Establishing connection...
Decrypting message...
COMM ID: Giovanni "Johnny" Vega, Made Man
*A dark haired man appears on the viewscreen seated behind a fine dark grain desk. He is dressed impeccably in what appears to be a custom made suit. An Outcast cardamine breather is clearly visible on his face, indicating he is one of the few Cartel that regularly dose themselves with Cardamine, and is holding a cigar in his right hand. He takes a long drag, and opens his mouth, letting the smoke slowly rise into his face. With a smirk, he begins to speak.*
You know, I'm not quite sure why I'm addressing you to begin with. Since you lot decided to value your credits over your own safety, we have fenced an incredible amount of ore to our Junker contacts. Something to the tune of 10,000 units just in the last two days. I'll let it sit there for a moment, so you can do the math.
*He leans forward, raises his eyebrows and mouths 'think about it'*
But don't worry, I'm not here to gloat. That would be just plain rude. I, as a respectable businessman, would never do such a thing. You see, I have a soft streak every so often. Usually when I'm flush with credits, have women in my bed, and only the finest Kusari silk touches my skin. After all, its partially thanks to you and the rest of you rock mongers that our profits have never been higher. So I have come here to make you an offer. It's the same offer you refused before all this commotion started.
*He leans back and puts his hands on the table.*
Fifty million credits, payable at the first of every standard Sirius month. This ensures the safety of your ICMG guildmates by placing them under our protection. Now, before you throw your arms into the air, and start moaning, consider this. Fifty million is nothing, and I mean nothing, compared to the amount that we can earn if you continue down this self-destructive road you've taken. You've seen how we operate. We are quick, merciless, and as your pilots have been made very aware, unrelenting.
The sadist in me says to not send this message. To keep hunting down your ships, and keep taking your precious niobium. But I'd like to throw you a bone, so to speak. Maybe I'm becoming a better person. Then again, maybe not. Consider what I have just said, and consider it well. You have until the first of the next month to decide. Decide quick though, as it is fast approaching.
*The man takes another long drag from the cigar.*
Keep something in mind however. This is the last time we will make this particular offer. The next one won't be nearly as accomodating to you.
Capisce, comrade?
*The man stands up, straightens out his jacket, and walks off the viewscreen.*
....::::Incoming Transmission::::.....
From: ICMG Director of Foreign Affairs, Roger Sterling
Location: Dunby Station, Orkney
....::::Message Begins::::.....
A man appears in front of a fuzzy video feed. Smiling, He sits down at a scruffy desk made of plywood and welded scraps of steel.
"Good day my good men from the cartel. The name is Roger Sterling and I act as the Director of the ICMG's Foreign Relations. First of all, I have to correct some things about your previous bragging."
Reaching down into his desk, Roger pulls out a sheet of paper and begins reading.
Quote:You know, I'm not quite sure why I'm addressing you to begin with. Since you lot decided to value your credits over your own safety, we have fenced an incredible amount of ore to our Junker contacts. Something to the tune of 10,000 units just in the last two days. I'll let it sit there for a moment, so you can do the math.
"I can assure you, all that ore was not from the ICMG's operations."
"As for the rest your message, I wish to state that the ICMG greatly appreciates the Cartels willingness to end this conflict peacefully. The ICMG is a group of miners, not warriors, we are always willing to negotiate."
Roger leans forward onto the plywood slab that acts as his desk. Taking a few puffs from the pipe in his mouth he closes his eyes to enjoy the sweet flavor of the Galiac tobacco in his mouth. Swirling it around for a moment he exhales and resumes his message.
"Seeing as how you Cartel have seen fit to come to the table with talks of friendship, I would like to extent to you our original offer on witch we had agreed upon all those months ago."
Roger leans back into his chair.
"You leave us alone and we will not blockade your valuable shipments of Cardimine travailing through the TAU-37 jump hole. We have ignored that aspect of your operations from the commencement of hostilities, however I think it is time to ether escalate this conflict or put it to bed."
Roger takes a slow puff from his pipe.
"It is entirely your choice as to where this goes. I will expect a response from you on this channel."
Standing up, Roger moves towards the camera.
"Once more, I wish to express great gratitude that men such as yourselves can come to the table and try the way of peace. Thank you for your time, and good flying."
*CLICK*
....::::Message Ends::::.....
....::::End of Transmission::::.....
My trusted compatriot Roger has forwarded me the ridiculous contents of this channel, and reading of your inanely small-minded demands and poor hygiene has amused me to no end.
Once again you beg like sissy women girls for us to stop slapping your cheeks (and I mean both pairs), and whimper for a paltry sum of credits with it?
