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Strung through with twine, hanging over the bulletin board are 27 Groton Gladiators patches. Hanging from that is another patch: A bloody pentagram with a burned skeleton crucified on it.

Pinned to the patch is a note:

Single run. One outing. Out and back with no problem.

Your turn, Bozo.
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Posted Feb 2, 2013, 10:25 pm
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Rebecca "Remains" Wright drags the hood of a pick-up across the lot and leans it against the wall outside the door to Mezcal's.

It bears the 'tag' of the Desert Riders emblazoned across it. Nailed to it are 25 index fingers.

Scrawled under the fingers:

"We remember our fallen by sending them targets for the afterlife."
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Posted Feb 6, 2013, 11:11 pm
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Rebecca strides up to the Desert Riders' hood with a string of 30 thumbs.

"For the new chick." she says.

"New chick!" bellows out 37 voices.

"Drinks are on me..." she says and stalks to the door to Mezcal's.
.........................
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Posted Feb 7, 2013, 4:51 am
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Rebecca "Remains" Wright smacked her empty mug down on the dirty table.

"I don't get it..." she started. "I mean, I know we're new in town and all, but we've slaughtered over 100 bad guys in a week...and what does the town do to show its appreciation?"

She looked from one face to another, not expecting an answer, of course.

"DICK!" she yelled. "That's what we get for keeping this rat-hole safe from wasteland warriors intent on reducing it to rubble...BUPKUS!"

The bartender suddenly had mugs to wash and something caught his attention in a direction other than Rebecca's.

Roosevelt "Da Prez" Roosevelt, one of the SnB's heavy weapons gunners, scooted his chair closer to her.

"I think maybe the 'fix' is in." he said, leaning in so she'd catch his conversational level of speech over the din of the bar...which had picked back up after Rebecca's outburst.

"I mean, what else could it be? Show me another crew that's dropped as many scum as we have in twice the time!" chimed in Broderick "Brock" Brockington, the crew's sniper.

"...yeah, what else could it be?" Rebecca said, nodding in agreement. "I say we let this place rot...let the wolves at the gate. F_ck 'em."

Several crew members nodded in agreement. One spoke up.

"Well, I dunno about you guys...appreciation from the piss-ant civilians or not-whenever have we snagged half a million in salvage in one run...ever?"

It was Jefferson "Jabberwocke" Jeanbaptiste, one of the SnB's wheelmen.

"...I can live with paychecks like that...love or not."

Others nodded in agreement...drinks were ordered, hands slapped tables.

Rebecca leaned her seat back against the wall and dropped the heels of her boots onto the table.

"Okay...we stay. But things better get more friendly in the shop, s'all I'm sayin'."
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Posted Feb 7, 2013, 10:31 pm
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The duo stopped, unsure, looking at the...hell, they didn't know what it was.

"Don't ask." said one.

"Hadn't planned on it." said the other.

They walked into Mezcal's.

Vincenzo Valdovinos shook his head, his chin dipped down to his chest.

He knew when you were the 'FNG' in a crew that there would be times you got the sh_tty jobs...but this....

He sat in front of the display of fingers, badges and thumbs the crew's leader, Rebecca Wright, had ordered put up to show the vendors in the GW Truck Stop the work their crew was putting in to keep the bandits from the gates.

He wore ragged clothes, dark glasses, some old hat he hoped didn't have any lice and held out an empty cup. Around his neck was a sign "SnB killed over 100 bandits last week and all I got was this lousy cup."

He was broken out of his thoughts as a pair of boots shuffled by. "Looking good." the passerby quipped.

Vincenzo gritted his teeth. "This better be worth it," he thought.
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Posted Feb 8, 2013, 11:12 am
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Rebecca "Remains" Wright of the Shattered 'n Bloody crew sat watching her crew fight their scorps' in the paddock out back.

It was a great way to let off some steam. The yelling and screaming from the participants as the fate of their 'pets' ebbed and waned and the spectators echoed off the walls of her crew's maintenance/living building.

