Wednesday, June 10, 2015

Scrap 2: Masked Weirdos

From the Journals of Julie Ruin, leader of the Necrotown 'Nihilators:

After sufferin' at the hands of Ironboot's chuckleheads, my gang was lookin' pretty stupid. We took to the streets to show off some muscle and prove that we're not anything to push around. This is when these costumed lunatics showed up. 

Throwin' psychic powers at us like some kinda coven a' wyrds, they surrounded us and demanded that we surrender ourselves for judgement or some buncha crap. As if they were a group a' Arbites, right? I told 'em to fuck off and we started shootin'.

Sweet Dee took up position down a street, gettin' as much of a line a' sight as she could. I told Suzi to watch her back, and I headed upstairs with Carrie (who was still a little winded from our scrap with the All Naturals). Marlene and Cynthia ran around like a buncha psychos not bein' able to make up their damned minds. One time climbin' up a ladder with Carrie and I, and the next runnin' full-bore at a coupla supes that were tryin' to dance with Sweet Dee. 

Much to my surprise (and probably Marlene's chagrin), Cynthia popped off a supe with her stub gun and took the weirdo down. I reckon that's the last we'll see a' him, seein' as all kinds a' blood was spillin' outta his head. Anyway, things came to a head when Klaudia, Mish, and Patti were tradin' shots with a coupla freaks across an alley. One of 'em looked kinda weirder than the rest. He was probably a mutie or somethin'. 

Anyway, one of these creeps—a real sneaky bitch—comes runnin' up behind the three of 'em and tosses in a frag grenade. Boom! They were taken out, and at the mercy of a halberd-weildin' kook. I had had enough a' this and decided to start sprayin' bolter shells down at the mutie. I took him out and their boss (some red-clad clown) decided that maybe they'd had enough a' us embarassin' 'em. 

I ain't gonna lie, though. It was by the skin a' our teeth. Afterwards Mish has been complainin' about a sore right arm—which hopefully won't impact her ability to separate rubes from their creds in the crowds—and Klaudia's got a nasty criss-cross a' scars across her mug. Pretty scary stuff. Hopefully the others out there will feel the same way we do. Carrie's finally learned her lesson and started packin' man-stopper shells in addition to the hot-shots she's so fond of (but which never fuckin' hit), and I even got myself a slick set a' flak armor for the next time some jerk decides to plug me.


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