Arbiter
31-05-05, 04:49
Factionnews reintroduced
by Barry Pepper
Although our new system for presenting the Neocronicle is still not finished, we already want to re-introduce the faction news we offered some time ago. But we need your support, dear reader, to keep that service alive: Send us YOUR news to neocronicle@neocron.com. Our deadline is usually friday night. So make sure you have submitted your news in time to be published in our next issue.
The new gangs of Neocron
by Grimm "Snotrag" Grimesby
Don't mind me so much, guys. I'm still new to this "regular honest job" thing. I've still got a big dent in my ass from where the copbot hauled off on me for pissing on his boots in Pepper Park. Unintentionally, of course. I doubt I'd be alive to speak of it if it wasn't. Anyways, before he hauled me off to join the "Irregulars", a Neocronicle editor on her way home took notice. Managing to get the copbot to stop for a minute, she offered me a proposition. Help out the Neocronicle, stay alive from the lack of "cannon fodder" roles. It wasn't really something I could refuse.
Anyways, as it turns out, the Neocronicle reporters have been leery of going into Pepper Park lately, and I'm the one with an "in". Wonderful. No lack of "cannon fodder" roles, eh? Bah. Ahem. Back to the article. A week after the Neocronicle gave me a reporter's card and enough cash to buy myself a trenchcoat and some Preacher's Choices to fill the pockets with, I get a call from the Boss. That's right. Barry Pepper himself. I may be a street urchin at heart, but I still know who butters my toast nowadays. After a nerve-wracking trip in the Subway, my cab managing to speed ahead of a roving gang of anarchists flinging grenades at the subway tracks, I come out in Plaza Two and hurry towards the NEMA HQ building. Hoo, nice place. I can't see why Tangent and CityAdmin gave up their secondary sites here.
This being the first time since NEMA took it over, I had to ask an employee there, who then points me upwards and goes in this unintelligble drawl, " EE's awp dere. Jasst yake da draft eft". Good Crahn. Is this what passes for good communications skills here at the Neocronicle? I can see why it wasn't hard for them to stoop to hiring bums off the streets. Moving on... I find a copbot with his rifle out in front of a small gravlift. Obviously this is the one that dribbler was talking about, right? I go up and I see this very, very nice office. Spartanly furnished, but with a view to die for. A man sitting behind a large grey desk is flanked by two stormbots. I immediately start sweating.
"Hello, sir. This is Grimm Grimesby. You summoned me?"
"Indeed I did. You have been attached to the Pepper Park section, I see. Since someone did not see fit to inform you that you are supposed to actively seek information out and to submit it to your supervisors, I will do it only this once. I have a job for you. Rumors have been coming out from Pepper Park that a biker gang is riding around, beating up the prostitiutes and pimps. My guards also inform me that they've executed three bikers that intruded into Plaza Three and refused to surrender to officers present on the scene. One rather unreliable source informs me that they might have a leader, and his name could be "Ironside". You are now charged with confirming the information, getting access to this person, and to get any additional pertinent data. Go now."
"Right you are, sir!"
Holy crap. I don't like work, but I'm not sassing anyone that has two Stormbots for bodyguards. I get my ass out there posthaste. So... Now I got some real work to do. I know EXACTLY what to do. Hit the bars! Anyone that's watched the old detective holovids know you can find any information at the bars! Plus drinks. I hit the nearest one - Garriot's Diner right there in Plaza Two. I mosey on up the ramps, order myself a few Cron 55s. I sit on a nice leafy plant, waiting for someone to come into the diner. A while passes, but the only one that even goes in front of this spot is a desperately late runner trying to figure out where "Secret Black D" is. I, of course, being the kindly and well-informed runner that I am, I tell the runner he's liable to get himself killed and to cancel the mission. He walks off sobbing. Gunshots ring out from the entry to the subway tunnel, and just as I turn to see what's going on, two very quick people in "lobster suits" (The informal parlance for the PE suits, for the unfamiliarized among you readers) come out. My survival instincts as finely honed as they are, I immediately dive into the decorative pool, bullets pinging and whizzing lethally. As I flail to get my head above the water to breathe, I see scintillant green bolts flying everywhere. First one, then the other armored attacker dies to that fearsome barrage of firepower. The cobpot on the balcony above the NEMA HQ puts his gun away smartly. With that, I jump out of the water and start sprinting away - I daren't risk being around here anymore if there's gonna be bullets and plasma flying around spilling my beer. I slow down as I come around the bend to Plaza Three, and just mere meters away, there's another bar! Happiness! I'll get some more beer and get some work done! I like this job!
