Dogtown Life

[OOC!] Putting The Baby To Sleep (But In Public)

2006-10-29T09:40:00.000Z

Dogtown was a cyberpunky "we-don't-need-no-freaking-numbers" RPG campaign in the Making Shite Up & Being Obnoxious setting. It happened on IRC, except for that one time we played at my place. But there were still no dice present. Oh no.

It was a fun, much needed cr34t1v3 0utl3t, and while the bastard was primarily cloned from the brainmeat of Graham, I was proud to be one of its amoral vat supervisors.

Since RL has intruded, in the way RL does, there won't be any more session transcripts. We're leaving the poor thing in suspended animation for all the world to see.

Caution: here be words, perpetrated while under the influence of britishness, caffeine and untranslateable high-sugar poly-berryverages.

I'll Sure As Hell Retaliate

2006-05-21T00:32:00.000+01:00

"Name's Syke. Big palooka at the helm's Dumptruck or somesuch. We're Enforcers. You've no idea what that means. What's that? Oh yes, we can in fact 'do this.' Nope, don't give a seven-legged rat's arse who you are. See, down here we've got something called Law. It's kind of like your security ratings and citizen license rankings, except they've got no relation to your current financial standing. We're barbaric like that, us Downlanders.

Hey, could you perhaps not drive like a failed abortion? I'm talking, here.

So you thought you'd go slumming with your buddies, that's it? Take a trip down to Loserville in your shiny HEV suit, have a few laughs, scare the natives with your enormous zapguns and civilized manners?

What?

Yeah, Steamroller up there wants you to know that zappy thing tickled. But not everyone is blessed with fucking rhino skin and the nervous system of an amoeba. You scabs killed two of Us. Still think it matters you're the eldest spawn of CEO Shithead? Down here, you go howling at the moon, you get thrown to the wolves.

We there? Hey, you didn't sink us in the swamp this time. Amazing.

Right, this is your stop. Welcome to the Feral zone, population too fucking many. Here's your gun back. I suggest you kill yourself right now. Trust me, it'll help."

Episode 6

2006-05-20T22:31:00.000+01:00

There were no more words left in Syke. Only drugs, adrenaline and pure, focused rage. He pounced on the man, bashing the already battered torch on his head. Taken aback by the sudden and frenzied assualt the victim, who had been the driver of the target van, fell back; his aim was thrown as he flailed to keep the hefty metal torch striking his skull.

Lorry had turned to face his would-be killer and ran with his head lowered towards him screaming, ready to tackle him like a football player. Although a practiced combattant, the Corp was too slow. His handgun was only half out of its housing before the gorilla-like Lorry barrelled into him, sending both rolling over the dusty scrub. Markus, sensibly, had released his vice-like grip on the man's other arm, and just about avoided being crushed by his on-rushing handler. The tumbling trio on the ground rolled to a stop with the largest of them on top. With skills only perfected by school bullies and pugilists Lorry established his control over the gunman, punching him out with a few quick fists to the head.

Syke's victim eventually took a clean blow to the head; staggering, he managed to squeeze off a single shot. Syke let the torch fall away as the bullet passed through his shoulder. Syke fell forward, too out of it to notice, and placed his hands on his opponent's face. There was a sickening squelch and a brief scream; the enforcer had jammed his thumbs into the man's eyesockets.

Some way away, the Corp car was revving, spinning a donut, taking a bearing on the remaining Suit. Badly shot up, the man could only raise his uzi and spray wildly at the bulletproof car before, with the driver grinning in sinister satisfaction, the vehicle impacted his torso, sending him flying in a posthumous arc. With a scream of "yeehaw" the driver executed a handbrake turn, now lining up on the scrabbling figures of Lorry and his victim. The screech as the tyres spun to the engine's command was deafening as the accelerator hit the floor and the vehicle lurched forward.

Syke's opponent wasn't moving anymore. The small man was literally at his throat now, teeth bared. From his position sat on top of the gunman Lorry looked up, right at the driver, taking stock.
"We need to go, now!" He yelled.
Motionless until this point, Bo'Geo took a cue from Lorry's words. Springing from his hiding place to one side of the van he vaulted in the open door, diving across the front seats and out the far side. There, rolling up next to Syke, he wrestled his small compatriot off the still twitching corpse of the van driver. Snatching up the keys, which were hung from the dead man's belt, he shoved Syke into the van, and climbed behind the wheel, firing the engine. Landing gracelessly in the back of the van, Syke spat blood - not all of it his own - all over the securely stowed hardware.
"Wrrrrfffgggh?" He mumbled.
Lorry got to his feet and almost into the van. "Wait, I just need..." he trailed off as he turned away.
"No time" yelled Bo' as he slammed the truck into gear, sending it jumping forward, back towards the highway. Lorry couldn't hear him; no one had seen Lorry ran this fast, ever. He sprinted to their wrecked car now far beyond usable, ripped out the old radio, and set off after the moving truck. But the van had started gaining speed, pulling away. Slamming against the rear doors, Syke steadied himself against the handle, which swung down. The doors opened, and Syke got another blow to the head as he reflexively threw himself back inside.
"I'm sorry I kicked you!" yelled Lorry as he spurred himself on, faster, trying to catch up with the van. As if Bo'Geo could hear him.

The colourful fence wasn't slowing, the combined roar of both engines was shattering the air with a decibel level as high as anything the enforcers had heard before. Seeing the doors open Lorry took a giant leap, just grabbing hold of one external door handle and clinging on to both van and radio for dear life. The burly man was pulled, trailing behind the truck, rough ground ripping his knees. From somewhere further back there was a yelp as Markus darted out of the scrub, running for all his worth. The sturdy doors uttered loud creaks in protest, as the design specs - which did not include "must tolerate big lug hanging on" - were tested to their limits, but the hinges held firm, as did Lorry. Closing, though barely, on the stolen van Markus' paws latched onto Lorry's legs, carrying him up, over his owner. Leaping from Lorry's back, the dog landed amongst the crates, skittered over to where Syke was collapsing against the wall. Bo'Geo was driving like a maniac, and the truck shuddered violently as it crested the edge of the highway, the jolt of the small concrete ridge sending Lorry flying upwards, still hanging to the door and radio. The pursuing driver had more power at his disposal, and now on a proper roadway he closed quickly, ramming the back of the truck just as Lorry's form swung down, boucing him off the hood.

"Shit!" Bo'geo was struggling to maintain control, with little time to worry about the condition of his passengers
Inside the van, the impact threw Markus right on top of Syke. The dog took the opportunity to give the rabid enforcer an enthusiastic dose of the tongue to the face.
"Wlllllrrrfffget offa me you rickidulous 'scuse for a birth defect," Syke snarled, grabbing the dog around the throat. Then he blinked. Enforcer and dog stared at each other for a moment. Then there was a thud, as Markus was thrown across Bo'Geo's shoulder, hitting the windshield. The cry of alarm came from both Bo'Geo and Markus alike, and the instincting flinch that the fence made sent the van swerving across the road, just as the car behind closed and rammed again.
"Owe you one, mutt," wheezed Syke, back inside his own head. "Now help him drive. He's worse than fucking Dumptruck."
With both hands busy, one holding the old radio and the other one clutching the door handle, Lorry steadied his feet against the hood of their pursuer's car. Springinig from this precarious position, his body weight caused the one door to swing closed. Utilizing the momentum, Lorimer threw himself into the base of the van, falling on the floor amongst the crates of weapons and breathing heavily, somehow he had managed to pull both doors shut tight.
"All in?" A half-glance was all Bogie could spare.
"I...got...the...radio"
Staring incredulously at Lorry, Syke shook his head. "Yeah, and best of all - the ancient fucking music device is safe! Hooooraaaaargh." He sank down on a case and muttered. "Appears I've been slightly shot."
Looking up from the floor, Lorry replied. "I needed something from the old car to bring to our new one."
Wincing, Syke turned towards Lorry. "I'm so glad you've got your priorities str-owwww."
Their driver snorted audibly at that, and kicked the van up a gear, accelerating off the highway again as he turned, pointing them in the direction of Dogtown.
"Dog help any Ferals what get in my way" Bo' chimed as he weaved the van this way and that, parrying the rams from behind as best he could. The truck careered on, bouncing over the rough ground like two lovers in an oversprung bed. Lorry glanced around the van, inspecting the goods still lying on the floor.
"What did we get?"
"Bloody hope we got some morphine-analogue."
As the other car rammed into the van again, Lorry got up. "Can't that bastard leave us alone!" He began opening the crates inside the van.
"Weapons ARE point-n-shoot, right?"
"Gonna need some persuadin' for that, mate" Bo'Geo called back. "He's pissed 'cause you killed his friend... nevermind nailing his mark"
Scrambling for the medkit, Syke nodded irritably. "Yes, yes. one end bad, one end good, point bad end at bastard, pull trigger-type thing, where are the fucking pain drugs?" The curses were soon followed by a jubilant noise from the wounded enforcer, as he found a hypospray and rapidly injected himself.
Pulling his hand out from a crate, Lorry held up a shotgun. "Syke, have you found the ammunition for this?"
"Hmmmm? Oh, whah, that? Nah, should be here ... somewhere." Gingerly holding his shoulder, Syke started opening likely candidates.
"Nevermind" Lorry extracted a box from his crate. "You know, I've never fired a real gun." he said as he slowly and carefully loaded a round into the shotgun.
"Fucking good time to learn them, big man" Bo'Geo yelled, as the truck hit a bump in the ground, causing everything in the back to jump an inch off the floor.
"Yeah," snorted Syke. "Just remember, it's not an expensive club. Shoot, don't hit."
Fumbling around with the shotgun and his box of shells, Lorry finally managed to get it loaded.
Still sitting, Syke grabbed another shotgun and pulled open an ammo crate. "Well, hello there Mister Armor-Piercing Focused-Charge Explosive Shell! ... this what you got, Semi?" He held up one of the cartridges.

Lorry kicked the back doors open again, standing up with his shotgun aimed directly at the driver. "I'm busy! Just grab something!"
The pursuing car was still right on their tail, front end buckled now from the constant collisions.
After a short pause and a glance at their adversary Lorry spoke again. "Armor-Piercing?"
"Well, yeah. Perfect for cars and fucking cybercats, or suits in tech-armor." Syke chambered a round, unsteadily. "Could have used computer-assisted targetting myself, but what the hell."
The driver snarled at Lorry through the windscreen, aiming a machine pistol at him from out of his window. His aim is lousy though and the spray simply pinged off the doors, the stacatto rhythm matching that of the crates knocking together as the van bumpped over the rough ground.
Lorry lowered the shotgun. "No one makes bulletproof tires as far as I know..." He took a new aim at the front tire, and squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened.
"It's broken! Damn it!"
"No, you... don't point it at me. It's the safety! It's for keeping sharpshooters like you from... loosing too many limbs."
The "broken" shotgun is thrown out, onto the car, as Syke corrected him; Lorry said "Hand me another one. And shut up!"
"Alright," yelled Syke, tossing his own piece over. "Now try it with the trigger!"
With the new gun, Lorry fired off a shot at the front tire of the pursuing car, causing it to blow. Even at this speed it did not cause their pursuer to lose control, skilled driver that he was. Grimly he eased off, steered into the skid, then set the car in pursuit again, sparks flying from the side as the rim ground itself down on the terrain.
Syke rolled his eyes. "Well, if we'd jacked a car of polytech target-acquiring rocket-spears everything'd be peachy!"
"We'll see how you do without two tires!" Lorry gave the driver a nasty grin and aimed for the other front tire.
His second shot was answered in kind with another burst from the driver's weapon, Both shots were wide of the mark as the Corp swerved to minimise the concussive burst of the shell skipping off his front bumper, scorching the black paintjob even blacker. The tire was un-hit though, and the pursuit continued on.
"Damn. I can't fucking hit anything with everything moving around like ants on steriods!"
"Look, Mister Crack-Cocaine Shot," Syke started. "... ants on what?" A short pause then, "nevermind! Stop going for quality, start going for volume! Shoot muchly!"
Lorry held the shotgun out for Syke to take. "Your turn. If its that easy!"
"Fine!" Syke grabbed the gun, tried to find a stable position. Once established, he fired a rapid series of shots, most of which missed the mark widely. But with explosive shells, all you need is one lucky shot. There was a resounding boom, as the pursuing car disintegrated in a ball of flames and flying debris.
"Huh," said Syke, entirely too stunned for smugness.
Lorry gave him the thumbs up.
Syke nodded, with slight confusion. "And that's how you do it. ... apparently."
The ball of flame behind them followed them on for as long as it took for friction to bring it to a halt, the sky - now almost fully dawning - illuminated by an oily mushroom cloud as the fire hit the gas tank. In the back of the stolen van, the two Enforcers sagged, not bothering to pull closed the doors. Bo' eased off the gas and the three of them, plus Markus - who was in delierium having found some narcotics amongst the seized shipment - rolled safely back to the Sub.