She smiled. They'd be all relaxed and ready to go again in a few days. The recent losses of a couple popular comrades had hit them hard...especially because it wasn't due to anything they'd done wrong, but instead some unseen glitch in the terrain had flipped one of the team's Apaches and the crew had become target #1 on their enemys' hit list.

They didn't even get the chance to die in combat. That's the hardest thing.

She was taken out of her reverie as her second walked into the office.

"What's up, Arma'?" she said.

"Hey Boss...uh, might have some good news."

Armandina Ainsworth was a tall drink of gorgeous on a bad day. She drew people like scorps to exhaust heat.

"You don't say?" Rebecca sat up and leaned forward, resting her forearms on the desk.

"...just got a visitor from the shop." she smiled. "Seems they've got a present for us after all. I think your campaign of embarrassing them worked."

"Really?" she leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. "What we talkin' 'bout?"

"Come take a look."

"...sorry? Take a look?" She stood, arms dropping, her palms resting on the butts of her .40's.

"Yeah...Happy Birthday!" Armandina said as she stepped aside and made a sweeping gesture with her right arm.

Rebecca strode to the door.

There, parked at the bottom of the stairs was a brand-spanking 'new' BPU...metallic gun metal gray.

"We got her all cleaned up. The shop worked on her straight for 3 days getting her ready." Arma' watched her Boss's face. "You like?"

Wright's normally stoic countenance split into a '####-eating' grin.

"What's not to like?" She lightly slapped Arma' on the cheek as she walked past and clambered down the stairs. "Come on! Let's take this bitch for a spin!"

.........................
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Posted Feb 10, 2013, 11:53 pm
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"Ears." the grizzled old guy said.

"Really?" said his companion, a look half-between disgust and wonderment on his deeply-lined face.

"Yep."

"Son of a...first it was fingers...then thumbs; now ears?"

"Uh...yup." the old-timer reiterated.

"That Slaughterhouse crew has a few screws loose."

"Well, you can look at it that way...I choose to look at it as there's now 26 fewer bad guys out there to threaten us."

"...but...ears, fingers, thumbs?" he spat into the dirt. "...in our days it was the muties who did that sort of thing."

"Well...ah yep, it was."

"I don't see no muties in their crew...so...?"

"I think it's a meaner, darker place out there now...and it sends a message, should any of them that had their pals whakked sneak into town. ...makes things safer."

The sun-dried partner to one of the GW's oldest survivors shook his head. "Still ain't right."

"May not be right...but it's gettin' the job done. Someone ought to reward them Slaughterhouse every time they come back in...don't nobody kill 'em in the numbers they do 'round these parts." he said, leaning back against the wall of his ramshackle one-room home, which sat nestled up against the thick outer walls of the truck stop.

"26 of 'em." Another shake of the head.

"Uh-yup. 26...some of 'ems a might toasty, too." he said, a grin cracking the stolid visage. "Musta been somethin'."

Rebecca "Remains" Wright stood the coup-stick up against the wall of the bar. From it dangled, spinning in the breezes that swept through, 26 ears. She stuck a sign over the stick by driving a blade through it, it read:

They say there's only two things in life you can't avoid: Death and Taxes. Hell with that...you can obviously kill both. Slaughterhouse.

She turned to the crew amassed behind her. "For the new guys!"

A sea of fists pumped the air. "NEW GUYS!" they shouted in unison.

"Drinks are on me!" said Wright, turning towards the bar entrance.

The older of the two got to his feet. "Drinks are on her...I'm drinkin'!" he said, and followed the crew inside.
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Posted Feb 20, 2013, 10:48 pm
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Walter 'Half Orc' Hansen wonders if this strange guy in the bar likes talking to himself and his imaginary friends. :rolleyes:
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Posted Feb 21, 2013, 12:14 am
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Deangelo "Dagger" Dagostino looks at the guy in the corner sitting by himself and frowns.

"Check this guy out...he's talking to himself! Watch his face! Who the hell does that?"

"...muties, that's who. Nobody else would talk to them." says Earnestine "Bunny" Easterwood.

"Oh ya..."

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Posted Feb 21, 2013, 12:33 am
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