A hour in, with a severe hangover and a wallet emptied out of my beercan-recycling money, I get shooed out by the bartender. I dimly remember I'm supposed to find something... bikes? Yeah. Supposed to find a bike. Lucky for me... there's a vec store here in the sector. Right? Eh. I stagger around the streets a bit more, until finally I come to this very out-of=the=way ASG. The hangover only receding slighty, I abruptly wave and talk to the vendor.
*urk* "This is Grimesby of the Neocronicle. I'm looking up some information about vehicles, and I wanted to ask, have you any recent customers that made large purchases of any sort of motorbike?"
"Not that it's any of your business, but no. Most of our customers come in to buy one or two vehicles of different types. We sell high-quality vehicles of superb quality. That's why none of our customers need to worry about having a back-up vehicle on hand. Does that satisfy you?"
"Well, bravo for you guys. I was just asking because there's rumors that people are riding bikes around in the Plaza sectors lately, stirring up trouble."
"Well, I never! We of ASG Technologies would never be so irreponsible as to sell our wares to reprobates and hooligans. Any law-abiding citizens of Neocron City know that it is absolutely illegal to have an vehicle upon the streets in the City. These streets are strictly pedestrian-only. Good day, sir!"
Whoo. Looks like I offended him. But at least I know whoever these gangbangers are, they're not getting their rides from here. It's getting late in the day, so I better get myself off to my Pepper Park bed-down spot. Everyone brags about how they got their nice gussied-up apartment. I say nothing beats my box. It's a really sweet box - not one of these crappy wood jobbies, but it's one of the metal things. A bit rusty on the outside, but it's still nice and roomy inside. I got plenty of these nice cushion thingies that the Plaza 3 "Plants and Pottery" store tossed out because of something or other. Best of all, it's way out of the copbot patrols, so I'm not likely to get rousted and tossed off to Reza's "Irregulars". As I near the ramps in Pepper Park 1, a runner jumps down from the third-story walkways above. I manage to dodge his landing, and noticing his panicky demeanor, I ask him a few questions.
"Hey, man! What's the rush? DoYs attacking again?"
"No, man! There's fucking anarchists everywhere! They're riding bikes, popping wheelies and doing the craziest things! It's total chaos! Get the hell out of here while you still can!"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Anarchists? Are you sure? And bikes? Actual motorbikes? Isn't that illegal?"
"Yes, anarchists! They've got the mohawks and the punk-rock slogans on their jackets. They're totally amok! Who the hell's gonna say no to them if they want to ride bikes around? I'm fucking OUTTA HERE!"
Watching him sprint out of the sector, I am struck - This was a big break! This would totally make my article kick ass. But... if these were many Anarchists, I was liable to get killed. One anarchist does not scare anyone, plus, illegal vehicular operation in the City gets one killed fast, so, by this line of reasoning, there had to be an assload of Anarchists. So... I'm shafted, unless I can get help. The nearest CityCom gives me an idea. I send out a general alert, and add that possibly DoY runners might be using this as an opportunity to attack. I may live in Pepper Park, but I know there's always a few rabid milita members hanging around in Plaza or Via Rosso, slumming around for a fight. With any luck, a few runners should be running in to Pepper Park for a fight, and I could go in behind them while they distract the Anarchists.
My hunch proves correct, and a few Monks stride confidently from Plaza Three. I sidle up to them, and ask if they're going to defend the city. When a Monk in this dark rust-brown cloak affirms, I say that they're making trouble in Pepper Park 3. I don't know where the Anarchists are, but mentioning Pepper Park 3 might make these Monks more likely to search more throughly for them. I slow down a bit, then start following them. Anything happens, I'm well out of range.