Lorry guided Bo'Geo to the rear entrance, and they headed down the disused subway line. On arriving in the sub itself, all was ominously quiet. Syke cautiously emerged from the car, shotgun on a strap across his shoulder. He peeked out across the platform and waved for the others to follow. Lorry followed with a shotgun in his hand. A scorchmark at the entrance to the tunnel was the only sign that a cybernetic panther had been fried there just an hour or so earlier, and the lack of movement from the platforms was too marked. Clambering up onto the platforms Bo'Geo shouted. A sign of life. Both of the downed mechanical cats had been dragged to a corner - the same corner where Sparky had performed the autopsy on the first such beast they had encounterd. Bodies were piled in the stairwell to the street. It seemed that to a one they were marked. All of them appeared to have been Panthers. Lorry moved over to the mechanical cats in the corner, poking at them with his feet. Whistling under his breath, Syke stepped up towards the pile of bodies.
"Some party we missed."
"Yeah. I'm glad they're dead." Lorry turned away from the cat.
Bo'Geo backed up, crawling to the edge of the platform, not looking at the pile of dead.
From behind them, on the far platform, came a voice. "Back the fuck up. Now, Syke!" Johnson stepped out from a side office on the opposite side. "They're rigged to burn..."
Syke slowly, carefully, took a few steps backwards. "What, no proper warning sign?"
Lorry chimed up. "What about these?"
"Them too... you'd best get over here. All of you. Fast!"
"Okay, okay..."
As if to prove his point, the fizzling noise of a fuse burning down reached their ears, and the smell of pertroleum became noticeable. How had they missed it?
Lorry made his way over to Johnson and Syke followed, waving for Bo'Geo to do the same. As the fuse burnt out, reaching the piled bodies - feline and human alike - the molotovs that had been drained over them lit up in an intense flare, blasting a wave of flame out from the epicentre. The stench was awful, but the necessity of the act soon became clear. Ventilation being what it was in the sub the heat from the blaze was funnelled straight up the stairwell, and over the crackle of the flames came numerous anguished and frenzied screams. Evidently the pile of incapacitated panthers had been holding more back.

Lorry held up his shotgun to show Johnson their success.
Syke flinched back from the fire, then snapped to attention. "Dick! How many of us left standing?"
"Would you believe... all of us DJ's some brain on him!"
The other enforcer clapped him on the shoulder and almost grinned. "For real? Shit, I was hoping we'd at least get rid of the fucking technomonkeys."
Lorry looked back up the stairwell and raised an eyebrow, but remained silent.
Bo'Geo, choking and retching, scrambled up onto the platform, suit now badly singed to go with all the other stains.
Syke glanced over at the dirt-smeared pimp, then looked back at Johnson. "But, I guess fair's fair. We didn't manage to lose Boges, so let's call it even."
"Ha! No such luck." Johnson's voice was weary but full of hope. "We held the bastards back with the 'tovs long enough for Archer to riddle a few. You know the bitch had a small stock of lethal contact poison stored for this event?! That, and some Fent-grenades. Anyhow... more about how we did it later, but boy are we glad to see you. Never thought you two, er, three would make it back alive." Syke finally broke down and smiled, bloody shoulder, bruised head and all.

Johnson simply beckoned them to follow, leading them to the store room down the far end of the platform. Pushing open the door he motioned for Syke to enter. The stench of death and burning flesh still rife in the air, the gathered Enforcers of Dogtown looked up to a one, visible relief on their faces as Syke was recognised. In the centre of the floor, hog-tied and beaten, a red-haired figure lay motionless. Only DJ spoke.
"You were right Syke. Bastard's not dead yet; we left him for you."

The Dogtown Soundtrack

2006-05-20T20:05:00.000+01:00

Some further insight into how I see the Dogtown concept, this time by way of music.

I've been compiling a virtual soundtrack, and it boiled down to the equivalent of 3 CDs worth of music that would be appropriate accompaniment to Dogtown, were this unfolding story a film or TV series. 3CDs because I love all of what I have included. 3CDs because I cannot cut down.

These are arranged as follows:

	Title	Artist
1	Misery's the River of the World	Tom Waits
2	Paranoid Android	Radiohead
3	Undenied	Portishead
4	Hallways of Allways	Ulver
5	Black Milk	Massive Attack
6	You Cut Her Hair	Tom McRae
7	This Mess We're In	PJ Harvey with Thom Yorke
8	Benzedrine	Thea Gilmore
9	Who Can You Trust?	Morcheeba
10	Tomorrow Never Knows	Ulver
11	Radian	Air
12	Code	Faithless
13	Lidocaine Baby	Thea Gilmore
14	Reeperbahn	Tom Waits
15	Western Eyes	Portishead

	Title	Artist
1	2+2=5 (The Lukewarm.)	Radiohead
2	Be Thankful for What You've Got	Massive Attack
3	She's My Baby	Faithless
4	Future Proof	Massive Attack
5	Raftopskodacarchase	Bentley Rhythm Ace
6	Spin Spin Sugar	Sneaker Pimps
7	Where I End and You Begin (The Sky is Falling In.)	Radiohead
8	Donny X	Faithless
9	Fatboy's Dust	Red Snapper
10	Packing For the Crash	Tom McRae
11	Half Day Closing	Portishead
12	Safe From Harm	Massive Attack
13	Risingson	Massive Attack
14	Bullet Proof	Morcheeba
15	The Future Sound of Music	Ulver
16	Nowhere/Catastrophe	Ulver
	Title	Artist
1	End of the World News (Dose Me Up)	Tom McRae
2	Howling	Mocheeba
3	Heat Miser	Massive Attack
4	You and Whose Army?	Radiohead
5	Group Four	Massive Attack
6	Lost In Moments	Ulver
7	A and B Song	Tom McRae
8	Johnny Too Bad	Horace Andy
9	Your Lucky Day in Hell	Eels
10	Melt	Leftfield
11	Mezzanine	Massive Attack
12	The National Anthem	Radiohead
13	Porn Piece or the Scars of Cold Kisses	Ulver
14	Low Place Like Home	Sneaker Pimps
15	Live With Me	Massive Attack with Terry Callier

Yeah, it borrows very heavily on certain artists, and does not at all accurately reflect the complete range of my musical influences. It does however maintain a pretty moody, gritty and atmospheric background. I had this entire playlist shuffled and running last time we played (Thurs 18th, Episode 6, yet to be posted); it lasted the entire session and a bit into the post-game wind down and helped me keep the mood. It may serve as background again when we go tabletop in Sweden this week, but equally it may not.

This is my personal list, drawn from my personal music library, and does not reflect the musical ideas or soundtracks of Dave or Thomas. Revision may come when I spend more time with those guys between the 25th and 30th, addition may substitute. Or it may stay as it is. Regardless, I had fun compiling this and that is ultimately all that matters.

Hopefully it gives a bit more idea of the vision I have in my mind for Dogtown.Two of the three tracklists have a central theme (cars/vehicles and drugs, since both feature prominently), but all contain music that is not in my mind linked to any one facet of the Dogtown narrative, but more the atmosphere as a whole. Some of it was just too much a favourite to leave out, even if it didn't necessarily nail the right mood head on, but most of it is very squarely of the right tone to my mind.

Episode 5

2006-05-16T10:45:00.000+01:00

Syke strapped on his seat-belt, yelling at Lorry. "Go! We have a plan! It's snowball-in-hell time!"
"Alright!" Lorry stepped on the pedal and the car began to move towards the cybercat at the end of the tunnel.
"No!" yelled Syke, as he realized what Lorry was doing. "No time to help, big picture bastardry needed!" The car was moving towards the beast at high speed now and Lorry answered.
"What? No crash?"
Exasparated, Syke made a grab for the wheel. "Yes, Syke likes to wreck cars for fun! Syke's such a prankster! Damn it, turn!"
Fighting him off, Lorry steered the car from side to side in the tunnel; they were getting closer and closer to the panther beast. In the back there was a groan as their unwilling accomplice was thrown across the seat by the violence of the turn.
"Let go!"
The beast was larger than the first, its eyes easily at the height of Lorry's as the car weaved its way forward. At the last minute before impact, still fighting for the wheel, Lorry hit the headlights, full beam, blinding the beast. A quick turn on the wheel made the car ride up on the side of the tunnel, swerving away from the panther at the last minute. As they scraped by one door slammed into the giant panther, raking its side and ripping the door from the vehicle. The beast roared as the metal of the door bit into its side, thrashing around as it did to try and bite at Bo'Geo, whose legs were now dangling out the side of the car, as he clung for dear life. Lukily for the overdressed pimp the tunnel was too narrow here, the car swinging up the rounded side as it sped on, and the beast's lunge simply cracked it's head into the roof. Syke blinked. Then he eased back in his seat.
"Okay. A compromise. With bonus nausea."
Markus was yelping now, scrabbling for a hold on Bo'Geo's back as the pimp - devoid of seatbelt - floundered his way back into the rear seat. There was a white flash in the rearview mirror, and then another, both accompanied by loud bangs and the roaring of flame and beast alike. Someone had found time in the melee to molotov the sucker. Without a further thought, Lorry drove on, and the Sub was soon left far behind them.

* * *

"So what is the plan?" Lorry yelled as they made their way onto the streets again.
Syke looked back at their captive. "Well, it all started when our friendly neighbourhood scumbag pimp decided to sign up... Main point, we're robbing some robbers."
He was answered by a struggled groan; the colourful and bloodstained purveyor of all things dodgy was still attempting to regain some vague pretense of a safe seat. At least out here the road was flat. Syke found another dubious rag in the glove compartment and tossed it into the back seat.
"We're going to need you sharp pretty soon, Booger." Then Syke outlined the main gist of the ridiculous big quotes plan for Lorry's benefit.
A spat curse came from the back, followed by a more reasoned response. "No chance of talking you crazies outta this, is there?"
"Look, Boges. Without even bringing Thumper here into the equation..." Syke grinned broadly at the bruised man. "Figure the Panthers don't much care if you heroically backstab their enemies at the right opportunity. We've got shit for odds, but they're all you get. Fucking deal with it."
"Yeah, looks like," he grumbled. "You fruits ever been out into Feral country before? Please say you 'ave..."
Syke slowly turned his head back towards the road, then he nodded. "Sure. Lovely place to visit."
"The locals are hell. Lets just 'ope the screamin' engine keeps them back, eh?"
"Are we robbing ferals" Lorry asked.
Bo'Geo barked a wry laugh from his back seat position. "You'd really have sunk low if so, boyo"
Syke kept staring ahead. "We'll scare off the sheep, maybe some of the wolves..." He trailed off, meaningful ellipses dangling.
The fence shrugged audibly. "They're the least of our worries anyhow if you gonna pull off this hare-brained scheme."
"What are our worries then?" Lorry, again.
"So," Bogie continued, resigned. "I can get you to the place... I'm glad you asked. Or not." With a cough the pimp laid aside the rag and shifted further away from Markus. Snapping out of his reverie, Syke snorted.
"Volunteering information. Get used to the experience, recruit."
Lorry looked into the rear mirror. Fixing his eyes on Bo'Geo he said in a low voice "I'm sorry for the kicking."
With a wince as his eyes met Lorry's in the mirror, Bo'Geo began "the jackers are gonna be Corps. At least a car-full. The targets are suits, right? Simple supply convoy; 2 cars, one van. Figure there'll be some sort of surprise, force the convoy off the road, an' probly separate them. Almost certain to be a kill run, so you boys better have an inkling how to deal with guns..." He trailed off. "You are packing, right?"
A grimace from Syke. "I usually just pack... him. And my delightful personality."
"Well then, lets 'ope your personality ain't lost on Uptown squares then, eh?" With derisory snort punctuated his remark Bo'Geo sagged in the seat, looking thoroughly miserable.
Lorry looked over at Syke, "Most weapons are point-n-shoot, right?"
"Yeah?"
The silence from the back was ominous as the car clicked over the broken road. The last buildings had been passed a block or so ago, and this here was truely the Feral Zone. At least the rain had died. After waiting patiently for Lorry to reach his point, graciously assuming there was one, Syke looked back at Bo'Geo.
"Could try throwing your shirt at 'em. That'd stun a hilariously miscloned velociraptor."
Lorry gazed over the open landscape. "This car will not get up to the same speed as a new Corp's car I'm afraid. And with this open land they can just outrun us."
Syke nodded. "Alright, it's theoretically fucking impossible. Let's exploit our old friend Murphy, then."
Lorry gave his first smile of the day, maybe even of the week, and laughed slightly.
"Who the hell was 'e then," Bogie's question was dirgelike. "Some great 'ero?"
Despite himself, Syke joined in the laughing. "Yeah. Murphy's the shit that always happens. This time... we'll just watch and wait for it to happen to someone else."
"Best I've heard yet. No point in planning yer own death."
Syke turned to look at Lorry. "You want a new car, you twisted vehicle-humper you?"
Looking round at Syke, Lorry answered "what do you think?" He pointed at the missing door.
The smaller enforcer grinned the smuggest grin yet. "Even a complete fucking lack of a plan is a plan."
Their passenger laughed aloud. "Yeah, that'd go down great. Driving Corpmobiles around gangland. And you think me conspicuous!" Despite his aches and beaten down face, Bo'Geo was mirthful. "Y'know - you two are both as fucked up as each other."
Syke started rummaging through his pockets. "Oh, shut up. Have some stims. No rest for the Dogs of Zen." He popped a couple of pills and cheerfully threw the rest of the into the backseat. Right at Markus.
"Nah. Don't touch the gear myself. Couldn't flog it then." An evil grin smeared across the ugly, puffy face as the dog with whom Bo'Geo shared the seat bent to snatch the drugs.
"Suit yoursel- actually, don't."
"Eh?"
Syke rolled his eyes. "Well, we are going stealth here, Mister Floodlight. I'm sure there's some dogshit back there for you to roll in. Anyway, I guess we'll need to dump the car somewhere, hike it to the spot and then-"
"Hide?" Lorry queried. "You know, we don't need to dump this car. It looks right at home here." Lorry continued.
"Whuh?" blurted Syke, his train of thought seriously off-track.
"I mean, just look at it! Crashed front, broken windows, a door missing and the side is all wrecked! As you said Syke, Murphy's our friend here." Lorry smiled at his partner.
The smaller enforcer just blinked. Then he gaped. "Okay, alright, whatever fucking brain-boosting shit you're on, Dumptruck, you gotta start sharing the shit. You're... " He stopped and looked at the state of their current vehicle.
Lorry nodded. "Yeah, that's right. We'll hide with the car, in plain sight."
"... yeah. Hell yeah. We're cunningly disguised as a piece of crap. There is a Dog."
"Yeah, and he's fuckin' slavering all over me due to them stims. Bastard mutt!" Bo'Geo swatted ineffectually at Markus, trying to keep doggie saliva from him.
"Why do you find friends like this Markus?" Lorry looked back at his dog in the mirror.
"Better you than me," laughed Syke, as the car rattled on towards the meeting with Murphy.

