11-28-2017, 08:48 PM
A gunfight is raging in an above-ground parking structure on the Westside.
A squadron of Westside Knife-Ear Warriors are hopping from car to car for cover, occasionally able to crack off a shot with a rifle in between sprays of blue plasma bursts from the Orkish gang.
Among the knife-ears is a young elven man with fiery red hair and a high-powered sniper rifle. His name is Radish.
Radish is crouched down behind the wheel of a Toyota Tundra on the second level. The Orks have only breach the perimeter, they are still stuck on the first level trying to fight their way up. If the Orks are able to get control of the parking structure, it would be a free avenue into the Westside.
Radish pivots out from behind the wheel of the Tundra and fires off a shot down to the first level, not wasting time using his scope. He has already ducked down behind the wheel of the Tundra again before the Orks body hits the floor.
He reloads and wonders what the fuck is going on.
***
Weasel, President of the Westside Hufflepunks, is definitely not panicking.
The young punk-rawk witch is storming around the Hufflepunk Hideout with her wand out, her red mohawk bouncing dangerously.
She stops in front of a graffiti painting of a window. Behind the window is a moving sky full of dark grey clouds. She taps the window with her wand and clears her throat.
“Flobberworm,” she says clearly into the window. “I need a report.”
She taps her foot impatiently, but the clouds do not clear.
Weasel is definitely not panicking.
***
Three powerfull gangsters are kneeling around a table in a dojo drinking Klingon tea.
San-Yi lifts his tea with both hands.
Kolgoth the Mighty uses just two fingers.
Shadowkill uses a silly-straw.
A deal has been made; now they are figuring out a price.
“And how much,” San-Yi muses. “Do the Deathblades pull in robbing kids of their lunch money?”
“Not much,” Shadowkill admits. His silence lingers.
San-Yi frowns. “What’s twenty percent of not much?”
Shadowkill leans back and eyes the Floating Lotus boss carefully.
“We don’t make money for the Westside,” says the adolescent gangster finally. “They pay us.”
“Hah!” barks San-Yi. “So what exactly do the Deathblades have to offer in exchange for Lotus training?”
Shadowkill shrugs. “We control the largest patch of territory of any gang in Tier-5.”
“What is the point,” San-Yi says, his head in his hand. “Of controlling territory that you aren’t making money off of?”
Shadowkill grins. “We control the territory, and ‘rent’ it to the Westside. They set up their businesses, and we get paid.”
San-Yi stares at him with an open mouth. “You’re fucking real-estate agents.”
“I know you are, but what am I?” asks Shadowkill pensively as he sips his tea through his silly straw.
“And the only way to rent out the territory-,” San-Yi says with growing horror.
“-is to join the Westside,” Kolgoth states bluntly, his baritone echoing around the tiny tea room.
San-Yi stares at his hands.
“The alternative is to have your back against the wall when the orks come knocking,” Shadowkill says casually. “But if you sign up, what we can offer is twenty percent off any territory in exchange for training the Deathblades.”
San-Yi stares at his hands.
***
In an unmarked van down the street from the dojo, two Imperial investigators are clutching headphones to their ears, listening intently. The two grizzled veterans, their pride as prickly as their stubble, somehow never found the courage to admit their love to each other. The entire Tier-5 gang investigation is actually a seething pool of repressed homosexuality channelled into indiscriminate violence. At least, if you ask the Westside.
“Alright,” comes the coarse voice of San-Yi through the headphones. “Where do I sign?”
The investigators drop their headphones, and scramble for the police radio.
The ensuing raid on the dojo nets fourteen arrests, including two Primes.
Kolgoth the Mighty, President of the Mighty Westside Klingons, is arrested on charges of money laundering, conspiracy to commit money laundering, and racketeering.
President Shadowkill of the Westside Deathblades is arrested on charges of delinquency, violating curfew, possession of a weapon with over 100 OM by a minor, racketeering, and resisting arrest.
San-Yi, President of the Westside Floating Lotus Posse, remains at large.
