed and disposed of every last bug in the place. They did a real good job too. It didn’t smell. Everything was clean and polished. The place looked better than it ever had. They honestly and sincerely did a really good job with their exterminating.

Secondly, they had robbed us blind of everything in the place that was worth anything. My fucking god were they thorough. Every pill. Every machine. Every computer. They took the fucking tongue depressors. We had to shut down for a week while we got everything in order. If it wasn’t for Renraku somehow hearing about our plight and replacing everything that was stolen, I don’t think we would have ever been able to open up again.

You know what the most fucked up thing was? I called the number again and got Kill em Dead Exterminators. I checked through their contract and everything led to an exterminator on the other side of town. A guy named Dale who lived hours away. He had the same van, but it was definitely not him. Lone Star said they’d find the guys but they didn’t do shit like always.

I hate this fucking job.

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Swan's Heist
Predator's Four

Swan has picked a secluded place along some brownstones on level 56, a ritzy area in West Hollywood. The grav cars have several lanes here along with the upper roads, walkways and lifts. aLl are wet from the October rain coming from the high rises.
In a small corner there are a few hidey holes and storage facilities. In one of these you find him waiting for you. Dressed impeccably, as always, it seems as if none of the rain or film in the air outside has touched him or his actual silk suit.
“Welcome my friends! Please ….a drink.” It’s a statement, not a question. However you mind little as you know his wine to be real and likely the only non-vat grown wine you’re likely to get considering the price.
Likely to get until after this job you remind yourself.
After the bottle is downed he opens a large tube and removes the contents: A series of blue prints.
Spreading them out on a table he starts the pitch.
“What you see here is the Port West Bank. It’s on the 27th level above Century City but not quite high enough to reach Downtown. That’s to our advantage as I will explain in a moment. “:
He moves to the side of the table near you. Its three levels of office and one vault none of them being too large. They only have two offices; the other being in New York. This little bank handles mostly currency transactions and exchanges for private citizens and small non-public companies. On hand I’d say they never have more than ¥70,000 in cred and cash. However I happen to have it on good authority that in 15 days’ time they will be receiving a hard currency transaction from one of their private holders looking to invest in markets in Asia. The currency will be delivered by Knight Errant on the 31st. On the 3rd of next month Knight Errant will also be picking up the currency and transporting it abroad. I believe in rout is a bit unfeasible. At least incoming Knight’s boys will be using two Alpha teams and I see no reason not to assume the same going out. That would mean a major firefight in the downtown area. “
“Not feasible.” An almost sad swallow of wine follows.
He points down to the blueprints. “That means here…in the office while the currency is legally transferred from private company – to bank – to Whomever in Asia. I calculate this process will take 48 hours. In that time I will have access to codes that will open the bank area itself, and most of the secondary doors. The vault is something else entirely. This is obviously a black bag job but first I need to know if you are interested. It’s a one shot deal. My end is 30% of total value. That includes the man on the inside and transfer of the currency to a liquid state. “
“Well my friends?” He holds up the last of his glass of wine “Are you up for it?”
The last of your wine is bitter in your mouth, as you consider…

~

The shit-can clinic didn’t have a TV or nothing in the room. Shit, he had to share his room with two other meatheads. Senna, god bless her soul – and her overabundance of money – brought a vid screen in for him to watch. First the clinic kicked up a fuss till she said they could keep it once he left. After that they let him plug it in. Shit, that thing was better than the one he had at home. He might have to take it anyway when his new leg started working.
The screen made him popular, not that anyone bothered him anyway but positive attention was not something Winger was used too or people and chit-chat. He tried but he didn’t’ think he was doing very well. His armband offered no advice.
Well he was conscious and watching the news. Holly Brighton began her evening ‘news’ section.
“The dramatic heist that took place on Halloween night of the Port West Bank in upper LA still remains unsolved. One of the most daring heights in recent memory the smooth operators made off with over 6 Million nuyen, according to the bank executives.”
She turned to her right side. Her thoughtful side, “You may remember that on November 1st bank employees entered and found thirty two puppies wandering all through the bank floor area, the vault door opened and the remains of over three kilograms of bi-sodium carbonite or, as it’s more commonly known; Alka-Seltzer, all over the vault floor.”
A picture of a scowling Lone Star popped up on screen as Holly turned to face forward again.
“Hey, that’s Ghost’s boyfriend!” He said to no one in particular.
“Lt. Grissom of Lone Star was quoted as saying, ‘We have every available man on the job and are taking this matter very seriously.’ As of today the bank robbers remain still at large and it’s this reporter opinion that this cool smooth group is long and gone from the LA area with no trouble or worried from the over worked Lone Star officer, as dutiful as they may be.”
The picture of Grissom – not his best – he looks perpetually annoyed – came down. Holly’s always bright face returned. “However adoption efforts for the ‘Bank Heist Puppies’ continue, today let’s take a closer look at one of the puppies: Sebastian is a ….”
A picture of a puppy floated up on the screen.
Winger’s hands twisted the metal bars in his bed.