It's been a long walk. Pepper Park's entirely too big, let me tell you. Rattling gunshots ring out. The monks go on alert, auroras of power shimmering into being around them. I dive for the nearest trash can. Spitting out whatever was laying that that crumpled burger wrapper, I stick my head up to watch the proceedings. The monks are raging forms of power. Actinic bolts of energy is slamming into one, two, three Anarchists. Fire spurts out of the ground, out of windows, out of the very bodies of other Anarchists and they're writhing in agony. Still more Anarchists are standing their ground, crazed-looking eyes belying their deadly determination, and their gatling pistols are spinning like dervishes. Bullets are "spang-ing" off everything. Flecks of concrete and sparks are flying everywhere from this hail of lead. One of the monks staggers, his cloak and pants torn to shreds.
He's staggering to me. Shit! The Anarchists are tracking him. They're gonna shoot me too! I crouch as tightly as I can, hoping they don't see me. Ah, no worries! The monk isn't badly hurt, and he's throwing everything he has into the bunch of crazy buggers. Dear Crahn, the whole street is alight with fire and lightning! Wait... what's this. A runner is coming up, and he looks almost unscathed. SHIT! It's a Black Dragon, and he's... healing the Anarchists! He just hit the other monks with bluish bolts! The other monks are unloading on the Black Dragon and he's hardly fazed. The monks are falling back. That isn't good. The Anarchists are cheering. One of them is riding a bike, and he runs over one of the retreating monks. OOO! That had to hurt! The other monks turn and shatter the bike with an almighty clap of thunder. A chunk of the steel tread whiz by over my head.
The Black Dragon monk starts staggering and limping. The Anarchists seem to be just as rabid and hateful towards him as they are with us. As he retreats, the Neocronian monks come back, recharged and furious. Holy Drom! The street is cracking in the fury of the assault. Everything's flying. I'm getting the fuck out of here! My soles burst into fire just as I manage to round the corner.
Finally managing to put my boots out and the soot off my pants (note to self - kevlar boots do NOT like fire), I listen as the sounds of fierce fighting subside. Waiting a while longer after the noises stop just in case more shit gets kicked up, I notice a half-empty bottle of Snow White lodged in the sewer hatch a few meters away. I get up to get it, and a scabbed and wrinkled hand reaches out of there to snatch it down. The hatch clangs shut. I back away quickly, and running around the corner, I see a scene of utter destruction.
Char marks, pocks and dents, and shattered bikes are everywhere. There's even a rider and bike lodged in a hatch to an abandoned cellar in one of the stores. He's dead, of course. The monks are in the middle of the street, chatting. I walk up to one of them. It's the rust-brown cloaked one.
"Hello, sir. I'm from the Neocronicle. May I ask your name, brave runner?"
"Hello. My name doesn't matter."
"Er... Right, it doesn't. What do you think is going on? I know, it's obvious that Anarchists were here, but why do you think they're here, and how do you think they managed to get operating vehicles upon the streets of Pepper Park? Do you think Black Dragon is behind this, considering that monk that was helping them?"
"Damned if I know. The Anarchists like to pop up everywhere just to make trouble. Hell, they'll probably pop into into a Faction Headquarters just to hassle the employees. I don't think the Black Dragon are really helping the Anarchists, at least, in any meaningful capacity. No real point in it, I think. And as to the vehicles, I have no idea, and I wish I did. I'd love to ride in my red wheeler car in Via Rosso and pick up a few babes. Hey, I got to go, all right? I got customers ringing the bell."
"Well, sure, go ahead. Don't let me stop you. Thanks for talking. Hey! Hey, you with the green glowy head implant! I'm with the Neocronicle! Care to answer a few questions?"
The other monks glance disinterestedly towards me. That's a sure "No.", I think. As I walk further into Pepper Park sector 3, I see more evidence of the Anarchists' exhuberant partying. I look at the few remaining corpses of the Anarchists, and nothing looks like they could have been a leader. Mr. Pepper's information might have been off, as he said. The Anarchists were notorious for being fiercely independent, and no leaders ever really popped up. This Ironside must have been truly formidable if he got Anarchists to follow him. I wander to my sleeping box, putting my thoughts into order. I notice a nearby CityCom terminal that hasn't been too severely defaced, and decide to get it over with. I type my notes of the day, hampered by the shattered screen, and send it to my supervisor as you see it now.