* * *

They ploughed on over the heathland at a fair clip for another ten minutes or so. It was pushing six a.m. now, and the murky first light of day was beginning to dawn. Bo'Geo had been straining this last portion of the ride to hold Markus out of the missing door, the dog getting seriously frisky as the stims took full effect. As he did, he regailed precise locations, guiding the Enforcers to a spot not too far from the intersprawl highway. Lorry shut off the engine, and the car ghosted to a stop, coming to rest up against a dumped sofa. The area was a junk yard of discarded Uptown home appliances, providing plenty of cover. In fact, glancing about, the junk could almost have been positioned as it was, it was almost too perfect. Their guide having assured them this was the place, the three settled down to wait. Markus was jumpy as hell, though. Syke himself was approaching limbo, hissing at Lorry to leash the useless junkie mutt.

"Fine.", Lorry muttered, "I better hold on to him." The big enforcer grabbed his dog from the back seat.
"Where d'you want me, then? Don't string me out on this." Bo'Geo was anxious.
"Just wait for my word," Syke snapped, "and - sheeesh, didn't we talk about the clothes?" Without waiting for a reply, Syke grabbed a rusting thermos flask and unceremoniously dumped its contents all over Bo'Geo. Job done, he sniffed at the empty thermos. "What'd you keep in here anyway, Semi?"
"What the..." the shout of alarm was full of rage, subsiding a little when he realised the coffee was age old and cold. "Well it ain't as if this suit weren't down the shitter already, but damn! That was growing stuff." Syke just shrugged and looked at the struggling dog-keeper.
His partner answered, "Just my special mix, does good for both engines." Lorry patted his stomach. "I guess I forgot it there though."
Bo'Geo rolled out of the car onto the turf, trying to lose the fungal smell of age-old mold. As he rolled and came up, his face was ashen.
"They're comin'" he said, pointing to the three vehicles visible on the roadway.
"Lovely. Okay, quiet. Heads down."

Lorry grabbed Markus in his knee and tried to hide as best as he could. Some five hundred yards away a large van, flanked by two sleek black cars, was progressing at pace. No other traffic could be seen, though cresting the horizon, from the direction in which the convoy was heading, there was a large 'copter. Hanging beneath it, held on a long chain, was another, almost identical, sleek black car. The side of the bird was open, a minigun clearly mounted on the side. As the heilcopter sped towards convoy, it lowered, so the car dangling from its belly was barely of the road. A loud crunching noise signalled the release of the winch, and the car dropped the couple of feet to the road. Wheels already spinning, it lurched forwards immediately. The pilot, meanwhile, had spun the bird around and the gunner was opening up on the convoy, quickly turning the front car into nothing but a ball of flame. Predictably, and almost as if to a plan, the van driver swerved, th rear car following. The target van swerved off the road, towards where the Enforcers and Bo'Geo were hidden. Swerved through the maze of junk piled to either side of what was clearly now a constructed junk chicane...

"Yeah, that's 'some kind of surprise'," Syke mouted at Bo'Geo, then - to no-one in particular - "Now what?"

The car that had dropped from the bird was speeding off the road now too, heading the opposite way through the appliance chicane, at a speed that boggled the mind. Whomever was driving knew exactly what the hell he was doing. The air support hoverred overhead, spinning around to allow the gunner to get a fix on the other car, and quickly riddling it with more metal than Nikel's jaw. Figures spilled out as the shots rained down, some clearly bleeding, diving clear before the car soon went up in smoke just like the other had. Caught in the maze of junked appliances and with it's burnt-out support now trapping it in place the driver of the van slowed to a stop, and the doors sprung open. Overhead the 'copter was retreating, its part in the jacking done and dusted. The car it had dropped cruised on, keeping its speed, as its windows glided down and black-shaded faces leant out brandishing automatic weapons.

Syke looked up from his spot behind the CrapMobile. "If Murphy doesn't show up soon, I'm stealing his fucking girlfriend." Quietly, he got back into the car and took the wheel. Then he sat there, slowly drumming his fingers, breathing in, breathing out. The now much-stained Bo'Geo rolled clear of the car. Crouching, he signalled that he would skulk up as close as possible, scouting, earning him a distracted thumbs-up from Syke, who then resumed his waiting for the moment. The third man at the CrapMobile was sitting there with Markus in his knee, just waiting and watching Bo'Geo go.

Muzzle flashes lit up the pre-dawn as the embattled drivers fended off their assailants. The smell of burning leather and fuel was drifting over the scene, a gentle wind blowing the fumes from the second wreck towards the Enforcer's battered car. The coprs had closed right in, now, and it was clear their car had been rebounding bullets galore. The windscreen was cracked, paint scraped, but it was still moving; engine still purring like a kitten. As it closed on the van, the driver pulled a handbrake turn, sending the car perpendicular to the van. It skidded and slid sideways, three figures tumbling out of the shielded side, car between them and their target. After a momentary pause, the figures crouched and took careful aim.

In the enforcers' battered vehicle, Syke slapped his own forehead.
"What am I thinking? Screw the moment."

He gestured for Lorry, pointing at the aiming figures' backs. Then he grinned, and saluted with car-keys in hand. Inserted the keys. Raised an eyebrow. The big man nodded and began to sneak his best towards the figures, nodding at Bo'Geo as he went.

A dying scream punctured the air as one of the attackers shot true. Their car had now spun back parallel to the object van and the driver was gunning the engine again, zooming over to where the wreck of the escort had been. Bogie had made it in close, even his white suit was perfect camoflage against the old clapped out fridges. The engine screamed, as Syke kicked the car into gear, a creaking blur of acceleration closing rapidly on the van and its defenders. There were a couple of Wet thuds as bodies slammed into the front, one landing on the windshield. Syke careened on blindly, the tires filing complaints in triplicate. The car's ancient music device - sensing a final moment coming on - kicked in, blaring out harmonies from another world. As Syke announced his presence Lorry stood up and ran towards the nearest of the figures, punching him hard in the face and knocking him out in one blow. His two companions turned at the sickening sound, one taking a round from somewhere and spilling his weapon as he collapsed, the other raising his gun with stoney face.

There were guitars on the air. Echoing voices crooning. "You're a headache / iiiin a suitcase / you're a staaaaar / Hooold me / thrill me / kiss meeeee-" And with a very final thump, the enforcermobile skidded into the wall of junk, just past the van. There was the plinking of random metal parts coming to rest.
Markus had been let loose and he leaped up at the last minute, biting at the gunman's arm, making him drop his weapon. The bitten man answered with a snarl and as Markus hung on to his right arm his left hand went for a shoulder holster...

Syke rolled to his feet, brandishing a torch and tune that wouldn't go away. He turned, looking for the closest enemy. Then he charged, all scrawny twelve pounds of him. "Don't know what you're doooooing / babe, it must be arrrrrrt!"

The Dogtown Crew

2006-05-12T23:26:00.000+01:00

Who are these folks, anyway?!

The Dogtown Crew was named for a long-dead founder, Alsace, a genework experiment gone wrong he was dumped down here from Uptown once his faults had been analysed. He attracted stray dogs; somehow they just gravitated to him. So did other drop-outs, isolates, and others, the pack of dogs turning out to be a useful edge in survival - finding food, shelter and such right when the gangs were all new in town, not to mention their viscious streak. None of the founders are alive any longer, nor are any of the dogs or descendents thereof. Despite the Crew taking a bulldog as an emblem and tagging their turf with it, none since the founder has ever managed to keep a dog loyal and alive. None until now; Lorry's efforts with Markus have meant that the Crew have a new unofficial mascot, even if it is a junk-addicted hyperactive sniffer gone bad.

The leadership, as of the start of this tale, was in the hands of Leandro. Small, frail, yet charismatic and very on the ball, he was also blind. Was favoured by the previous leadership for rising above his disabilities. Despite relying on a support staff (two heavies known as Blunt and Blount, aka the Goons) he was well respected, and almost prescient about many things. This did not seem to help him, as he was assassinated by the Panthers during an official meet. His loss leaves a big hole at the top of the organisation, and while DJ is in temporary charge and the impossible rain in the nights since his death has kept the streets quiet of internal problems (the Panthers' attacks another issue), assuming Dogtown is still standing when the skies clear properly the population could get restless.

The narrative centres around the pairing of Lorry and Syke, who are Dogtown Enforcers. The Enforcers are the gangland police, enforcing the legal and social rules of the Turf, keeping things civil, quiet, and dealing with transgressions as required by circumstance. There were two squads, the makeup and personel of which to be described at a later date, and an active membership of under 15 tasked with turf duties over several blocks. Dogtown itself consists mainly of old industrial buildings that now house the various inhabitants of Dogtown in dorn-like squats. Lying out near the Feral Zone, the areas that are not part of the old industrial estate were wasteland - former parks (or rather car parks) - and one storey portacabins left over from the days when building was finally scrapped out here; oh, and the crumbling hospital which was rumoured to be haunted. At least, that is what people say, and no-one lives in there, despite its size and space...

Two buildings on the turf are worthy of note. One is the old industrial incinerator complex, long since non-functional, from which the Dogtown Turf was originally established and which, until his untimely death, served as Leandro's residence. The other, opposite it on a street corner, is the abandoned subway station that served as the Enforcer's HQ. "The Sub" was actually located on a line that still saw occasional use; each morning and each evening one train ploughed through, carrying Uptown workers on a commuter belt. This was little more than occasional bother to the Dogtown Enforcers who were in the habit of keeping the tracks clear at the relevant times.

To say more about them at this point would be droning on, so I'll simply mention that to the northwest of the Turf lie the borders with that run by the Panthers; to the west the buildings are tagged with amazon callsigns. To the south and southeat it gives way straight to the Feral Zone. The land to the east and northeast is the really heavy industrial zone, run by the Smokestack gang. Relations with all neighbours were good until the crash incident in Episode 1. Panthers aside, how the other gangs view the situation right now is unclear.

In between sessions

2006-05-12T23:11:00.000+01:00

The roar was heard even down inside the Sub, where it caused a general state of alarm and much cursing. DJ, as required by his election to leader - however temporarily - acted decisively, ordering everyone into action. The much maligned techies had surfaced, entering the sub via the disused line, carrying armfuls of salvage. Dropping them, Sparky jogged over to the spot where he had performed the autopsy on the last beast and picked up a small, button-ridden box, while Bones fetched the molotovs that he had been concocting for Syke. The other Enforcers present filed out into the platform area, looking for guidance. DJ sent Johnson and Archer out of the makeshift interrogation room, with orders of how to conduct the defense.

Outside, faced with the beast, Lorry had to act fast. Swatting Miles aside the burly mechanic swept Markus up in one arm and belted for the car. The blown tire had been fixed and while still aesthetically beaten, he had tinkered with the engine and it was back to running well. Gunning it, Lorry threw the vehicle forwards, soon leaving the growling panther a long way back. In fact, the beast had ignored Lorry once he turned away, instead heading straight for the entrance to the Sub, bounding down the stairs with ease. At the bottom of the stairs, where they met the platform, it ran into its first opposition. The hastily erected barrier was only an overturned table, but it wasn't meant to repel, or even to significantly delay. Instead the shattrering of the table was simply a signal, and Sparky had been waiting for his moment. Quickly slamming combinations of buttons on the box of tricks in his hands, and as he did the beast howled in pain, slamming into the nearest wall. A molotov cracked under it as Johnson's aim was true and Archer placed a shot between its eyes, physically dropping it. Sparky hit another key, and gave a shout for the others to close.
"It should be paralysed, but I can't hold it long. Finish the damn thing!"
Hesitant, but without choice the assembled Enforcers approached cautiously, improvised spears and clubs, and less improvised knives setting to work, quickly dismembering the beast. It was indeed paralysed by Sparky's technowizadry. They were about to cheer and congratulate themselves when Miles appeared in the stairwell, clapping sarcastically. Behind him were numerous humanoid forms. Panthers.
"You didn't really think it would be that easy, did you?" he said, menacingly. Whistling again, he is answered by another ferocious roar, this time from the other side of the Sub - from the tunnel. The shapes around Miles also began to descend to platform level.

Inside the side office where Bo'Geo had been interrogated, DJ spoke to Syke, looking over at Bo'Geo as he did.
"If you're going to pull off this jacking, you have to get out there now. Can't risk them nullifying any advantage this might bring. We'll have to hold here as best we can. Take Lorry, and this thing. Don't fuck it up, and just pray we're still around when you get back." Then, hearing the second cry, "shit, get moving; we're crap outta time."
Dragging the reluctant fence with him, Syke nodded, and the three joined the tumult on the platform.

Lorimer had sped around, and finding the old rail tunnel he guided the vehicle down it. Spinning the car expertly and reversing into the centre of the Sub at high speed. He clocked Syke shambling along the platform with Bogie and threw open the passenger door even as the car rolled to a halt. Moving fast, Syke jumped down to track level, opening the rear doors and shoving Bo'geo in before jumping into the front seat. In front of them the second cybercat appeared from the gloom of the tunnel, while above and to their left their colleagues fought off the rival gang...

Markus - A nose for drugs

2006-05-11T18:42:00.000+01:00

This is a short story about a dog with a special nose.

