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Joe Spivey's blog

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Bloody Soup!

The two men stood outside a lone farmhouse on the outskirts of  the glorified garbage tip known as Needle Eye. For the 'Haves', behind their wall and their guards, life wasn't too bad... not great, but not too bad at all. For the 'Have Nots' life was defined simply as surviving from one day to the next. But non of this concerned the two figures on the little hillside. Well, except for the smell. Not all of which could be blamed on the town though.

Joe flicked through his copius notebook trying to decipher his hurriedly scribbled notes from the night before.

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Against the Grain

Joe is sitting in an almost empty Beau's at mid day enjoy a liquid lunch.

The barman, between scratching his buttocks and wishing it was his day off, was listening with proffesional interest to Joe's ramblings.

Joe neither realised or particularly cared one way or the other.

"A locksmith? Where the hell am I going to find a bleedin locksmith in this burg... in any burg?" He drains his pint and indicates with a nod that his empty glass needs a refil. "Not only that, but even looking for one kind of goes against the grain, know what I mean?"

The barman nods on cue, wondering if the new barmaid actually did that or if it was just wishfull thinking on the part of the guys. He glanced at the customer, who was still droning on.

Joe half emptied the refilled glass, wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his duster, then belched loudly before continuing.

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A New Biginning?

Joe has been spreading the word. Talking to people with contacts. Even travelling to Picus to post notices.

Vekthaur, the retired Baron of Le Cartel has come out of retirement and started a new family. "The Vegas family"... and he is recruiting.

He is also looking for specialists. Accomplished scientists and technicians who are wanted for a special project. Vekthaur will pay well for their services, but if you are not top class... an expert in your field, don't bother.

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Faning the flames

The heavily armoured man stood uninterested by the mailbox reading a letter. Not that his lack of interest or even the acknowledgment of his existance worried Joe in the slightest. He carried on with his story anyway.

""Would you believe it? Last night some arseholes attacked the gas station on the north of New Flagstaff with firebombs. I had a nice little discount going there too. It's amazing what a few indiscreet photo's will get ya. Anyway, no damage was done as the guards rushed in and extinguished the flames, but then one of those nine bloody great wind turbines comes crashing down, completly destroyed it was. When the plod got there they found these words were painted on the crashed turbine thingy:"

Joe holds his hand up as if framing each word...

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Desperatly Seeking....

When Joe finally peeled himself out of his home made yellow hazmat suit in Beau's that night he caused his own mini evacuation. Not through any fear of contamination by the nerve gas that some nutter had released in the square you understand. No, this was definately more to do with what happens when you encase Mrs Spivey's maloderous son in layers of plastic and rubber and leave him to bake for several hours in the hot sun.

Eventually, the customers drifted back. Their need of alcohol overcoming the desperate messages their noses were sending to their brains. Aside from the watering eyes of those in closest proximity to Joe, things got back to normal. After all there was so much beer to comsume and only so many hours in which to do it.

Later in the evening Joe remembered the piece of paper given to him by the figure in the full body, state of the art, hazmat suit some hours earlier. Downing the last of his pint he began to wander around the other patrons.

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Joe at Work

Seems one of the Union guards just got a tee wee too drunk talking to Joe and another drunkard. Joe had made sure the ale flowed freely, something he considers as a legitimate business expense in a situation like this.

"Ya it's cool..." the guard slurred. "Those vigilantes are back in town and we have less work now, they even shortened our patrol hours."

"More time for beer eh?" The other drunk chimed in.

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Joe does a Clouseau


The sun was just starting to poke its firey head over the horizon when Joe carefully poked his head out of the doorway of the Flagstaff Tap. The Tap was not one his usual haunts, they tended to serve far too much food and far too little beer for his liking. He was there this early early in the morning for another reason. He was there for guilty pleasures and he didn't want to be seen.

Annoyingly there was more than just the Union Patrol on the street this morning. Two heavily armoured enforcer types had just passed the door of the Tap. Big guys, dangerous guys... Joe almost dropped his cigar. Holding hands guys? This was priceless, definately a two pinter, maybe even a whisky if he could get a bit more on the two.

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Big Trouble in Little... (no that doesn't work). Shit Heading Fanwards in Hope Springs (there we go)


I just happened to overhear... not that i was listening of course, you know me... an odd little snippet in the old watering hole last night.

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Gossip, Rumours and News Reports

((Just a reminder to everyone and also to let new and retyrning players know.