I turn in, severely sober, and full of thoughts about how to track down this very elusive "Ironside".
by Barry Pepper
Although our new system for presenting the Neocronicle is still not finished, we already want to re-introduce the faction news we offered some time ago. But we need your support, dear reader, to keep that service alive: Send us YOUR news to neocronicle@neocron.com. Our deadline is usually friday night. So make sure you have submitted your news in time to be published in our next issue.
The new gangs of Neocron
by Grimm "Snotrag" Grimesby
Don't mind me so much, guys. I'm still new to this "regular honest job" thing. I've still got a big dent in my ass from where the copbot hauled off on me for pissing on his boots in Pepper Park. Unintentionally, of course. I doubt I'd be alive to speak of it if it wasn't. Anyways, before he hauled me off to join the "Irregulars", a Neocronicle editor on her way home took notice. Managing to get the copbot to stop for a minute, she offered me a proposition. Help out the Neocronicle, stay alive from the lack of "cannon fodder" roles. It wasn't really something I could refuse.
Anyways, as it turns out, the Neocronicle reporters have been leery of going into Pepper Park lately, and I'm the one with an "in". Wonderful. No lack of "cannon fodder" roles, eh? Bah. Ahem. Back to the article. A week after the Neocronicle gave me a reporter's card and enough cash to buy myself a trenchcoat and some Preacher's Choices to fill the pockets with, I get a call from the Boss. That's right. Barry Pepper himself. I may be a street urchin at heart, but I still know who butters my toast nowadays. After a nerve-wracking trip in the Subway, my cab managing to speed ahead of a roving gang of anarchists flinging grenades at the subway tracks, I come out in Plaza Two and hurry towards the NEMA HQ building. Hoo, nice place. I can't see why Tangent and CityAdmin gave up their secondary sites here.
This being the first time since NEMA took it over, I had to ask an employee there, who then points me upwards and goes in this unintelligble drawl, " EE's awp dere. Jasst yake da draft eft". Good Crahn. Is this what passes for good communications skills here at the Neocronicle? I can see why it wasn't hard for them to stoop to hiring bums off the streets. Moving on... I find a copbot with his rifle out in front of a small gravlift. Obviously this is the one that dribbler was talking about, right? I go up and I see this very, very nice office. Spartanly furnished, but with a view to die for. A man sitting behind a large grey desk is flanked by two stormbots. I immediately start sweating.
"Hello, sir. This is Grimm Grimesby. You summoned me?"
"Indeed I did. You have been attached to the Pepper Park section, I see. Since someone did not see fit to inform you that you are supposed to actively seek information out and to submit it to your supervisors, I will do it only this once. I have a job for you. Rumors have been coming out from Pepper Park that a biker gang is riding around, beating up the prostitiutes and pimps. My guards also inform me that they've executed three bikers that intruded into Plaza Three and refused to surrender to officers present on the scene. One rather unreliable source informs me that they might have a leader, and his name could be "Ironside". You are now charged with confirming the information, getting access to this person, and to get any additional pertinent data. Go now."
"Right you are, sir!"
Holy crap. I don't like work, but I'm not sassing anyone that has two Stormbots for bodyguards. I get my ass out there posthaste. So... Now I got some real work to do. I know EXACTLY what to do. Hit the bars! Anyone that's watched the old detective holovids know you can find any information at the bars! Plus drinks. I hit the nearest one - Garriot's Diner right there in Plaza Two. I mosey on up the ramps, order myself a few Cron 55s. I sit on a nice leafy plant, waiting for someone to come into the diner. A while passes, but the only one that even goes in front of this spot is a desperately late runner trying to figure out where "Secret Black D" is. I, of course, being the kindly and well-informed runner that I am, I tell the runner he's liable to get himself killed and to cancel the mission. He walks off sobbing. Gunshots ring out from the entry to the subway tunnel, and just as I turn to see what's going on, two very quick people in "lobster suits" (The informal parlance for the PE suits, for the unfamiliarized among you readers) come out. My survival instincts as finely honed as they are, I immediately dive into the decorative pool, bullets pinging and whizzing lethally. As I flail to get my head above the water to breathe, I see scintillant green bolts flying everywhere. First one, then the other armored attacker dies to that fearsome barrage of firepower. The cobpot on the balcony above the NEMA HQ puts his gun away smartly. With that, I jump out of the water and start sprinting away - I daren't risk being around here anymore if there's gonna be bullets and plasma flying around spilling my beer. I slow down as I come around the bend to Plaza Three, and just mere meters away, there's another bar! Happiness! I'll get some more beer and get some work done! I like this job!