In the upper city there are those who seek out illegal drugs. As dogs have a better developed sense of smell it is natural to use them in this type of work. This is were Markus comes in. Markus is your typical drug sniffing dog, or shall I say was. The experiments with enchancing various body functions you can quickly understand why you consider what they did on Markus. Though everything was not as it should, the dog got sick, a ten times as big dose of what was supposed to be given was injected and everything was going bad.

Markus wouldn't behave and often ran off and strolled the lower city sniffing for drugs which got the dog a addicted (to which extent no one is sure of). This is how Lorimer and the other people found him. Lorimer took him in and slowly the dog got used to his sensitive nose and his new master.

Assault Psychology 101

2006-05-11T16:44:00.000+01:00

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.

Up to date

2006-05-10T16:36:00.000+01:00

So now the logging has caught up to the inspiration.

Hopefully with that backlog cleared I can keep up to date and get one episode up a week. Alongside this, the space is open for discussion of relevant topics and I might have more time and energy to define some things a little better - first in line for clarification is a cast list to detail the primary NPCs, and hopefully Dave will be along to post Syke.

Two weeks to go until this goes tabletop (for a single session at least), at which point the log may change style quite dramatically, but we'll see.

Episode 4

2006-05-10T16:14:00.000+01:00

A few dark days had passed. The heavens had kept pouring the rain down since Leandro's passing. While the weather was still keeping the streets quiet it was beginning to grate on all the Enforcers; not least because they, without fail, were having to be out in it. Each and every day had brought new and more deadly skirmishes with the Pathers as the hostilities escalated into more of a full-on gang war. DJ had been tearing his hair out, trying to organise squads, partnerships, teams from those left and in able. The hardest part was proving to be equipping them. The invading Panthers had been using more of the impromptu explosives that Syke and Lorry had had first-hand experience of, but seemed to also have a source of firearms. Facing them down without similar resources was resulting in a lot of running and wounds. Archer had been sent to find, apprehend, and commendere Bo'Geo and all his various illegal goods in case anything of use could be found amongst his suspect wares. It was early morning; early morning as in the dead of night. Things had just settled on the streets and the Sub was full of enforcers wondering how to face the day ahead. Syke had managed to put a lid on the manic, and was trundling about offering insults and ideas with icy calm, while Lorry was ignoring the wandering insult machine, playing with Markus by himself.

"Where are the technomonkies, Wheelchair?" Syke demanded of DJ. "Are they drinking the fucking molotovs I ordered, or what? Don't make me send Van down there to sober them up."
A sigh predicated the response. "They've been needed out and about like the rest of you. You know that." DJ paused then smiled wanly. "Sparky and Bones were out together looking for relevant salvage."
After a pause in which the only sound to be heard was the rain, Lorry stood up.
"I can't just sit here. Something needs to be done."
Syke paced, but slowly, nodding at DJ and Lorry. "Alright. Yeah."
The wheels of DJ's chair squeaked as he made his way back to his office in what was once platform-side toilets, and the response was from Johnson instead.
"Things do need to be done, yeah - but lets just see what Archer turns up, first?"
"Assuming she doesn't just turn Bogie into the world's ugliest pincushion, you mean?" Syke grinned, without real venom.
A muted laugh, female. "I bloody wish." A ruffled form staggers down the steps onto the platform as Archer shoves Bo'Geo in the back.
"Finally," said Lorry.
A shrug from Archer. "He's harder to find than you'd expect for a pimp with bad dress sense."
Closer inspection of the newly delivered operator of the local one stop crime shop revealed the reason for his uncharacteristic silence. Archer had taped his mouth shut with duct tape on the trip back to HQ. Syke eyed the scout's handiwork with quiet appreciation, but kept silent. He motioned for Johnson.

"So what do you got there Bo'?" Lorry moved towards Bo'Geo over the platform.
A muffled noise is all the reply, but recognition is writ large on Bo'geo's face.
"Leave him" said Johnson, "I'm sure there are plans for him." He gave a slight smile as he responded to Syke's summons. Archer, non-plussed by his request, just shrugged and indicated for Lorry to go ahead and do as he will. Stepping up to Bo'Geo, Lorry spoke.
"What did you say? We get what we want for free?"
The pusher's reply to the burly questioner was just a firey glint in his eyes, the efficacy of Archer's gag muting his efforts to communicate and Syke, evidently having changed his mind, motioned for Johnson to forget it and waved for everyone to let Lorry take the lead.
"I can't hear you. Speak up!" Lorry reached down and ripped the duct tape quickly, and painfully, from his mouth.
"Oh, good," muttered Syke, "I wasn't looking forward to have to explain how the tape works."
Bo'Geo's yelp of pain was pathetic, but he was clearly both hurt and shaken up by the sudden violent removal of the tape, the sticky side stained with blood after shredding the mucosal layer on his lips.
"Bathardth!"
Lorry gave him an angry look. "WHAT did you call me?"
The spectacle of the would-be pimp stumbling around, bleeding over his innapropriately white suit and spitting lisped curses was enough to bring DJ wheeling back out onto the platform, followed by the goon brothers. Bo'Geo did not notice them though fixated as he was on the figure of Lorry, who stood over him.
"Thucking Barthtard, my lipth!"
Syke blinked, looking from one face to the next. Quietly, he said "this is one for the books." He signalled for everyone to let Lorry continue.
Lorry gave Bo'Geo a thump with his right fist, causing him to stagger back and fall to the ground. DJ glanced across at Syke, glaring, but simply nodded.
"Damn you!" Lorry kicked the downed man. "Damn all," and another kick, "damn everything," and another.
"What the thuck?" As the object of Lorry's attention curled up into a protective ball, his words supplemented by grunts of pain. "Whathever it wath I didn't do it!" Lorry's kicking countinued on, getting more violent. The pimp's protestations became less persistent as he concentrated all his efforts on keeping himself from being stomped into nothing.
"Uh, Archer?" Syke tried to get the scout's attention. "Got an elephant-sized dose of that tranq you use on hand?"
The curses and kicks from Lorry kept coming.
"Alright Lorry, stop. Now." DJ's voice was cold, dsipassionate. "We need him alive and able to talk."
Archer looked from Syke to DJ, flipping a syringe from her belt and holding it aloft. Markus, sensing something wrong with his master, started barking in an agitated manner. The sound caused Lorry to stop, then walk away. Archer lowered the tranquilizer again as Lorry backed off. Passing Syke, he muttered a few words.
"You better make him talk."
As if in response, bloody and beaten, Bo'Geo moaned with discomfort, stretching out from his foetal position then lying still. Syke threw Archer a grin and a shrug, then nodded in Lorry's direction.
"You did all the work, Van. Fucking adequate." He then turned his attention on Bo'Geo while on the other side of the platform Lorry sat down on the ground, now clearly more calm, tending to Markus.
"Alright, then," said Syke. "That was our main argument for you being a cooperative, non-lippy bastard for once. Are we clear?"
A groan, and a weak response "Verry thunny. Damn it! What the thuck do you thucks want throm me?"
"Well, for a start, everything you got. Gear, info, connections. I'm sure we'll get more demanding eventually." Syke bent down to look Bo'Geo in his swollen eyes. "As you may be aware, we're at war. And you don't get to sit this one out."
Flinching away from the interogator, the pimp's laugh is hollow and mirthless. "I'm not going to be thitting anywhere thoon. Bethidth, I ain't got thit now. Thuckink Pantherth took motht of it." He coughed up a glob of blood. "But..."
"Yeeees?"
A sudden expression of fear. "You promith to keep that lunatic away throm me?"
DJ spoke from somewhere further back. "Co-operate now and you'll be harmed no more by anyone here. Mess us about, and Lorry's brute force will be the last of your troubles."
Bo'Geo slowly pushed himself slightly more upright. "Fine." His broken visage a horrid mess, he raised a hand to the bridge of his nose.
"Can thomeone get me thome water and a towel, I'll tell you all I know oneth I can thpeak promperly."
Syke smiled pleasantly at the battered pimp. "Actually, I think this is an improvement. But, sure." He tossed Bo'Geo a rag and a water bottle of dubious quality.
"I don't think anyone's pissed in that recently. Have at it."
With a noticeable lack of enthusiasm the captive accepted both offerings, and DJ motioned for Archer to take him off to one of the side offices. Show over for now, a sense of normality returned to the Sub - as much as anything had been normal lately. Bo'Geo would talk, and soon.

Syke headed over to where Lorry was. "Gotta say, Semi, you completely fucking stole the show there. I was all set to play good cop, bad cop, trigger-happy cop, crippled cop and big scary lug cop... But noooo."
Lorry stood. "Can I speak to him a bit? I want to make sure it's not his fault I kicked him."
The smaller enforcer blinked in perplexion. "What? Errrr... What? Oh, sure. Fine." Shaking his head, Syke rifled through a supply box.
"I'm sorry Syke. Not everyone is like you who, just making a joke about everything and then it's fine..." Lorry started to walk towards the side office where Bo'Geo was held, then stopped.
"You know, while it's just us two..."
Staring into a pile of junk, Syke responded evenly. "Very few things are actually ever fine, Lorry. You just live with- yeah?"
"I've got this really bad feeling about this war. I can't describe it really, it's just damn annoying feeling inside that there is more than just this... You know what I mean?"
Syke simply nodded. A beat, then:
"Trying not to think about it, myself. Bastard pimps, we can deal with. Crazy fucking Panthers, sure. But the Suits..." He shrugs. "Yeah, we're probably royally fucked twelve ways."
Lorry turned around, no facing Syke. "Yeah exactly, the Suits. I hope they don't have more to it than we know."
The smaller Enforcer just shakes his head. "Pretty sure we're in over our heads. But," a shrug, "we'll fight all the same."
"Yeah, I wish we didn't have to." Lorry added "I think I changed my mind. I'm taking Markus outside for a minute. Give your best words to Mr Lips." And with that Lorry and Markus walked up and out onto the street, into the rain.
Syke blandly waved a goodbye to Lorry, and muttered to himself. "Everyone has already tried running..." Johnson stuck his head out of the side office in which DJ and Bo'Geo had vanished, beckoning Syke over.
"Guy's going to spill - think it's something big."
Tossing the box of useless crap, Syke walked up to Johnson. "Alright, then."

Inside the room, the captive was stood over a spartan chair. He had been able to clear his face of loose blood but the puffyness was still present and the bruises were beginning to colour. Nonetheless he was looking infinately better than he had outside.
Stepping into the office, Syke waved cheerfully at Bo'Geo, then took a seat. "Oh, Lorry says hi."
Assembled around the room were DJ, Johnson and Archer who snorted as their guest jerked backwards, banging his head on the wall.
"That boy is fucked up, man" Bo'Geo's response. Evidently the clean up helped his lisping, too.
"Why, of course," smiles Syke, "but he's our fucked-up boy. Now, you were saying?"
"Alright. I said I'd spill. I tol' you folks that the Panthers stole most o' my shit and that's the truth, I swear it. Bastards didn't shake me down though... wondering if they wouldn't be better turf." He glanced at the faces present, then laughed. "No thanks. Fuckers are working with Corps, man. Nasty fucking Corps. The gear they've been using? New stuff. Not mine - dunno why they wanted my crap actually given what they had. Fucking Big Men are supplyin' them with stuff in exchange for somethin', but I dunno what. Likely this war though, eh?"
Syke nodded and, glancing pointedly at Johnson, said "looks like."
DJ's eyes flared with anger. "I knew it. Couldn't have found all this stuff themselves, it's no wonder they're so bloody cocky." He paused, "but that's shit all stuff we could have guessed ourselves. You got anything to add to that, or shall we reconsider our level of hopsitality?"
There was an unpleasant pause as Bo'Geo calculated his response. "Well shit. And here I thought I was Mr Knowitall." A cocky grin. "I know more, don't worry about that. You've a fight on your hands over what your boys witnessed. Streets talk if you konw how to listen."
Syke rolled his eyes at the smart-aleckry. "HEY! DUMPTRUCK! Our guest thinks you didn't kick him properly!"
A cringe. "He hit me plenty. I'm pliable, man - just leave the big guy outta this shit." Bo'Geo sighed. "I'd have thought the bastards would just napalm the entire turf, but it seems that might cause too much disturbance to pass un-noticed. Better that their elimination be done "natural," right? Gangbangers are warsome fucks. People die all the time down here..." he left the thought hanging.
"Any idea why the events of that night merit this?" DJ spoke clearly and precisely.
"Not a clue, geezer. Not a clue. Except..."
"Give the bastard credit," mumbled Syke, "milking the fucking scene for drama with a Lorry hanging over his head."
"Look, this sounds whack, right? But there's something goin' on out in the Feral zone. Something big. I been hearing from scavs a lot that 'copters and cars have been seen detouring from major routes entirely too often out some mile or few. I reckon that stiff saw somethin' 'e wasn't meant to see, and the bastards gunned him down. Didn't expect to be caught doing it though. An' also..." he paused, looking at DJ as he continued. "I was gettin' word of an arms deal. decent gear. Hoped I might pick up scraps but soon became clear it was too big for little ol' me, right?"
Syke snorted. "Modesty looks like shit on you, Bogie. But do go on."