The Joe Spivey character is one of theose shady types who lives on the fine line between the forces of law and order and organised crime. As such he always has his eyes and ears open for interesting pieces of information.

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News from Plateau... besides it being rather sandy.


*Joe is in Beaus, swopping gossip for drinks as usual.*

I was having a chinwag with one of those Franklin Rider fellers this morning. Now I'm not saying they 'ave what you might call an 'un-natural' relationship with their horses, but there are motorbikes out there they could use... Just saying.

Anyway I was just enquiring about special rates for regular customers like me, the bastard said no by the way, and we got to talking about all the murders and wotnot that have been going on lately. Most of them I knew about but this one was new even to me.

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Bar-room Murmurings

Disturbing rumours have been doing the rounds, *sniff* well disturbing if your a Vista or a Tech I suppose. Anyway, seems like their scientists have been turning up missing. Not just from around here too. I was talking to this one bloke who was from... I dunno, some dump down south, and they've had the same thing happening.

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Explosion in Ravens Peak

Early morning travellers coming in from Raven's Peak are telling stories of an explosion of 'unknown nature 'in a three story building right in front of the Franklin Raiders office. No one seems to know if there have been any casualties.

Mind you, if you ask me, a few explosions in that town can't do anything but improve the place.

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The  poster has appeared both in New Flagstaff and Embry outside bars, LifeNet facilities and other popular gathering places.

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Main topic of conversation in the bar last night...

... was what's been going on the top floor of New Flagstaff hospital (second floor of garages) last night.

Judging by the stuff left behind after they'd gone, the place has been used to craft dozens of wicked wasteland and blood sports weapons. Lots of bits and pieces of scrap wood, bits of sharpened steel and rusty nails. They reckon that the weapons made were crossbows, razorbats, spiked clubs and other nasty little things of that ilk.

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New Flagstaff Leafleted

((Overnight the following has appeared all over New Flagstaff. Posted on walls, pushed through doors and piles of them left in popular gathering places.))

Who's Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf?


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Joe's funny story

((This is a story Joe tells anyone who stands still long enough near him))

'Ere, I thought my luck was in the other night!

There I was sat minding me own business, 'aving a quiet pint in Beau's and this bint walks over. Well, I say a bint but she was well classy. Union mind, coz she 'ad one of them badges on but I aint got no gripe with them lot.

Joe, thinks I, you luck's changing for the better old son. Anyway, I straightens meself up and she's just about to tell me how 'andsome I am when a pair of  Union gorrillas walk in all armoured up to the bleedin eyeballs. They fix on the skirt straight away and beeline straight over to us. Course, I could 'ave 'andled them no trouble but I din't want to scare the lady did I? So I stays put where I am.

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Overheard in a bar.

Was having my normal 5 pint lunch when I happened to hear this juicy little item.

Seems the naked and mutilated body of a hooker was found in a motel room across from Beaus. There were blood smears and bloody handprints on the wall at the scene. There were no witnesses, or at least no one would come forward and talk.

(Edited to change footprints to handprints)

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Whisper on the streets.

Here's an interesting little tidbit doing the rounds.

A clone, Lost Bride, stole something for Outsiders but she didn't give the stolen loot to Outsiders.

Now both Earthbound and Outsiders threaten to get to Sector 2 to look for the stolen item, some kind of device.

A bounty has been given on tracking down this clone and returning the device to either Earthbound or Outsiders.

Lost Bride is considered armed and dangerous: Shoot first ask questions later is advised.

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"Word on the street is..."

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Bleedin 'ell

Well now, this is a right turn up and no mistake.

Pops me clogs expecting to pick up where I leaves off and suddenly, wallop, decades 'ave gorn past and the whole bleddin world's gorn to 'ell. Took a bit of figurin aht but it looks like you're back to square numero uno, Joe me old mate. Just like when you started out when you was a nipper eh? Ok then, best get the lay of the land, see what's what and who's who. Then we'll see what needs doing.

The old army skill's with a rifle came in 'andy right from the get go. Didn't go much on all that diggin around in the dirt though. Definately not my style. Nor was all that bleedin pickin fruit before that bastard farmer would give me a decent horse. Soon sorted that though, pulled the old Huck Finn on some of the local kids while I put me feet up. I'll be long gorn before they try and spend those chips though, shame really, wouldn't 'alf mind seeing their faces!


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by Dr. Radut