A hour in, with a severe hangover and a wallet emptied out of my beercan-recycling money, I get shooed out by the bartender. I dimly remember I'm supposed to find something... bikes? Yeah. Supposed to find a bike. Lucky for me... there's a vec store here in the sector. Right? Eh. I stagger around the streets a bit more, until finally I come to this very out-of=the=way ASG. The hangover only receding slighty, I abruptly wave and talk to the vendor.
*urk* "This is Grimesby of the Neocronicle. I'm looking up some information about vehicles, and I wanted to ask, have you any recent customers that made large purchases of any sort of motorbike?"
"Not that it's any of your business, but no. Most of our customers come in to buy one or two vehicles of different types. We sell high-quality vehicles of superb quality. That's why none of our customers need to worry about having a back-up vehicle on hand. Does that satisfy you?"
"Well, bravo for you guys. I was just asking because there's rumors that people are riding bikes around in the Plaza sectors lately, stirring up trouble."
"Well, I never! We of ASG Technologies would never be so irreponsible as to sell our wares to reprobates and hooligans. Any law-abiding citizens of Neocron City know that it is absolutely illegal to have an vehicle upon the streets in the City. These streets are strictly pedestrian-only. Good day, sir!"
Whoo. Looks like I offended him. But at least I know whoever these gangbangers are, they're not getting their rides from here. It's getting late in the day, so I better get myself off to my Pepper Park bed-down spot. Everyone brags about how they got their nice gussied-up apartment. I say nothing beats my box. It's a really sweet box - not one of these crappy wood jobbies, but it's one of the metal things. A bit rusty on the outside, but it's still nice and roomy inside. I got plenty of these nice cushion thingies that the Plaza 3 "Plants and Pottery" store tossed out because of something or other. Best of all, it's way out of the copbot patrols, so I'm not likely to get rousted and tossed off to Reza's "Irregulars". As I near the ramps in Pepper Park 1, a runner jumps down from the third-story walkways above. I manage to dodge his landing, and noticing his panicky demeanor, I ask him a few questions.
"Hey, man! What's the rush? DoYs attacking again?"
"No, man! There's fucking anarchists everywhere! They're riding bikes, popping wheelies and doing the craziest things! It's total chaos! Get the hell out of here while you still can!"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Anarchists? Are you sure? And bikes? Actual motorbikes? Isn't that illegal?"
"Yes, anarchists! They've got the mohawks and the punk-rock slogans on their jackets. They're totally amok! Who the hell's gonna say no to them if they want to ride bikes around? I'm fucking OUTTA HERE!"
Watching him sprint out of the sector, I am struck - This was a big break! This would totally make my article kick ass. But... if these were many Anarchists, I was liable to get killed. One anarchist does not scare anyone, plus, illegal vehicular operation in the City gets one killed fast, so, by this line of reasoning, there had to be an assload of Anarchists. So... I'm shafted, unless I can get help. The nearest CityCom gives me an idea. I send out a general alert, and add that possibly DoY runners might be using this as an opportunity to attack. I may live in Pepper Park, but I know there's always a few rabid milita members hanging around in Plaza or Via Rosso, slumming around for a fight. With any luck, a few runners should be running in to Pepper Park for a fight, and I could go in behind them while they distract the Anarchists.
My hunch proves correct, and a few Monks stride confidently from Plaza Three. I sidle up to them, and ask if they're going to defend the city. When a Monk in this dark rust-brown cloak affirms, I say that they're making trouble in Pepper Park 3. I don't know where the Anarchists are, but mentioning Pepper Park 3 might make these Monks more likely to search more throughly for them. I slow down a bit, then start following them. Anything happens, I'm well out of range.