***

Outside, the weather was miserable, but at least no-one was out and about at this shitty hour. Markus was overjoyed to be out in the fresh air, running free. Lorry wandered around and thinking to himself about all the things that had happened lately when suddenly there was a noise, as if something had just been knocked into and someone was desperately trying to prevent it falling over. Lorry looked up, and Markus growled, turning to face down the street to the north, away from the Sub. A small figure stepped out, now holding a small torch, which it shone right in Lorry's eyes. Shielding his eyes with one hand Lorry spoke.
"Direct the torch somewhere else or I'll send the dog on you."
A laugh, jovial and friendly. Familiar. "Lorimer you dolt, Markus couldn't bite a flea, you know as well as I. Damn it man, have you grown even more?!" Miles stepped closer, smiling.
Lorry raises eyebrow, "He can catch sticks well though. Where the fuck have you been? You better answer me truthfully or you'll end up as Mr Lips."
"Yeah? Mr Lips - not one of those chat-line workers you like so much?" A snort. "I've been... busy."
Lorry replied. "BUSY?! You expect to just come back smiling and be fine, eh?"
Miles paused, sizing Lorry up. "Say, you really mean it don't ya bigboy? Shit man, just... look - I was caught. Embarassing to admit alright?" Miles winced. "Fucking Panthers' been interrogating me for a week now. Tonight was the first chance I had to escape." Miles reached Lorry and stood in front of him, arms out wide and a tired but friendly smile on his carrot-topped features. Markus, on the other hand, was still staring off down the northern street.
"Good you escaped then." Lorry Looked past Miles for a second. "Have you been followed?"
"Damn straight. What's it been like here, then? Survived the stich-up thankfully... Followed?" He looks back over his shoulder. "Me? As if..."
"Markus has picked something up at least. Give me the torch!"
"Eh? The old mutt onto something? Perhaps we should check it out, then." Miles extended a hand, offering the torch to Lorry, who grabbed it.
"Thanks. You can go down, they're in one of the offices. I'll take care of this."
Miles nodded. "No back-up? Fair enough" and he stood there watching, waiting for Lorry to move.

***

Inside the makeshift interrogation room the questioning was progressing. Bo'Geo was elaborating on the arms trafficking of which he had caught wind.
"A few renegade corps, y'know. Crate of goods that fell of the back of a lorry. Such I heard anyway. Turns out it was more than that. Made a few enquiries. The goods ain't fallen off the truck yet, if you see what I mean."
Syke stood up. "Let's assume we don't. Also, assume our patience is growing thin. Who's robbing who, and what's the damn score?"
Bo'Geo shrugged, the motion freeing some of the dried gore from one shoulder, sending it skittering down onto the floor.
"Think it's part of thie war thing. Word is the shipment is government. Word is jackers are rogue corps." A long pause. "Word is the jacked goods are due for sale on site."
Taking a deep breath, Syke looked at the others. Then he got in Bo'Geo's face.
"If you're shitting us about a single fucking detail, you know... With that in mind, what's the word on the goods? Rifles, tasers, grenades, cyberware, WHAT?"
The unwilling informant twitched nervously as DJ looked from Syke to Johnson and then back to his captive. "I fuckin' swear. On the level. Pretty sure the damn Panthers are due for a re-stock. Heard some ginger freak was to make the deal. Shotguns. And good quality shot, too - explosive stuff, not fucking shingle. Look. When it was small scraps I was into busting the deal myself. So I dug. Turns out its fuckin' suicide for me, so I bailed on the idea - but not before I'd marked the location."
"Oh, I fucking KNEW it!" Syke hissed, then mutters to no-one in particular. "Paranoia is just a fucking heightened state of awareness."
DJ looked at Syke. "You think Miles...?"
"No, don't *think* anymore. Know." Syke turned back to Bo'Geo. "You are now officially a DogTowner. If it's not abundantly clear, you start out as Bitch. We're jacking the jackers, oh yes."
The wheelchair-bound makeshift leader of Dogtown scowled. "Syke, are you sure about this?"
"Wheelchair, do you see any options? I'll grant you, you're not completely sucky at the thinking, but sooner or later... words aren't going to cut it."
"Hey, look man. You want in, it's your funeral, but don't drag me further into this shi..." Bo'Geo dropped silent as the faces around him made it perfectly clear he had less than no say in the matter.
A resigned tone rang through DJ's reply. "We're outgunned. Outmanned. Place is going to shit. No - you're right, we have no option. It's just," he paused and rubbed his temples with both hands. "Jacking Suits is suicide in itself. It half makes me wonder if the deal wasn't designed for the corps to rub out the Panthers after we're history. Government finds gang jacked weapons crates, sends in big-time clean up unit?"
The idea made Syke stop for a moment. Then he soldiered on, grinning. "Sure. Makes sense. But, you know..." The others showered him with expectant looks.
"... if they're expecting the Panthers to jack the crates... see where I'm going with this?"
"They may assume we're Panthers." Johnson finished. "Might work, but we'd need to plant phoney proof."
"Ah, don't we have a collection of hairballs and spare fucking cybercat parts somewhere?" Syke stopped, mid-smug. "And, hey... we can get ground down bit by bit, or get some serious weapons and go out with a bang. I know what I prefer."
"Alright, Syke." DJ's voice was steely now. "We do this. But it's your gig. Work with this trash" he gestured at Bo'Geo, "and come up with somethng."
"Gotcha... chief." Enormously pleased with himself, Syke looked around. "Now where did I put Bogie's leash?" The pimp just groaned and slumped dejectedly in the corner, muttering to himself.

***

After taking the torch from Miles, Lorry walked slowly towards his dog. Markus was still standing in the street, he had not moved, but niehter was he yelping or barking; instead he is standing to attention looking off into the blackness. Lorry flashed the light towards where Markus was looking.
Footsteps behind them. Miles was not heading down as he was asked. "See anything, Hairy?"
"You can go inside and warm up, I can handle this." The torchbeam slid this way and that over the alley, finding nothing but more shadows.
"I think not" said Miles, his friendly grin turning to a scowl as he let out a sharp whistle.

At the sound, something huge emerged from the murk in the direction they were all looking, its leap was accompanied by a bestial roar.

Episode 3

2006-05-10T14:34:00.000+01:00

This day dawned black. Black in both light, for the clouds of smog had come over with rain teeming down, and in mood. Dogtown was shaken, sullen; mourning its loss. Leandro was dead, Sweet was dead, Bear was hurt, and Miles was just nowhere to be seen. The eerie calm of daybreak was broken by the first stirrings of life in the Sub. Somewhat against the rub of normality it was Bones and Sparky who were up and about first; these two more "normal" than most this morning, their attentions firmly placed on the work of figuring out the panther beast. One thing was certain - it was no plain animal. Flesh and blood, sure, but no animal. Limbs of taut, twisted steel had been hidden beneath it's bulk. This was serious mechanics. Serious electrics. Serious genework. Serious goddamn everything. This was no gang-bangers backyard project. Markus, and right after him Lorry, emerged from the Sub into the rain. Lorimer was yawning, and took sad look at the crashed car, left where it had been - in the road - following the game of chicken with the robotic panther. The dead beast had been gathered and dragged inside for its examination, and now Lorry forlornly climbed into his old motor and willed the engine to start, coaxing the vehicle around to the Sub's garage entrance where an old disused line surfaced a block or so away.

Hovering over the techs was Syke, who hadn't slept a single wink. He kept pacing, and insulting both animate and inanimate objects.
"Okay, okay, so I need you gearheads to stay focused now. This is a fine wonder of technowhatsit for sure, but I need you to concentrate on one thing in particular. Are you with me? Hm?" He paused for a second, turning red eyes on Sparky and Bones. "What's important here is, how do we fucking kill the next one. Okay? Good. Hop to it."
The two techs were involved in their work, but Syke's presence - or rather his existence - was beginning to grate.
"Yeah, what one thing would that be, then? We might be facin' more o' these things soon Syke, " said Sparky, bleary eyed himself and clearly trying not to think about the day before. He realised he had basically paraphrased their audience and smirked grimly to himself. Gesturing with a screwdriver at Lorry, who had just brought the car into the Sub and was exiting the vehicle, Sparky added "crashing the car seemed to do the job, eh?" Lorry, looking tired, did not reply and started to tend to the car.

A cough came from behind the assembled. DJ had wheeled himself out to face the day, and the other Enforcers were beginning to shake off the stupor of shocked sleep. Syke stopped ranting, threw a look after the retreating Lorry, shrugged and returned his attention to Sparky.
"Yeah, well, we try that again, we have bigger problems than fucking cybercats. See the broken glint in Ol' Dumptruck's eye?"
Sparky's reply was accompanied by a solemn nod. "We've lost too much already. We're on this for what we can."
Somehow, Syke manages to shrug in agreement. The assembled behind them were muttering to each other, when suddenly Archer piped up.
"Where the fuck is Miles? Could've sworn he was..." She stopped and frowned. "Well, he wasn't one of the dead. Anyone seen him since....?"
Over where he had parked the crashed car, Lorry looked up. "No. And I have yet to see any fucking tools around here. Damn, I need to fix this freaking car." He kicked the car over and over again.
The other weary voice replying was DJ's. "Not seen him, not heard from him. He was elsewhere come the crunch, right? And Lorry for hell's sake, that car is the least of our worries. I know it's bloody dear to you but damn! Dogtown's going to be proper messy soon and losing Leandro is going to cause all hell. Plus we should honour the fallen, and sort out some sort of... succession"
Syke looked up from rifling through a plastic box. "Yeah, what Rollerboy said, screw the car. And someone find me some more fucking stims." The big mechanic dejectedly slid down to sit on the ground by the car with his dog at his side. Outside, the rain was thankfully keeping the city quiet.
"At least nothing much will happen under this sky" sighed Nikel. "Hell, this'd rust my jaw."
Tossing Syke a tube Johnson, with visible tearstains under his eyes, spoke in a horrid dirge. "The weather works for us, true. But this strike leaves us vulnerable. We need decisions. Actions. Leadership"
Archer groaned. "Leadership, right. Sod this for a game of Suits. Leader or no we stick together, right? Someone needs to be a face. Be seen, re-assure the territories."
Popping a quadruple dose, Syke spat. "Why not put Wheelchair in charge, then. Least likely to get in a fucking car with unknown quantities and throw a perfectly fucking adequate plan in the toilet."
"Don't speak ill of the dead, Syke." DJ's voice was cold. "I can't get out onto the streets and see the peeps." He continues, deliberately. "But I'll lead on this. We say words in their memory, a service, and commit them to The Tunnel."
Syke just threw his hands out in disgust. "Fine with me."
A shrug from Archer. "If we're going to give them The Tunnel, lets do it now for fucks sake, then we can at least look to moving onwards. Not fricking back. And back is bad."

Over in the corner, Bones put down some specs and walks away from the panther autopsy, leaving Sparky alone to do what he was best at, without interruptions. Wordlessly, Syke dug out a toolbox and dragged it over to Lorry. He even brought a torch. Lorry shot Syke a slight smile and levered himself up, starting work on fixing the car. As Sparky got on with his examination, and Syke and Lorry tended to the busted front end of their car, the others trekked to the far end of the platform, the wounded Bear making a detour to fetch both bodies. Leandro's goons, who had been staying with his corpse in a belated showing of loyalty and workmanship, appeared with her, and between them the three fixed the dead to the wagon. Pushing them off, DJ and Johnson spoke briefly about the fallen, touching words on both parts; the grief was palpable as the wagon was sent on into the dark.
"May the trains take them before the ferals do." Nikel, under his breath, summing up the thoughts of all. With the funeral over, DJ beckoned over both Archer and Bones, and shortly thereafter the two left the Sub without a word. Everyone else just prayed the rain kept falling and the city stayed quiet.

***

Later that day, and neither Archer nor Bones had yet returned and there was still no sign of Miles either. Sparky was still engrossed in his robotic autopsy. The Goons were milling about, not sure what to do with themselves, and becoming Enforcers by default in the process. Nikel was posted outside - as a weather guide and tasked with general scouting of the immediate vicinity. Over by the car, where Lorry and Syke were just about finishing up re-working the engine, Johnson approached, slowly. Tossing Johnson the half-empty stim tube, Syke stood up.
"Your drugs are crap, Dick." A moment of pause. "She was a damn crazy bitch, wasn't she?"

"Spare me the wisecracks, Syke. I'm really not in the mood." Inclining his head slightly, the ex-Suit relented. "Crazy wasn't the word"
Syke shook his head slowly. "Probably not. Okay, Van, that poor vehicle isn't magically turning into a spaceship today. You should stop, really."
Lorry looked up. "All done. It'll run, for a while longer at least. And if I did turn it to a spaceship you'd just crash it again Syke."
Johnson sighed "At least he has a darn focus now. Listen you two - you're the best double act we have. Need you to work closely. DJ is gonna take lead for now, but we need a face on the streets, and you two fit. Damn, none of the plebs are gonna want to mess with Lorimer here, and you'll be as good a match for any skirmishing Panther bastards as any."
Still blinking at Lorry's non-sequitur, Syke turned back to Johnson. "Yeah, fine, been itching to get out there myself..."
The ex-suit nodded at Syke. "And remember what we talked about before. Corp involvement here is certain. Don't think for a second that the attack was not connected to that murder you witnessed."
Syke simply returned the nod. To Lorry he said "ready to roll then, Spaceman Delusional?"
"Sure," Lorry replied, "but this time I drive, okay?"
Syke rolled his eyes, muttering. "You run over one big-ass robocat, you'll never hear the end of it." With that he climbed into the car, gleefully slamming the door entirely too hard.
Nikel appeared again. "Rain has stopped, trouble sure to follow," he grumbled.
"I fucking hope so," Syke grinned. "Okay, Semi, the speedy pedal is that one, the breaky one... nevermind. Go!" Lorry jumped into the driver's side of car, calling Markus, who jumped into the back.
Johnson scowled. "Go to it. I'll get the Goons to watch DJ as I take Nikel and scout some myself. Archer and Bones should be back soon, hopefully with Miles in tow. Lets just hope the town stays controllable, eh?" Tapping the roof of the car twice over the driver's door he waved them off, and Lorry threw the car into gear, reversing out the way he had nudged in, and spinning it around expertly to head off back up the tunnel to the surface.

