If you can't fight, can't tech, can't mech and get bored with scavenging way quickly, justifying your existance can be a chore. Particularly if your social skills amount to creative insults and the doling out of undesirable nicknames.
This is the story of how Syke became an Enforcer and ceased being mostly useless. The scene is Dogtown Central.
The attending crew?
Only Leandro, asleep, dreaming his blind man's dreams; DJ, stuck in his chair and Syke, with his nose buried in an archaic, cellulose-based data storage device, avoiding work.
Everyone else is gone scavenging, bringing back a major haul.
Leandro wakes up, knowing something's wrong. He finds Syke, who is immensely annoyed at not being able to hide from a blind guy.
But there is no-one else around to deal with shit, so Syke has to.
There are three strangers in the storage area.
Syke approaches slowly. He is not by nature brave or imposing. But he is part of Dogtown, and feels strangely liberated by no choice and overwhelming responsibility.
It is quite possible his eyes are narrow and his lips a-twitching. Maybe he is striking a pose, dramatically back-lit. All we know for sure is, Syke talks. A lot.
"ALL RIGHT, manners for non-viables, lesson the first. Shut the fuck up, pay attention and you may leave here with all your pustule-covered appendages intact. Two. See the pretty pictures with all the teeth? Those are turf tags. What did you think they meant? 'Welcome to Dogtown, please help yourselves to our winter supplies?' Three. Yes, you seem to be packing Glocks, while I've only got this decidedly non-automatic one-shot crossbow.
But you know what? This thing was lovingly crafted by our most antisocial whackjob. It has never missed a target. And the first one to touch a weapon gets the bolt through the throat. Do the fucking math. All done? Good.
Class dismissed. You still want stuff, you can trade for it like people. Line forms on the left, talk to the blind freak with the know-it-all grin."
Soon, the rest of the crew returns. Uneasy barter session commences. Syke walks over to Leandro, tosses the bow to one of the Goon Twins.
"Hand this back to Sniperbitch, will ya? Tell her I'm awfully fucking sorry about touching it, but I needed a prop. Oh, and if she could teach me to hit Dumptruck at point-blank, I'll coach her on how to acquire a personality. Now, excuse me, chief. I need to go steal RoboDog's private stash and bliss out for a week. Probably puke my guts out,too."
Syke never manages to get his hands on Markus' drugs. Five minutes later, Archer shoots him in the buttocks with a dart coated in a mean paralyzing toxin. He wakes up two days later, with the grandmother of all hangovers, in desperate need of new underwear. He finds himself covered in searingly painful tattoos.
This is how Enforcers are Marked.
He has also learned a lesson. Do not mess with the antisocial whackjob sniper.
Archer gets to be called Archer. Granted, with expletives. But still, for Syke this borders on polite. Most of the crew interpretes this as a mad puppy crush. They could be right.
Syke hates and fears the things that won't respond to language - it being the only power he's got. And sometimes, you can't help but love what scares the crap out of you.
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