It's been a long walk. Pepper Park's entirely too big, let me tell you. Rattling gunshots ring out. The monks go on alert, auroras of power shimmering into being around them. I dive for the nearest trash can. Spitting out whatever was laying that that crumpled burger wrapper, I stick my head up to watch the proceedings. The monks are raging forms of power. Actinic bolts of energy is slamming into one, two, three Anarchists. Fire spurts out of the ground, out of windows, out of the very bodies of other Anarchists and they're writhing in agony. Still more Anarchists are standing their ground, crazed-looking eyes belying their deadly determination, and their gatling pistols are spinning like dervishes. Bullets are "spang-ing" off everything. Flecks of concrete and sparks are flying everywhere from this hail of lead. One of the monks staggers, his cloak and pants torn to shreds.
He's staggering to me. Shit! The Anarchists are tracking him. They're gonna shoot me too! I crouch as tightly as I can, hoping they don't see me. Ah, no worries! The monk isn't badly hurt, and he's throwing everything he has into the bunch of crazy buggers. Dear Crahn, the whole street is alight with fire and lightning! Wait... what's this. A runner is coming up, and he looks almost unscathed. SHIT! It's a Black Dragon, and he's... healing the Anarchists! He just hit the other monks with bluish bolts! The other monks are unloading on the Black Dragon and he's hardly fazed. The monks are falling back. That isn't good. The Anarchists are cheering. One of them is riding a bike, and he runs over one of the retreating monks. OOO! That had to hurt! The other monks turn and shatter the bike with an almighty clap of thunder. A chunk of the steel tread whiz by over my head.
The Black Dragon monk starts staggering and limping. The Anarchists seem to be just as rabid and hateful towards him as they are with us. As he retreats, the Neocronian monks come back, recharged and furious. Holy Drom! The street is cracking in the fury of the assault. Everything's flying. I'm getting the fuck out of here! My soles burst into fire just as I manage to round the corner.
Finally managing to put my boots out and the soot off my pants (note to self - kevlar boots do NOT like fire), I listen as the sounds of fierce fighting subside. Waiting a while longer after the noises stop just in case more shit gets kicked up, I notice a half-empty bottle of Snow White lodged in the sewer hatch a few meters away. I get up to get it, and a scabbed and wrinkled hand reaches out of there to snatch it down. The hatch clangs shut. I back away quickly, and running around the corner, I see a scene of utter destruction.
Char marks, pocks and dents, and shattered bikes are everywhere. There's even a rider and bike lodged in a hatch to an abandoned cellar in one of the stores. He's dead, of course. The monks are in the middle of the street, chatting. I walk up to one of them. It's the rust-brown cloaked one.
"Hello, sir. I'm from the Neocronicle. May I ask your name, brave runner?"
"Hello. My name doesn't matter."
"Er... Right, it doesn't. What do you think is going on? I know, it's obvious that Anarchists were here, but why do you think they're here, and how do you think they managed to get operating vehicles upon the streets of Pepper Park? Do you think Black Dragon is behind this, considering that monk that was helping them?"
"Damned if I know. The Anarchists like to pop up everywhere just to make trouble. Hell, they'll probably pop into into a Faction Headquarters just to hassle the employees. I don't think the Black Dragon are really helping the Anarchists, at least, in any meaningful capacity. No real point in it, I think. And as to the vehicles, I have no idea, and I wish I did. I'd love to ride in my red wheeler car in Via Rosso and pick up a few babes. Hey, I got to go, all right? I got customers ringing the bell."
"Well, sure, go ahead. Don't let me stop you. Thanks for talking. Hey! Hey, you with the green glowy head implant! I'm with the Neocronicle! Care to answer a few questions?"
The other monks glance disinterestedly towards me. That's a sure "No.", I think. As I walk further into Pepper Park sector 3, I see more evidence of the Anarchists' exhuberant partying. I look at the few remaining corpses of the Anarchists, and nothing looks like they could have been a leader. Mr. Pepper's information might have been off, as he said. The Anarchists were notorious for being fiercely independent, and no leaders ever really popped up. This Ironside must have been truly formidable if he got Anarchists to follow him. I wander to my sleeping box, putting my thoughts into order. I notice a nearby CityCom terminal that hasn't been too severely defaced, and decide to get it over with. I type my notes of the day, hampered by the shattered screen, and send it to my supervisor as you see it now.
I turn in, severely sober, and full of thoughts about how to track down this very elusive "Ironside".