***

The car pulled off, emerging out into the drizzle; they were on a routine patrol, where being seen to be out and active was paramount. The streets were, thankfully, still quiet, though with the precipitation now reasonable rather than unhealthy there were a few shapes visible here and there, huddling along, going about their business as the residents of gangland do. A few blocks later Lorry suddenly stepped on the brakes and the car came to a rapid stop; Syke was abruptly slammed into the windshield.
"What the fuck are you on about?"
"Just testing the brakes. I need to know they work" Lorry replied as he got the car up to speed again.
"Me and my swelling forehead are so happy for you."
"Sorry about the accident..."
Syke just snorted. "You think Dick's on the level? Bastard's good under the pressure, I'll give him, but he knows too much. Oh, why am I asking you."
"Sure why ask me? I'm just the guy with the big muscles." Lorry leveled his usual glare at Syke.
Unfazed, Syke continues. "My point exactly. Just saying, he's a dodgy one. Knew something like the Mad Suit was afoot, but vague on the details. Don't like it," Syke paused before continuing. "Like he's still connected to Uptown shit. But how'd that work? Should probably sweep his place for long-range comm gear or net plugs..."
Lorry started to retort, "Yeah..." but then just forgot what he was saying, attentive stare focused back on the slick, wet road. Clogged drains had caused huge puddles to build on both sides of the street and Syke's monologue was punctuated by occasional splashes as the car ploughed through the standing water.
"Really, what kind of fucking game is he playing? Tip us a vague warning, just to get us on edge, then... what? Oh, hey, what if HE disabled our cams and let the fucking cybercat in. I dunno-" Syke suddenly banged his fist on the dashboard. "All right, Dumptruck, turn this piece of junk around. I think we need to have words with the smarmy little turd."
As Lorry spun the car around he yelled at Syke "Watch the dashboard. It's still loose."
"Oh, shut up you big vehicle-humping, muscle-sack yuuuuuh?"
The car swung, skidding on the wet surface and going into a less controlled spin as Lorry momentarily lost control. Suddenly there was a loud bang, and a tire blew out, crippling the large man's efforts to correct the skid. Still spinning, the car careered towards the curb, where it smacked into a dumpster and halted in a deep, fetid, drain-block puddle.

Lorry let go of the wheel and started to get out. "Not a word."
Another loud bang punctuated his sentence, and the left-side window cracked. Markus yelped and growled; clearly the tire was no accident. Syke, not entirely with it, mildly concussed and stimmed to the eyeballs, burst out laughing.
"Come on... its just too..."
Another noise, more of a fizzle this time, accompanied by a loud curse. Not everything was going right for their unseen assailants. Syke finally snapped out of it and dove from the vehicle.
"Are there bastards shooting at us fucking again?"
Lorry made it out on the right side of the car, taking cover behind the vehicle. As he did a projectile sailed over the car, skittering away into the road and fizzling out in the murky water covering the surface. A flash of movement from the pavement indicated there were figures in the alley preparing something.
Taking cover best as he could, Syke hissed to Lorry. "Do something! Sic your dog on 'em, outflank, just... I'll keep 'em busy."
Lorry nodded in response, looking around before doing his best to sneak towards the alleyway. Raising his voice, Syke called out.
"Enforcers! Put down your damn hardware or you assholes are in for a world of pain."
Shouts of alarm were the only initial reply, as the attackers spotted Lorry and Markus making their way around the car, then there was a curse, the voice oddly familiar. Realising he had been spotted, Lorry released Markus and willed his long legs to get up to speed in order to close in on the attackers. Staying behind, scrambling for a tire iron, a torch, anything, Syke grinned.
"Pity the fool who hurts a vehicle-humper's vehicle."
Another scream from the attackers, more mean and full of intent this time, and the two figures near the mouth of the alleyway yelled obscenities at the approaching brute, lobbing the last of their home-made explosives as they did. A flash of light from the torch Syke found in his scrabbling played across the alley, revealing a third figure pounding feet to ground to escape down the passage. His partners, more fully illuminated, are wearing black, stylised, too good for the general population down here, but not good enough for Uptown. They were wearing Panthers' colours. The panicked throws missed Lorry by a way, though Markus instinctively jumped to catch one in his jaws. The other skipped wide, skimming away down the pavement and exploding harmlessly, sending garbage flying. Markus yelped, teeth closing around what he realised was explosives just in time to soften the clamping of jaws. Luckily it was another dud, and the dog simply spat out the canister, growling and leaping at the thrower.
"Oh come on," yelled Syke, "that one had to be a dud? You guys just suck." Lorry adding the full stop as he punched the other Panther hard. Both assailants were downed quickly by Lorry's large fists, with the slight help from Markus keeping them busy; meanwhile Syke set off chasing the third attacker, torchlight flickering ahead.
"Come back here and answer to the Flashlight of Justice you fuck!" But even at full pace Syke couldn't keep up and it became clear that this perp was going to break free. The few seconds delay whilst Lorry had closed on the two bombers had been enough for their companion to leg it, and reach the far end of the alley - a coverage of distance that was barely comprehensible. Out of breath, Syke returned to the scene of the scuffle.
"Ridiculously speedy. Did fucking Miles turn on us too?"
"Why don't you ask these when if they wake up?" The two beaten into submission by Lorry are down, both out cold.
"Best ... thing... you've said ever," huffs Syke. "Let's haul the trash back to base, then?"
Lorry dragged the two men to the car, "Sure, and I could even let you drive. Seems it doesn't matter." With little trouble the Enforcers loaded their unconscious captives into the back seats of the car, Markus jumping in eagerly, yapping at them.
"Some days, no," grins Syke. "Hey, rust-mutt. You can eat them, just save enough for a chat."

The drive back to the Sub was un-eventful, somehow the streets have seen little action, maybe folks were too scared to emerge, or perhaps the news of the deaths at the top hadn't circulated all that well. Either way, the biggest trouble was the burst tire making handling tricky, and the wear on the wheel rims. Even the rain had stopped altogether, and the route back was via the better roads with less standing water and more drainage. On hauling their perps into Holding, it soon became clear that all the squad had seen skirmishes, all bar the Goons, Bear, Sparky and DJ, who never left the HQ. Thankfully all had their stories of victory to go with it, but the news was ill: Panthers, every one. Perhaps as worrying, neither Archer nor Bones had word on Miles, still absent, still unseen. No body, no sign. Still the dark mood prevailed. A leader lost, an Enforcer dead, and now the 'hood under some kind of assault. The Panthers, it seemed, were moving in for the kill.

Rumours of the Sprawl

2006-05-07T23:40:00.001+01:00

I've not had a chance to drop by and elaborate on any of the background, setting etc. since I started this, but in terms of general things that might give a little insight into the thought processes I offer this collection of "in-setting" rumours jotted down before we began.

"Them Ferals, they's catching. Don't let one bite you, else that's your fate. If it were me, I'd take a gun to me own head rather than suffer that..."

"Them ferals are stealing our women. They rape 'em, and nurse the seed. Shuddering thought, eh - but why're all the women you know tryin' to look like blokes? - think about it..."

"There are two types of ferals - sheep, and wolves. If you meet one, you'd best pray its a sheep."

"Those Amazons - fearsome bunch. Give any man a hiding. I hear they're the survivors - those what have birthed ferals."

"Those Amazon women - government stooges, at that."

"The ferals are disease ridden - but it ain't natural diseases they carry. Bloody Suits want to kill us all."

"There are crazy people out there. They say the trees matter!"

"Them Paarkas are mad... they'll blow something up some day."

"I hear a revolution is underway... Suits shafted by Corps and their robocops!"

"The suits and corps are going off-world" and "They'll blow the place when they go."

"There's a 2-headed freak out there, heads a family of freakish ferals..."

"Government are creating new crosses. Gators, I hear. Toothy bastards..."

This might make a couple of things slightly clearer. The events take place in the context of a balkanised "gangland" sandwiched between the central Sprawl that typifies cyberpunk or urban horror and the more delapidated, less inhabited areas. The typical "megacorp" omnipresent in such works is not yet established. Suits are government - still in official control, and Corps are business lackeys, gaining in political influence and audacity. The Feral Zone is made up of heathland and dead urban or faux-rural areas, unoccupied by gangs; what is left of the countryside is now home to things unwelcome in more built up regions.

The basic idea is more gene-punk than cyberpunk. Borrowing heavily in inspirational terms from many such sources - RPGs, TV shows, music and literature. Some of these idea roots may shine through, others will just be in my thoughts. Some more detailed exposition on some specific influences and tropes or favoured aspects of setting may be forthcoming but for now this is all I have time to supply.

Episode 2

2006-05-07T21:11:00.001+01:00

About a week had passed since the "accident" had happened and Dogtown had been busy in the aftermath - the crew, and every other bloody peon in the sector, stripping the car to nothing and grabbing anything of value or use. The general air in the crew was uneasy - no-one was happy that Uptown geezers had chosen this patch, their patch, for such an act, for their killings. I.D. had been found on the dead guy - his name had been James Mason, not that that meant anything to anyone down here. Or if it did, they were not saying. He had been a government employee; some low-priority bureaucrat who shovelled more shit in a day than a downtown sewer rat, so what the hell could be so important someone would kill him over it, and why had he been out in the gangland ghettoes?

It all made folks nervous, but life went on and there had thankfully been no further sign of the piece-wielding maniac killer. Life was just about getting back to normal when word went round, quick as all hell: Leandro had called a meet. Now, it was time. Kid was coming to the Sub and everyone - everyone - was requested in attendance. The platforms had been cleared of their normal shit, and the plank bridge placed in position. It had been raised to provide the leader with a platform, provided he didn't mis-step. The Goons, his guards, entered first and the Enforcers in residence began filing out of their cracks, filling the space and joking uneasily. Such meetings were rare.

Syke strolled in at an "I-can't-be-bothered" pace, walking with his nose in a book. He sat down at the edge of the crowd, and kicked his feet up on a broken crate. As usual when there was a crowd, Lorry took up a position at the back with Markus. Johnson glanced across - giving Syke a half smile and a curt nod to Lorry. Then a sharp whistle; Sweet, grabbing everyone's attention and pointing to the stairs. Leandro appeared then, walking unaided for once, but gratefully accepting the bodyguard's hand when offered as he neared the platform edge. Strolling across to the makeshift stage, the Dogtown Crew's leader was ominously quiet, giving naught but a sightless smile. Once in position, however the young leader sprang to charismatic life.

"Ladies and gentlemen. Thank you all for assembling on such short notice. No doubt you are all wondering why I have seen fit to call you here..."
Syke stifled a snort and muttered to himself. "Great, chief's been at the Whodunnits again."
"As I'm sure you're aware," Leandro continued straight on, "the accident last week was no such thing. It looks like having," he pauses, "grave consequences for us in Dogtown." Leandro stopped again then; turning to face Syke, he almost smiled but just stared instead, as if willing quiet. A couple of sarcastic groans and chuckles arose from others assembled at Syke's remark and his rebuke.
Unpurturbed, their leader started again. "We gained good salvage, true, but the unmasking of the John Doe as a Suit is a detail that can only bring trouble. So far there are mere rumours - nothing to worry us all, really.
"However," he sighed at this point. "Word travels fast on the street. Other gangs are getting nervous. Touchy. It is for this reason that I have called this meet. This afternoon I received a communication from the Panthers' primarch. He requested a formal meet."

A ripple went through the assembled Enforcers - such meets were rare, strictly emergencies only. Getting tired of standing up, Lorry walked over to the crate on which Syke had his feet and nods at his partner to move them. Sighing, Syke complied.

Leandro went on. "I have, naturally, aquiesced. I saw no reason at this juncture to refuse and risk relations going sour. It would appear that they are worried about the fall-out from the death of a Suit on gang turf, concerned about reprisals - especially as they are themselves closer to the Sprawl. Our position here is somewhat tenuous. We need to maintain good relations in the wake of these events lest some unscroupulous enemy sell us out as the vehicle of his death, given it occurred on our land. Such a toll we could not survive."
"What does this have to do with us?!" Archer, of all people, piped up.
Syke promptly put down his book, and nodded appreciatively. "I was going to say that, but you'd stunned me with those thousand-credit words, chief."
Leandro faced Archer, his sightless eyes finding hers unerringly. "My dear Enforcers, this involves you most intimately. I need you - all of you - to arrange a security detail. It would not do for our guest to suffer anything at all on our turf, and we cannot allow him to bring a sizable retinue less the masses mistake it for a War." Again he eyed Syke without sight before continuing. "A thousand credits. As if any of us shall ever see as much. Nonetheless, such a value is at stake; our very existance cannot be priced, hmm?"
Syke remained impassive. "Not arguing that, chief. So, what's the game plan?"

Leandro stepped down off the stage, turning to leave. At the bottom of the steps he glanced back.
"I was hoping that between you and Sweet something adequate would emerge." He span to face the Enforcers again. "Suffice to say he arrives in the morning; you will be ready. Send me guidelines. Goodnight."
Then, as quickly as he had arrived, Leandro - this time with more aid from his bodyguards - was gone. The tumult of exasperation was not slow to rise.
Lorry turns to Syke, said simply "Sweet..." and sighed; while Syke ignored Lorry, it was evident he shared the sentiment.
"Fuck this for a game of soldiers!" Miles, as mouthy as ever, "who does he think we are, Corp Sec?"
"Shut it Miles, you damn idiot" yawned Sweet, standing slowly from her position near the archway to the sleeping quarters. "Seems you and me have some talking to do, Syke." An evil-smelling breath emitted as she punctuated the sentence with a barked laugh.
"And you'll do it right here," said DJ, wheeling himself out of his office onto the platform. We all figure in this, so lets keep things tight; friendly, eh?"
Lorry stood up. "You know Miles, it's Us against Them. It has always been. The Suits don't see any difference between Panthers or us."
Miles just rolled his eyes in response, saying nothing. Wit can desert anyone in the face of such odds, and Lorry... Lorry was big odds for a shortarse like Miles.
Syke gazed briefly at Lorry, possibly marginally impressed. Then, "alright, Blondie Butch. If you can keep your yapping mutts on a leash, I guess we can let them play."
"Ditto, Smartmouth," came the retort, and the sussuration of chuckles and remarks circled through both squads as their two leads converged to begin the process of hammering out a viable plan.