***
A squadron of Westside Knife-Ear Warriors are hopping from car to car for cover, occasionally able to crack off a shot with a rifle in between sprays of blue plasma bursts from the Orkish gang.
Among the knife-ears is a young elven man with fiery red hair and a high-powered sniper rifle. His name is Radish.
Radish is crouched down behind the wheel of a Toyota Tundra on the second level. The Orks have only breach the perimeter, they are still stuck on the first level trying to fight their way up. If the Orks are able to get control of the parking structure, it would be a free avenue into the Westside.
Radish pivots out from behind the wheel of the Tundra and fires off a shot down to the first level, not wasting time using his scope. He has already ducked down behind the wheel of the Tundra again before the Orks body hits the floor.
He reloads and wonders what the fuck is going on.
***
Weasel, President of the Westside Hufflepunks, is definitely not panicking.
The young punk-rawk witch is storming around the Hufflepunk Hideout with her wand out, her red mohawk bouncing dangerously.
She stops in front of a graffiti painting of a window. Behind the window is a moving sky full of dark grey clouds. She taps the window with her wand and clears her throat.
“Flobberworm,” she says clearly into the window. “I need a report.”
She taps her foot impatiently, but the clouds do not clear.
Weasel is definitely not panicking.
***
Three powerfull gangsters are kneeling around a table in a dojo drinking Klingon tea.
San-Yi lifts his tea with both hands.
Kolgoth the Mighty uses just two fingers.
Shadowkill uses a silly-straw.
A deal has been made; now they are figuring out a price.
“And how much,” San-Yi muses. “Do the Deathblades pull in robbing kids of their lunch money?”
“Not much,” Shadowkill admits. His silence lingers.
San-Yi frowns. “What’s twenty percent of not much?”
Shadowkill leans back and eyes the Floating Lotus boss carefully.
“We don’t make money for the Westside,” says the adolescent gangster finally. “They pay us.”
“Hah!” barks San-Yi. “So what exactly do the Deathblades have to offer in exchange for Lotus training?”
Shadowkill shrugs. “We control the largest patch of territory of any gang in Tier-5.”
“What is the point,” San-Yi says, his head in his hand. “Of controlling territory that you aren’t making money off of?”
Shadowkill grins. “We control the territory, and ‘rent’ it to the Westside. They set up their businesses, and we get paid.”
San-Yi stares at him with an open mouth. “You’re fucking real-estate agents.”
“I know you are, but what am I?” asks Shadowkill pensively as he sips his tea through his silly straw.
“And the only way to rent out the territory-,” San-Yi says with growing horror.
“-is to join the Westside,” Kolgoth states bluntly, his baritone echoing around the tiny tea room.
San-Yi stares at his hands.
“The alternative is to have your back against the wall when the orks come knocking,” Shadowkill says casually. “But if you sign up, what we can offer is twenty percent off any territory in exchange for training the Deathblades.”
San-Yi stares at his hands.
***
In an unmarked van down the street from the dojo, two Imperial investigators are clutching headphones to their ears, listening intently. The two grizzled veterans, their pride as prickly as their stubble, somehow never found the courage to admit their love to each other. The entire Tier-5 gang investigation is actually a seething pool of repressed homosexuality channelled into indiscriminate violence. At least, if you ask the Westside.
“Alright,” comes the coarse voice of San-Yi through the headphones. “Where do I sign?”
The investigators drop their headphones, and scramble for the police radio.
The ensuing raid on the dojo nets fourteen arrests, including two Primes.
Kolgoth the Mighty, President of the Mighty Westside Klingons, is arrested on charges of money laundering, conspiracy to commit money laundering, and racketeering.
President Shadowkill of the Westside Deathblades is arrested on charges of delinquency, violating curfew, possession of a weapon with over 100 OM by a minor, racketeering, and resisting arrest.
San-Yi, President of the Westside Floating Lotus Posse, remains at large.
***
![[Image: V4Dvvfy.gif]](https://i.imgur.com/V4Dvvfy.gif)