“God Damn It!!!”

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Yoman's Heist
No one cares if you steal from chippers, right?

The roar of the ocean is on your right and the monolithic buildings of the LA city scape is on your left, grav cars circling the upper reaches like so many moths to the flames. The barrens that lay at it’s feet spread before you stretching till the night closes on it far to the south. You pull your coat closer so less of the stinging October rain invades your dryer parts and begin wondering if all this waiting is going to be worth it.
Yoman is standing beside you, eyes intent on the cityscape below you. You are currently standing on one of the more dilapidated buildings in the south of old Long Beach. While filled with local chipheads and condemned by any authority that matters, it has one small advantage for tonight’s current activity; it’s one of the taller buildings looking in to the south end of the San Pedro Barrens.
Yoman finally spots what he’s looking for – He hands you his binoculars and points – to a large group prowling through an intersection some miles away.
“Coo ya mon! – There they be!” He stuffs his hands in his pockets to ward off the cold after handing you the scopes.
“An can get weesp on the delivery deh ‘bout hour before the zutopongs bring the manleys out.”
It takes a few moments to translate from the mix of rasta/cityspeak to figure out that he means. He can get word on the delivery before the gangers bring out their money and move it to the drop area.
You continue to watch as the garishly dressed gangers make their way across the pavement. You lose sight of them on and off but since you know where they are going it’s easy to pick up their trail. If you hadn’t had the word from Yoman more than likely you wouldn’t even give them a second thought. They look like any large group of locals partying and slowly making their way to the docks. Studying them you see the extra muscle and the caution in their heavily made up eyes.
They are buying drugs and chips to sell on the streets. Large amounts means a large amount of money.
Once at the old dockyard a few select make their way to one of the boats tied up on the officially unused docks in the San Pedro harbor.
“Em been makien draws one er twice a season but in two weeks there be going to a might lot o manley’s cause of the turn. Lots of chippers go wild for it so the zutopongs are teble-in it. It’s a deal for a Don – so you dween it?”
If his estimate is right you’re look at maybe half a million nuyen. Maybe. If the rasta man can be trusted or more importantly, if his information can be trusted. You nod in the affirmative. Yoman lets out a loud woop call to the rain above. You continue to watch the ridiculously dressed gangers make their way back to the inner barrens.
“An know you had the juice! Tem ‘weeners just begin fi dead!” He looks at you with wide wild eyes. “Happy Hell-oween!”

~

The parade route is from West 12th st. to the San Pedro docks, south end. Asian traders known as the Razors (A small subset of a popular Triad) are selling. The scheduling node for the pirate haven didn’t look like an easy bust and Predator didn’t seem to like hitting both the Yaks and the gangers at the same time. A raid on the Yaks boat itself was considered but in general the Yaks seem pretty safe.
Ghost and Senna was sent to a party that the ‘weeners throw as every year at this time is a big money making operation for them, and ended up doing some drugs. Predator and Winger dramatically ran in to save her and Senna but as it turns out the Halloweeners response time was lacking. They walked in and all but walked out.
So were back to the parade route. An intersection has been picked and on Halloween night the fires start -