The process took them well into the night, but when done all present were happy with the results. Sweet's squad would do the bodyguarding - gathering around the visiting Panthers on the ground, while Syke had responsibility for securing the area and intercepting any threats before they became real issues. The plan was set, and the realities of the situation were to be dealt with as they arrived. Sparky wired the basics over to Leandro, and got a quick response - adequate; it would do. All set, the Enforcers collectively went for kip. The next day would be dull, fucking dull; unless something did happen, in which case it would just be a goddamn nightmare.

Early the next morning, Sweet's squad were already in position. Johnson and Sparky were wired to cameras around the old incinerator building that served as Leandro's HQ, and to mics fixed to headsets worn by Sweet and Syke. Sweet was the turf escort, too, out on her bike guiding the Panther's car to the meet. Syke was walking the grounds, yelling at people, occasionally trying to insult Sweet into a road accident over the headset.
"You!" He pointed at Lorry. "Big block of rotten cement. Two rules. No starting a brawl with the Yokel Kittens. And anyone who's not supposed to be here shows, you sit on them and call for backup. Clear?" Lorry simply nodded and forwarded the words to Markus.
"Carrot!" Syke continued, "no triggering the devious traps. Run on the spot if you can't fucking stand still for three seconds."
Stood by the door, awaiting the soon-to-arrive car, Miles just grinned back at Syke and started to exaggeratedly jog on the spot.
"Good boy! Alright, Operation Murphy has - as our esteemed blind freak of a chief would say - commenced. Don't fuck it up."

From high overhead, Archer raised a salute with her crossbow. The car was on its final approach and the time to take up positions was at hand. A crackle over the headsets.
"Alright people, Johnson here. Get ready, and stay alert. We got eyes, but no ears."
The two squads spread out, taking up pre-arranged positions. Slowly the car, with Sweet as escort, turned into the street and meandered its way to the main entrance of the incinerator complex. It stopped with its rear doors level with the entrance, no further movement. Sweet pulled her bike over behind the car and dismounted, approaching the guests' vehicle slowly and deliberately.
Syke got on the line. "Now, Princess, I know it'll be hard, but try not to breathe on them, okay?"
Sweeet reached the door, opened it, and stepped back. She curtseyed - a frightening sight - and then allowed space for the visitors to exit the car. Two of them got out. Sweet looked on edge - probably Syke's comment as much as anything else. The two Panthers - elegantly dressed in black, velvety overcoats; strange they could find such quality in gangland - nodded briefly at their escort. Sweet motioned with her left hand and Miles and Bear stepped forward, the short scout taking up a point position and Bear moving to behind the guests. As the Panthers passed her, Sweet discretely flipped Syke the finger, then fell in step with them; the five moved forward and disappeared into the building.
"Easy, girlie, your Dick will get jealous," crackles Syke's audibly grinning voice over the radio.
A voice, Sweet. "Alright, we're inside, safe."
The response, "We see ya, love" from Johnson.

A flash of light as Archer Signalled the all clear.
"I'll take a stroll with Markus, just to be sure." Lorry began to walk away, Markus barking impatiently when he realized he was let loose.
"Right..." Lorry walked of in the direction the car was coming from. Moving away to the north, partrolling the perimeter of the building, the burly Enforcer and his canine pal wandered slowly, watching for trouble. Behind him, Bones and Nikel took up residence at the doorway. A constant, dull, stream of comments streamed over Syke's headset; the gang leaders had met and were shaking hands. Reaching the corner, Lorry checked, turned and started back southwards. At the door Nikel stirred, rubbing his metal jaw. Bones shifted, looking off to the south.

Lorry returned to where Syke was stood, shaking his head. "Most exciting that Markus found was the garbage bins."
Sweet's voice, commanding. "Alright you bastards, look alive. Leandro is coming out with them - they'll chat in the car. Seems the Panthers want to visit the crash site."
Syke waved dismissively. "Our 'adequate' rating is going in the toilet. Get the damn car, Steamroller." Swearing under and over his breath, Syke continued. "Everyone get mobile. This is now Operation Our-Leader-Is-An-Idiot."
Lorry strode across the road to where the car was parked, got in and turned, pulling over at the entrence.
"Someone called for a cab?"

The expected caustic response did not come. Instead, as Lorry parked up, Bones shouted in alarm, pointing southwards. "Ferals, damn them..."
Following his finger. the Enforcers could see a brace of shapes; huddled, scuttling, naked.
Syke stopped and turned. "Fuck. Princess, get the bigwigs clear."
"Affirmative, Syke. We'll cover their route, if you can deal with the threat here."
"Oh, I'd better, or we'll never consummate our forbidden-"
A flash, and something skipped off the asphalt near the two advancing ferals. Archer's curse was audible even down on the street.
Syke looks up. "Since when do you fucking miss, Archer?"
Suddenly the door to the incinerator exploded outward and Sweet pushed through with Miles, Bear and the gangland diplomats behind; they headed straight for the car. On the rooftop, Archer looked down, shrugged. She was re-loading. On the coms - she'd been wired in, too - "No-one's perfect, Syke."
Lorry shoved Markus into the back of the car. "You stay here. It is dangerous out there," he said as he clambered out of the vehicle.
Snapping out of his inactivity, Syke turned to his partner. "Put the damn wheels to use! Vehicular manslaughter, like!" But Lorry was already out, engine cooling.
Bones and Nikel had taken up defensive crouches, bats raised. Archer raised her bow again, and this time aimed true. The scream emitted by the feral as her bolt took it through the right bicep was harrowing. Lorry gave Bones an angry glare as he snatched his bat.
"Better let the pros handle this."
The smaller man offered no resistance "Lorimer, it's all yours, mate. Not my bag at all." He stepped aside, letting Lorry past, then crossed the road heading for the Sub, and the barriers.

Watching Lorry charge, Syke smirked into the mic as he radioed Sweet. "One down, one to get run over by Dumptruck. And I love you too. How are our VIPs?"
The only reply from Sweet was the sound of her bike's engine warming up. A vocal response came though. Johnson.
"VIPs are getting clear, but guys we've got trouble inside. Two cams just died and it ain't Sparky's wiring that fried them."

Lorry swung the bat hard, hitting the already wounded Feral with all his might. The sight was sickening as the head was left hanging loose by few threads of flesh.
Exasparated, Syke yelled, "No, not THAT one, idiot!"
As if in mocking answer, the second feral emitted a howl and flashed out a limb at the large assailant, its long, fetid nails scraping the side of Lorry's face.
"Aaargh, you son of a ... feral! " Lorry screamed, run dry on witticisms for the day.
"Look the hell out!" yelled Syke, from the as-yet safe sidelines. "Sorry, Dick, bit busy. Cams down? That's not fucking ferals."
Johnson's voice continued over the coms. "Shit, a third eye blind - something's gutting the HQ!"

The sound of charges going off inside the incinerator caused everyone to jump a bit; everyone but Lorry, who was busy smashing the head off the second feral, its form simply crumpling under his brutal assault.
Syke whirled around, trying to get a bead on the noise. "Metalhead! Check it. Archer, cover. Dumptruck's got the... ugh."
"Which one...idiot?" Lorry responded. The two ferals lay smashed at his thuggish feet.
Trying not to puke, Syke nodded at Lorry. "Knew there was a reason we kept you around."
Nikel was already through the door into the incinerator, but his voice carried just fine.
"Fucking..." He ducked back out as quickly as he had run in, diving to the ground. Archer's shot flew over his head as he fell, nailing a large bestial form, dropping it there and then.

The car holding Leandro and the Panthers in had stopped; in fact it had hardly pulled away at all, and the driver was climbing out. Johnson's voice then came screaming but unintelligible through the headset, followed by Sweet's, hers more calmly and with her engine now shutting down as she skidded her bike round.
"The driver, he's packing!"

As he spotted the panther-beast, Syke's eyes went wide.
"Princess! Get the chief out of there with extreme fucking prejudice. It's a set-up!"
"No shit, Sherlock" Sweet's words were spat out, and accompanied by a cracking sound.
Beyond swearing, Syke jumped into the squad car's driver seat and revved the engine. Lorry ran to the car too, pressing in through the door as the engine started. Johnson, sounded off again, calmer now or simply more intelligible.
He was Incensed: "A fucking double-cross. Archer tag that fucking driver. Now!"
In the chaos, Syke still spared a glance towards Archer's position. Then, yelling at Nikel, "move, Metalhead!"

The huge panther reared itself, roaring in pain and rage from the arrow through its chest. It snarled as the pair clambered into their vehicle, the small car about the same size as the beast.
"Alright, then, you overgrown hairball," snarled Syke, putting the vechicle in gear. "This is what was known as a game of chicken."
Suddenly realizing what Syke is up to, Lorry braced himself for the coming impact. Gleefully, Syke stomped on the gas, causing the car to leap forward and slam into the panther-beast, and moments later, the brick doorframe. Trapped between car and wall, the creature flailed sharp claws across the hood and windscreen, splintering the glass with its dying spasms while the vehicle pressed forward grinding its bones to splinters. Eventually, it fell silent. Two meters behind the car, Nickel - still flat on the ground - appeared unharmed, having passed between the wheels. (Syke would later claim he drove safely over Nikel on purpose. Nobody believes he's that good a driver). Nikel looked up, shaken massively by Syke's reckless act and quivering on the floor; the remains of his baseball bat, fractured by the weight of the car, going limp in his hands. He helds his head up for a second, then wilted, the clang as his re-inforced jaw smacked the street startled everyone to life again.

Lorry yelled at Syke, "Great, you killed it!" A pause, "you idiot!"
Turning unsteadily to face Lorry, Syke muttered "and that's how to play... What?"
Lorry continued, ranting. "I ran into close combat with those flesh beasts that I had to hit with a bat over and over again so that our car would still be a car." His shouting was punctuated by Markus' barking from the back seat. The sound of a gunshot fired broke over the tumult.
"Oh shit," came Johnson's voice. "Sweetheart, you alright?"
Archer, reloaded and trigger-happy had downed the driver of the Panthers' car; inside the vehicle a scrap was ongoing, blood smearing the rear windscreen. Sweet was nowhere to be seen, and the coms were strangely quiet. Johnson, no longer mic'ed, emerged from the Sub at a sprint. Syke stumbles out of the driver's seat, blood on his forehead. Taking in the scene, he snaps at Lorry.
"Fine, we'll subtract one paint job from the umpty-twelve things you owe me... I... think I need to sit down." With difficulty, Lorry clambered out of the car with no visible injury. As Syke sanks to the ground, next to Nickel, Lorry managed a quizzical look at Johnson.

The doors of the car which had brought the murderous Panthers clicked open and bloodied figures tumbled out; Bear, recognisible but hurt, followed by the two Panthers dignitaries. One figure remained seated in the car: Leandro. Unmoving. Johnson reached the car then, not stopping. Instead he ran on past, to where Sweet had last been seen, then let out a baleful cry.
"Oh fuck," muttered Syke, trying and failing to get back on his feet as things unfolded before his eyes. Then, feebly, "Lorry, go."
Outside the confines of the car, Bear's ursine strength was soon enough for her to overpower and subdue the two remaining killers. The gentle giant had tears in her eyes, and her foes were beaten into unconsciousness, but alive. Bones and Sparky, aware of the scale of events, re-emerged from the Sub, clearly worried. Only Miles was missing now, nowhere in sight. Bones headed towards where Syke and Nikel lay, glancing down long enough to check they both lived, out of danger. His interest however lay in the beast - pinned between wall and car. Sparky looked round, eyes wide, disbelieving; all he could do was shake his head.

With Markus following, Lorry went over to check on Leandro and the others. Plodding towards the vehicle, the gravity of the situation dawned quickly. Bear was hurt bad but alive, whilst Johnson was bent over the figure of Sweet, his lover a crumpled mess, bent double by a fatal shot to the chest. With trepidation, he glanced inside the car, confirming the worst.

Leandro, while not yet dead, was bleeding out on the back seat, pinned in place by a long, thin blade and seemingly paralyzed; consciousness had long since left him.

Lorimer - Accidents happen

2006-04-30T19:12:00.000+01:00

This is one of the main characters named Lorimer.

Hi my name is Lorimer, or good 'ol Lorry as people tend to say. I like fixing trucks, cars and anything mechanical. It's from my past life as a Worker. Now since the accident, nothing is really like before. But I like it, I have to, it's my life.

The accident you ask? Well, I rather not talk about that. As everyone knows, the life as a Worker has one important keyword in it; money. I lacked on that bit, people are not that fond of plain old cars anymore. So I saw this ad' in the local paper; it had written money all over it. Well, I've got nothing to loose I though and went. And well do I have to say that I never did get the money, nor did it do anything good? I let my body speak for itself, heck, it even speaks for others these days. An old friend of mine, back from when Workers and the Gangs were a bit more close, took me in. Nowhere to go, business shut down. I mean, who would hire a man with defects? So I accepted the life in the gang. Eventually the close friend also had an accident. A 20 inch bar "accidentally" hit him on the head over and over again. Now I was sick of accidents so that's how I got into this Enforcer business.

If I ever want to go back? A tough question. Somehow the crowd here isn't as fake as the yuppies or whatnot I served in the shop. So, no, I think life is okay here. No intention going back at this point.

How would I describe myself? A bully by size, mechanics by hand, friendly by heart. Fond of cars, hates electronics, computerized stuff.
Don't smoke, not afraid of getting hands dirty. Single.

