10-23-2019, 11:56 AM
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---------------Welcome, Arbeiter ---------------
This message is highly encrypted using syndicliga proprietary encryption cryptography through intranet-publicneralink drops and are functionally untracable if no sender address is given. Abuse of Intranet functionality commands community service punishments as listed in regulation five three seven gamma six. security is assumed. Any deliberate or otherwise location triangulation method successfully employed against anonymous transmissions will receive either a one billion credit reward or immediate incarceration dependent upon disclosure and motive. The revanchist council requests that Arbeiters do not squander valuable neuralnet bandwith on the consumption of CNS articles, adult content, or gambling, and advise that the relevant arbeiters employ public terminals for such use, rather than the secure line. Communal enforcement may differ between Reichsarbeitergesellschaft der Alsterian and Landwirtrechbewegung cells. Consult your admin for technical support or contact your resident Neural Technology Help Specialist at www.totallypacifica@notAHacker.net. The Union reminds Arbeiters that "trolling" is not an acceptable standard of political debate, unless aimed at capitalists, fascists, militarists, etc, who lack the neurological prerequisites to engage in such discourse. Southern Unioners are encouraged to remember that the average Unioner's literary age is roughly analogous to a twelve year old on PCP, and are encouraged to avoid engaging in difficult subjects, and are suggested to stick to familiar subjects, such as the market value of cardamine, bundschuh-based footwear puns, and the general terrible quality of life aboard wedel mining station.
Have a glorious day, Comrade user. - Unity, your resident Neuralnet VI.
Have a glorious day, Comrade user. - Unity, your resident Neuralnet VI.
G.Riehl |
Incoming Transmission
Ridrrs |
To: Our best damn allies out there.
From: Gunny.
Subject: Battle of the Belt underworld boxing tournament.
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Gunda appears to be out-and-out enjoying herself at the prospect of running into Moka's boys. Or Dwitty's boys. Or Ezkiel's boys, she wasn't totally clued up as to who was the biggest bandog in the Rogues right now.
"Heyo Rouges. Bosses. It's been longtime."
She snaps off a fist-to-chest Unioner's salute. It wasn't a military gesture - more of a handshake between comrades that only friends would be able to see. Well, friends and drinking buisness partners.
"So a coupla' wits ago, maybe a month or something, I held a lil' impromptu boxing game in orbital stasis on freeport one. Between the Mollys and the Bretonian Intelligence Service, believe it or not. Made a unitarian scheißetonne hosting bets on that one - and I mannaged to get the Molly away from the law with nothing more than a busted jaw and a bottle of whiskey for his trouble. Turns out, Sirians love to watch grown men sock each other's lights out. I know I do. Y'all rogues being somethin' other than refined ol' mothers boys with perfectly dainty manners, I figure you do, too, and would probably appreciate a cold case of hamburg's finest to ameliorate the pissenwasser that is every bar on Houston being dredge-full of Liberty Ale."
"Watch this."
The Hellion snaps up a star chart.
"I figure your bosses are pretty wiley. Wiley enough to figure that, whilst we can't smuggle anything bigger than high-value cargo through Laptev, it makes the heart of the Unions and the core of the rogues, brothers in space. Separated by just one system. I figure us and yourselves can get that system locked down real tight. Control all traffic coming in and out, maybe for good. It'd be the perfect hole to host a high stakes boxing game. All you'd need is a freighter for a stage - well, we know the jumps are stable enough to fit one of those in, more or less - and a bunch of gamblers and boxers. Since there'd be no law looking over our shoulder, there's nothin' to stop the candidate from buying uppers, juice and spikers from the ring, which will up our take again."
"It's petty crime, sure, but it's lucrative. We'll have a corner on blackhat gambling not seen since Dexter Hovis's days out on the Dublin Circuit. But we'd have an even higher take than Hovis did 'cus we'd be killing our participants less and wouldn't have to maintain over a hundred million credits worth of raceway and fuel. When I trialed it out in the omegas, hell, even the law, even passing traders, dropped two sets of big numbers into the game. We're talking tens of millions - and that was just one fight. Only to knockout, too. No drugs, no alcohol sales."
"If we do this, we'll have a side-earner that'll keep our boys in black and iridium plated pimp shuttles even when they get too old or beat up to keep up with the combat piracy game. We'll need the Rogue's contacts to help get Liberty Clients - we'll bring some in from Rheinland, Bretonia and Kusari. What do you say to giving it a trial run?"
"Any suggestions for names? Here's one. 'The Battle of the Belt' - belt as in you belt each other, also Tanner Belt. We'll probably give a frickin' belt to whoever wins, too.
---------------Data, Uploading ---------------
"Heyo Rouges. Bosses. It's been longtime."
She snaps off a fist-to-chest Unioner's salute. It wasn't a military gesture - more of a handshake between comrades that only friends would be able to see. Well, friends and drinking buisness partners.
"So a coupla' wits ago, maybe a month or something, I held a lil' impromptu boxing game in orbital stasis on freeport one. Between the Mollys and the Bretonian Intelligence Service, believe it or not. Made a unitarian scheißetonne hosting bets on that one - and I mannaged to get the Molly away from the law with nothing more than a busted jaw and a bottle of whiskey for his trouble. Turns out, Sirians love to watch grown men sock each other's lights out. I know I do. Y'all rogues being somethin' other than refined ol' mothers boys with perfectly dainty manners, I figure you do, too, and would probably appreciate a cold case of hamburg's finest to ameliorate the pissenwasser that is every bar on Houston being dredge-full of Liberty Ale."
"Watch this."
The Hellion snaps up a star chart.
"I figure your bosses are pretty wiley. Wiley enough to figure that, whilst we can't smuggle anything bigger than high-value cargo through Laptev, it makes the heart of the Unions and the core of the rogues, brothers in space. Separated by just one system. I figure us and yourselves can get that system locked down real tight. Control all traffic coming in and out, maybe for good. It'd be the perfect hole to host a high stakes boxing game. All you'd need is a freighter for a stage - well, we know the jumps are stable enough to fit one of those in, more or less - and a bunch of gamblers and boxers. Since there'd be no law looking over our shoulder, there's nothin' to stop the candidate from buying uppers, juice and spikers from the ring, which will up our take again."
"It's petty crime, sure, but it's lucrative. We'll have a corner on blackhat gambling not seen since Dexter Hovis's days out on the Dublin Circuit. But we'd have an even higher take than Hovis did 'cus we'd be killing our participants less and wouldn't have to maintain over a hundred million credits worth of raceway and fuel. When I trialed it out in the omegas, hell, even the law, even passing traders, dropped two sets of big numbers into the game. We're talking tens of millions - and that was just one fight. Only to knockout, too. No drugs, no alcohol sales."
"If we do this, we'll have a side-earner that'll keep our boys in black and iridium plated pimp shuttles even when they get too old or beat up to keep up with the combat piracy game. We'll need the Rogue's contacts to help get Liberty Clients - we'll bring some in from Rheinland, Bretonia and Kusari. What do you say to giving it a trial run?"
"Any suggestions for names? Here's one. 'The Battle of the Belt' - belt as in you belt each other, also Tanner Belt. We'll probably give a frickin' belt to whoever wins, too.
---------------Data, Uploading ---------------
The birdclock croaked when it saw the sun, tethered to a spring.
G.Riehl.
Wedel's Remnants.
Transmission Complete
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