~

So the Halloween festivities have begun. A raid on the Halloweeners parade went off without a hich – till the White Tigers showed up. So the money was off with them on their bikes. Dropping an almost dead Winger off at the bar and dragging a drugged up Hamfist the runners made their way to the boatyard. In the meantime the dingus had jumped ship from the yaks.
Wandering around the San Pedro Barrens a few more gangs were seen; the gents in a black truck being chased by the Hex Angles, two cars filled with orcs, a helicopter (on fire) being chased by a dragon (small) and the remains of weird net device.
It seemed, however, that another group of runner’s had managed to catch the yaks on their ricepeds and steal the money. Our intrepid heroes watched as one car of orcs dealt with the runners. Scratch one set of runners.
But no money.
The second car of orcs checked in and a deal was struck. Orcs and the heroes to the end. As the runners group was meeting its end the money was making its way across the barrens. Currently in the hands of the Black Truck group the second car of orcs was tailing the Hex Angles who were tailing the Black Truck that was being attacked by the White Tigers.
(sigh)
Truck crashed- truck guys out. Current group of yaks out. Hex Angles walk away with the prize taking it back to their compound.
Heroes and Orcs decide to wait it out. More Black Truck guys show up and promptly deal the Hex Angles out of the deck. Black Truck guys seemed well funded and had the feel of mercs. A few shots traded, helicopter shot out of the sky (second for the night) and it was decided that it was time to visit the docks again.
Yaks and the Black Truck Guys had a discussion.
At the docks some heavy spirit security was removed by the orc and heroes and that is where we pick up this week episode. One I like to call “Waiting for the Tiger”.

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An empty rest stop
...or Incident at Red Rock

While on Valley of the Giants going north to Sanjuro an empty rest stop was discovered. Many locals of the area had just vanished.
A not difficult investigation later turned up a man performing a ritual out in the desert.
One man ended and one ritual stopped.

The pit the toxic shaman was tossing people in had numerous drawing from early times that didn’t’ make to much sense. The local eagle shaman David Cha’Kwainwa said the ground was “spoiled” and needed to be cleansed. He would talk to his lodge and see what could be done.

The plan is to stop on the way back to LA and see if they need help.

~

So help was needed. So the local lodge had found a professor who was visiting UCLA from a school out east. Professor Glen Antwerp turns out was very interested in the drawings.
He claimed to have seen similar drawings in various places around the world. Not all exactly alike he was working on a doctoral thesis that would tie them all together and in to early language.
He was very excited.
The local native American shamans had gotten togeather and had plans for a ritual. Kyle, the grad student, had mapped out the local area seismically and discovered a chamber below with more of the drawings.
The shamans performed the ritual there with Senna’s help and the party watching over them for protection. This protection was needed, of course, the danger in this case took the form of alien shaped spirits the like of which had not been seen by anyone involved.
One a leaping toad, was sticky and large. The other was a spidery thing that studying it might seen human features – tortured souls made monster. These spirits had tentacles that stunned their opponents enabling them to eat their heads and remove their spines, all while still alive. The beings could only appear in area of dark and while trying to eat the shamans in their ritual also seemed intelligent enough to try to destroy the lights allowing a faster rate of arrival.

Worse still these creatures had a man who came personally at the end. If the creatures came from the dark. he was the dark.

With a touch he destroyed one for the Indian shamans. Turning to Ghost Rider he brought her to the brink of death and took that which makes all men better. In the final moments he was made discorporate and the monsters came no more.

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Valley of the Giants
One Town with two rival gangs - so to speak

Gary –
I know it’s been a while but I could use some help. I don’t know if you’re still any good with a gun but if you are I could use some muscle. Here in Sanjuro things have gotten worse and worse. The local Water and Power goons have started putting the squeeze on the locals ever since the Mayor, Kam and the local bully boys have started seizing water from the shipments out of the local aquifer.
Sally’s worried and things are getting out of control. If you have the time and some friends I could use your help.

Merle

~

So in to Sanjuro they went. The two groups had the town pretty well divided.
Water and power had taken over a brothel and a local family house – across from the sheriff’s office. They had seized a number of the local girls for sport and in general was doing as they pleased.
The town Council had taken a warehouse on the end of the town. ‘Employed’ some locals and generally left the town alone except to fight over the well.
Deals were made and an orc from Reno turned up.
Water and power was betrayed as they were deemed to ‘rape-e’. Walls were shot through. People were shot through. All in all a good days work.
CIA was called by Predator. A third deal was struck. For Kam.
That night the town was celebrating the loss of Water and Power while Kam lit-out. Predator decided he didn’t want to be an extra in some 2-d vids about Jason Borne he had recently watched so nothing was done about her leaving.