"I hope you keep on my good side. I'd hate if some accident would happen to you."

Episode 1

2006-04-30T14:02:00.000+01:00

It's a chill, clear night. Well, as clear as it ever is out here on the fringes of the sprawl. Just another bloody patrol night. Routine as hell, and about as fun. The car runs nicely, no signs of trouble and out here on the north eastern edge of the turf that's both unusual, and welcome. Suddenly however, Markus starts yapping in the back. Yapping, barking... this dog only does that when his nose catches a scent. 'Coptors were just visible between the factories, lights flashing this way and that over the sprawl below - a strange sight; normally the sort who can afford air travel don't give two shits what goes on out here. This is dead land. The fringe. Almost feral. But not damn quite. Markus was getting really agitated, and it was not the stench of the refuse strewn street.

"You mind shutting up the junkie mutt before I throw it out the window," snaps Syke, turning his head from the flashing lights.
Lorry turns his head to look at Markus. "What's the matter boy?"
The dog yelps back. Lorry turns his head back to face Syke. "Stop the car, something's going on."
With a disgusted look, Syke complies. "What?"

As the car stops, Markus leaps. Too keen, far too keen, to race down a dingy alley lined with overflowing garbage cans, and rife with puddles that could put a skunk to shame.
Lorry walked slowly into the alley, following the dog, then turned back, "Syke, get a flashlight."
"You have got to be kidding." Syke watches the dog go, shrugs and pulls two flashlights from the glove compartment.
"Damn. These alleys aren't really the prettiest.", Lorry steps over some tilted garbage cans. "Where is that light?!" He turns and looks back toward Syke.
"Here," mutters Syke, handing one over. "This means you owe me... how many now? Twelve?" Under his breath he continued, "that's a big number a ways after two."

Lorry mutters something that can't be heard, takes the flashlight and headed off; flashlight beam playing across the alleyway, Syke followed. The two enforcers start down the alley, torches lighting the way enough for the fouler puddles to be skirted, not stamped in. Markus was a good way ahead but just about visible towards the far end, where the alley apparently turned a corner. Progressing steadily, but not overly cautiously, the enforcers moved further down the alley, away from the road. A splash at their feet; just another bloody rat. Something had knocked over one of the garbage cans here, typically fetid, and the spill had left medical waste all over the alley. Too bad the incinerator had closed down well before the hospital. Markus has disappeared around the corner now, but his bark, sudden and urgent reaches back around with clarity.

"Oh no, we couldn't get a cockroach as a mascot. Had to be a goddamn speed freak mutant OW!" The tirade is cut short as Syke collides with his colleague, who had stopped suddenly to examine something dreadful and smelly.
"Watch your steps fool!" Lorry's response. "Someone is here I think, and my boy got him." Lorry gives Syke a glare.
"Fine, but you owe me a nose graft. Let's see what the son of a bitch's dug up, then."

As if on cue, a shout of alarm is heard from up ahead, along with more barking, much more agitated than normal. Pounding feet to reach the bend, Lorrry rounds it, Syke on his heels. Markus, maybe fifty feet on, is growling at, barking at and otherwise generally harassing a couple of dodgy looking street thugs. The further of the two figures looks up at the new arrivals, drawing something from his jacket. By his extravagent pink hat, and copious bling, this bastard is recognisible alright - Bo'Geo. Markus must've picked up on a deal going down. The other man is unrecognisable, but fear is writ large on his face. Coming to a rapid halt, Syke curses the universe in general and canines in particular.

"Dumptruck!" the smaller enforcer hisses, "call off the critter and let's just..."
Cursing, the dealer yells "Fuck you, bastards. Can't a man make a goddamn living without being hassled every fucking step?!" His arms flailing to keep Markus off him, he looks far from composed.
The larger of the two enforcers yells at the dog , "Down boy!" but Markus doesn't respond, still yapping at the dealer, the scent of something evidently powerful.
"Hey Bogie," Syke calls, "whatcha got there? Haven't seen the mutt this excited since he sniffed Bear's undies." As he says this, Lorry steps up towards the two figures.
Looking up for the meerest second, not trusting Markus not to go for him, the crim replies. "Just a few Spare Parts, an old TASER...."
His buyer, clearly purturbed by Lorry's deliberate approach takes a step back.
Smiling broadly, Syke steps up. "Then you wouldn't mind if we had a look at it" and Lorry holds out a hand waiting for the crim to hand him the merchandise.
Nervously twitching as he is, Bo'Geo's reply that comes slowly, deliberately, seems wrong. "Sure. Just call the dog off, first, eh? I can't get to it with him snapping at my crotch like that"
"Down boy!"

The buyer, now recognisable as a green and clueless street kid, tries to crack a smile but the terror in his eyes belies his true motives, and as soon as he hears Lorry call off the dog he turns to bolt. Unfortunately for him, the other man was waiting for such an opportunity. The TASER in Bo'Geo's right hand goes off the second Markus backs down, striking the kid in the chest as he turns. Even as he fired, the dealer dropped the stun gun, and shoved his mark at the enforcers. Turning, he sprinted for the far end of the alley. All tangled up in dog, perp and each other, the duo stumble and then, gracelessly, fall over in the dirt. There is a pause. Extracting themselves from the pile, the enforcers clamber afoot and set off at full pelt in pursuit, Lorry pausing briefly to scoop up the spent TASER, then trailing the electrodes as he ran. Bo'Geo had a good head start on the pair though, and with nothing but the shit piled either side to impede him, and no sense of a need for cleanliness, he ploughed towards the mouth of the alley and rounded the corner. Moments later the enforcers reach the end of the alley, Markus let loose again and leading them on.

"For. Future. Reference, you big useless lug" Syke starts, " when the dog manages useful, such as grabbing a shifty-looking bastard by the balls..."
The dog is salivating, working up a serious sweat, but poor Markus doesn't seem so focussed all of a sudden. Everyone saw the dealer turn right out of the alley, but there's no damn sign of him now, and Markus seems to be conflicted - perhaps fixing on a second scent.
"... you do NOT tell 'im. To. Back. OFF."
In frustration Lorry throws the flashlight in the ground. "Damn!"
Syke stops, out of breath. "What the everloving fuck?"

After a couple of seconds that seem like an eternity, a yelp confirms Markus had re-established a trail. His barking disturbed their quarry, and a sudden flash of pink from across the street as the uncovered dealer bolts again. Before the two enforcers could react, however, the night was broken by a piercing scream. Nothing around here makes a sound like that, the scream of a seriously powerful engine. A black, shiney, and above all official-looking, car swept around the bend, clearly moving far too fast for safety in this region, and clearly out of control. It screamed past the duo, spraying up shit from a kerb-side puddle into they alley mouth they just left, and once again Syke lands mouth-first in the mud, this time vaguely on purpose. Bouncing off the kerb, the car veered off towards the far side of the street, smashing violently into a doorway surrounded by refuse. The impact crushed the front end, destroying the driver-side door in the process. Splinters of metal flew everywhere, and the din of garbage cans thrown high into the air and crashing down on the street, spraying their foul contents over the area, was immense. Syke looked up from the puddle in time to see the driver's door open and a figure starting to crawl out; covered in blood, the man was all but dead. But most staggering of all - he was wearing a suit.

Another engine roar, and a second car appeared, this one moving almost as fast but absolutely more in control. Also black, also big, expensive and desirable. Corporate. The windows were rolled down, and it was obvious why; the driver was packing a firearm, which he held in a hand still dangling outside the car. On seeing the wreck he pulled up; or rather, pulled over. Without stopping, he proceeded to run over the Suit as he attempted to crawl from the wrecked car; then second car stopped then, suddenly, seemingly caught on the other. From his prone position, Syke motioned for Lorry to get the fuck out of sight. and Lorry shrank back behind a garbage can as a light fell on the twisted cars, a spot from a 'coptor. As it did, the driver looked round, instinctively flinching from the glare. His scarred, goatee-dominated, face a picture of menace and hatred, the driver's flinch left him looking straight out of the window. Right in the direction where the two enforcers were concealed. Markus was still stood in the alleyway, yapping, and the figure turns to inspect the sound, his eyes narrow, and he scans the kurb near the little yappy dog, slowly and deliberately. His eyes settled on Lorry, crouching behind a dustbin that did not hide his bulk, just as the two enforcers sprang out, grabbed the dog and headed back off up the alley apace.

As the two ran, Lorry talks to his dog, "Well, you sure know how to find trouble, don't ya boy?"

Syke was too busy expecting to get shot in the back to even comment. An engine fired behind them, and tyres screeched, the noise then dying away such that all that could be heard were the agitated murmurrings of a crowd sleepily gathering around the crash scene. Returning to the site of the fallen perp, the enforcers found him woozily trying to regain his footing.

"Here's some help kid" Lorry grabbed, and held, him by his jacket.
"Perfect," growls Syke. "Okay, bring along the trash. Let's have a little civilized chat."
Lorry nodded and dragged the kid by his jacket, then looks at Syke. "So, what did ya get out of that?" He paused, "I mean, the 'copter and cars out here."
The dirt-smeared enforcer kept checking over his shoulder with the torch. "Yeah, well... big bad corporate mojo. Ludicrous-to-one says, Dead Driver banged Crazed Driver's squeeze or stole his fucking stock options or something." Syke shrugged. "Dunno 'bout the copters, though. Seems a bit overkill."

Lorry's captive had now shaken off the wooziness from coming round, but the stench of fresh faeces is ripe, and the expression "shitting himself" was more than just figurative. This kid was scared.

Lorry ignored the kid. "I've heard people speaking of some revolution happening. Suits and Corps in war with each other. That might be it?"
"I dunno anything about no resolution man. I w's just after some gear!" A whiney plead, delivered over the bumps and splashes of being drageed along the alley.
"We're almost back at the mobile," Syke commented. "And shit-pants, you stay quiet."
"Look I'm ... " he tailed off, nodding as best his circumstance will allow.
"Sheesh, but you need a good solid acid bath." Syke turned back to Lorry. "Revolution? Nah. Just same old money-grubbing, different people, different weapons."
"I don't get it at all." Lorry answered back, "What do we need the kid for? He seems innocent enough."
"No-one that nervous is innocent. And he annoyed me."
"I swear! I was just after a little...."
Syke raised an eyebrow, something he did fairly well. "A little... what?"
The kid was cut off again as Lorry dragged him across the curb knocking him cold and the two enforcers loaded up their stinking captive into the back of the car, causing Markus to complain. Even the dog found the smell unbearable. The quick trip back to the Sub was uneventful, those few people out at this time all seemed to be headed out towards the hospital.

As they pulled up outside the HQ, they caught Miles setting off on foot at speed, as always.
"Twelve favours, one nose graft and ANOTHER fucking nose graft on account of Stinky Perp," muttered Syke, exiting the vehicle. Leaving Lorry to deal with dog and everything, he chased after Miles.
"Yo! Carrot! Where you heading?"
Miles turned, grinning, "You not heard, shithead?", referring to the muckstained Syke, "Big RTA over by the ol' hospital. Word is it's a Suit been whacked"
"You don't say."
He frowns, "yeah. Wouldn't know anything about it, would you?"
"I'd wager word isn't, Suit was run over by other wacky Suit with a fucking hornet's nest of 'copters buzzing around overhead, and a very pathetic lug trying to hide behind a very small garbage can."
"Saw it, then? Damn it, can't you two ever prioritise? Fucking gear'll all be toast before I get there. Still, needs must" And with that Miles turned and headed off at a sprint.
Syke looked like he was about to make a retort, but it was too late. Instead, turning to Lorry, he said "how's Stinky doing?"
Lorry glared back then answered. "He's fine. Have a talk"
"Finally this night is looking up."

The kid had come round and even settled a bit, clearly relieved not to have been given a proper beating. Then Syke advanced on him, wearing entirely too friendly a smile and an evening's worth of dirt. The kid spilled at the merest chance, some lame first-time buyer who wanted a piece and some solvents to prove he was a man. First time out after curfew, it had been pure chance he had got mixed up in this evening's shenanigans... and probably in his best interests; the scabby little bastard would not do it again. After giving him hell and turning him loose, probably to find the nearest junked jeans he could grab, Syke and Lorry headed back into HQ for the end of shift de-brief. Just inside the upper booth, Sweet's office, the other team lead and her newest recruit, Johnson, were clearly engaged in more than just conversation. Despite that, Johnson seemed to catch Syke's eye as the duo passed the once-operational ticket barriers... was that a wink? Syke and Lorry proceed down, splitting to do their own things - Lorry went off to feed Markus as Syke settled into his office. It's no surprise to Syke when 30 minutes later the new guy knocked, stepped in, and said simply:

"I need a word with you."

In the beginning...

2006-04-30T13:20:00.000+01:00

Hi and welcome to Dogtown.

This is a fictional narrative, born from a creative desire to run an RPG over IRC with a couple of friends. Having promised various people I wouldn't get involved in GMing a tabletop game until I've finished writing my PhD thesis, I needed an alternate outlet for the creative ideas banging around my mind, one that wouldn't take quite as much prep-time or carry the same general workload.

Thankfully when I pitched the idea of an IRC game I got a positive response. It was originally going to be using basic mechanics from the HeroQuest RPG. However, this was quickly dropped and it became a freeform exercise, working purely on the basis of how the three of us trip off each other.

This blog will log the progress of that game as edited into narrative form, and possibly related thoughts. We're just 3 sessions in and on a limited run as one of the other guys is soon moving out of a workable timezone so it may be short and (with luck) sweet.

I'll try to paint a picture of the setting and the cast as we go, but I'll offer up episode #1 as a jumping off point. It's the weakest of the three so far as it was the first IRC session any of us had ever participated in but sets the ball rolling well enough.