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The Last Job
Fuck Coldcut

Coldcut got us work. A lot of work. All kinds of work. I have never been as busy as I was with that crew. We would have three or four jobs a week doing everything from the same bodyguard and PI bullshit that we did before to real hardcore stuff like corporate espionage and monster slaying. It was a rough time for me. I never worked so hard in my life. I made some money. Good money. I got me some more cyber and some neat toys. I learned a lot of things in those days. Went from some street punk who was going to show up on an Organ Grinder’s slab one day to a real professional who was going to put people in that very spot. I owe a lot to Coldcut and the work he got us, but still, fuck that guy.

Me and Chuckie’s last job with Coldcut began February 28th, 2049. It was almost a year after we had started running with him.

The job was an odd one, simple, as he explained it. Drive to Spokane. Go to a body shop. Get some work done. Drive back to Seattle. Drop the car off at an Ares owned facility. Walk away with a pile of money.

There were the obvious complications of leaving UCAS territory and going into Tribal land, but Coldcut had it covered. The drive would be more or less through desolate areas, but we could bring supplies. There would be go-gangers and Indian shitheads but me and Chuckie had that covered. It seemed like a simple there and back again type job. Nothing complicated.

Coldcut needed a car that was bought a while ago to not arose any suspicion. Chuckie offered his Americar. The pieces were set. The job looked like any other.

But Coldcut got greedy. He didn’t want to split the take five ways, he wanted it all for himself. He betrayed us. Tried to kill the rest of us. Took out the decker and the hermit before I knew what was going on.

Me and Kelly put two into Coldcut for what he did, but not before he got to Chuckie. Delilah and I finished the job. Lead poisoning would have killed him if the seventeen holes wouldn’t have done it first. I blame myself for not seeing him for the piece of shit that he was sooner.

He destroyed the two things I loved the most that day, but he died and now I have the Americar and whatever the fuck those guys put on it at the bodyshop in Spokane.

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A date with Ghost Rider
...or how many people can get screwed in one evening

Senna was jumped in the back of the The Hunter’s Club by some bounty hunters. Turns out there is a big market for shape shifters.
With some trouble they were run off wherein some interesting things were reviled about the young cat shaman.

It was decided that it would best serve to raid a Lone Star station to remove her from the known undesirable listing.
Ghost Rider remembered Grissim and asked him to dinner and agreed to get copies of his ID tags for Lone Star – much to Hamfist’s everlasting joy.

The honey pot is set – now is the time to see if Lone Star’s security is up to the challenge. .

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Universal Brotherhood Announcement
News Update!

The Universal Brotherhood today released the following announcement:

We regret to inform the brothers and sisters of the San Pedro Barrens that we will not be reopening the Chapter House that was, until recently, located within that district. While we regret this necessary action we must look to the safety of our brothers, sisters and the other innocents.
The numerous unwarranted attacks that have plagued our chapter houses in Seattle, Los Angeles, New Vegas and the various other cities worldwide culminated earlier this April in the total destruction of our newest house. The San Pedro Barrens needed our attention as much as any other place in the world and we sorely felt this need with it’s location being so close to home, the Octagon, in downtown Los Angeles.
While numerous donations have poured in to rebuild this much needed Chapter House; at this time we will continue to focus are attentions in other, deserving areas. Please, let it not be said that we have given up on San Pardo and the surrounding environs. Nothing could be further from the truth. We will have an increased presence in the area. We will be going door to door. We will be on every corner and in every dark place where humanity calls out with a need. We will fill that need…and when it is safe to return we will return with the largest Chapter House in the Americas. We will not be scared of those who obviously so need our help, those who must destroy that which they do not understand. We invite those who were part of the attack to search their hearts for what is missing and know that The Universal Brotherhood invites them to find what they are looking for – To join with those who understand – To get the acceptance that they so richly deserve.
We welcome then with open arms and complete forgiveness.

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