Let me be frank. I am not a soft touch like Roger. I will donk your crap. Your gums will bleed from the mere sight of my terrifying violation of your group's personal safety, given the thumbs up from the Defense Warlord.
I speak for the rest of the Guild of hard mining men when I say the Cartel is a pack of sissy wuss kittens. Your ships will be explodered, your pilots left to vacuum dust off our relentless horde of conquering demonships. Until now we have ignored your weak-bass pansyfun. It ends now. I will end you.
With an unquenchable thirst for your blood,
Jake Stephens,
Guild Frontiersman,
Independent Communist Miners Guild
A young woman sits back in her flight suit, lounged on a comfortable char sipping a black liquid from a white mug
~Message Begins~
Dear Cretins and miscellaneous thugs of the cartel.
When I was first forwarded this letter it was initially with skepticism which quickly moved to hilarity.
After blowing up a transport of your stolen ore yesterday this has been quickly put into perspective.
I had initially not thought such inadequacy was possible, you ask for a paltry sum of credits and then tell us its a paltry sum? Thank you for pointing this out as it might have been a true tragedy had we missed it.
Please allow me to provide specific details, so that you can either pursue your professional prerogative, and seek to rectify these difficulties - or more likely (I suspect) so that you can have some entertaining viewing material as you while away your day, drinking half rate stolen coffee on the bog of your cardamine farm.
It has become apparent to me that you have believe us to be only a mining group of individuals, while this is broadly true it certainly does not account for the hired mercenaries as well as the fighter pilots we have under our employ from various groups around sirius.
Your plight must be fairly desperate to attempt such a bold move as you just did. I'm guessing your cardamine is either not getting through or people cant be bothered or more likely, The market is so saturated with your other outcast cretins sending the same thing through that you can scarcely scrape together a few credits.
So you turn to the miners.
Well.. it was perhaps good for a while, robbing the various miners in the fields but as necessary we have stepped up security. See, if you have money and you have a problem. You can do something about it. Not something I believe you would understand coming from such an impoverished position as to demand tiny amounts of credits from us.
Your bunch of sputum-filled pieces of distended rectum incompetents of the highest order that you call your cartel are truly of no threat to us. Nor will they ever be.
I enclose two small deposits, selected with great care from my cats litter tray, as an expression of my utter and complete contempt for both you and your pointless cartel. I sincerely hope that they have not become
desiccated during transit - they were satisfyingly moist at the time of sending, and I would feel considerable disappointment if you did not experience both their rich aroma and delicate texture consider them the very embodiment of my feelings towards the Cartel, and its worthless thugs.
Have a nice day - may it be the last in you miserable short life
--------------------------------------
//OOC: note. Please take the above as in character. I bear no ooRP resentment to the cartel.
Richard "Dick" Johnston to To the ICMG, from the Cartel
Rog sent this along to me too. Instantly, I could see the action to come clearly, in my mind's eye. It's a sunny day, like every day, and Sally Cartel is playing with Jimmy Outcast in the backyard on Cali Base. Life is good.
Then, the ship comes.
It's a transport, and it thunders into the rock fort at ramming speed. Outcasts and Cartel alike are sucked into space as the long, phallic ship penetrates Cali's inner walls with all the savage, unbridled fury of a metal space-stallion. Suddenly, from the ship bursts a raging flood of bearded, angry miners. With pickaxes.
___________________ I'M GOING TO MINE YOUR GAS-HOLE ___________________
The slaughter is swift.
Cali Base is annexed as a mining outpost, with a monument stuck on top so that none ever forget that day. It is a statue, almost as big as the station itself, of an angry, full-bearded mining man pickaxing the Don.
The station is also renamed "Man Base". Plagued with an insatiable lust involving you and pickaxes, Richard "Dick" Johnston, Chief CEO Officer, Guild of Hard Mining Men.
**Incoming transmission**
**Decrypting... 30% - 40% - 50% - 100%, Displaying**
Comm ID: Jim Young
Comm Location: DSM-S Incorruptible
Jim looks over the previous messages wondering what could make someone so unwise. "Not only aren't they accepting that war with the ICMG was a bad idea, now they threaten the ICMG and demand credits for 'protection'." Jim shakes his head and looks back at the message, "The DSM Corporation will -not- Accept such blatant threats towards our allies."
....::::Incoming Transmission::::.....
From: ICMG Manager, Jeremy Walker
Location: Java Station, Tau 23
....::::Message Begins::::.....
*The videofeed shows a middle aged man in a worn flight suit sitting in the canteen at Java Station. He has obviously been drinking heavily.*
Man oh man, you Cartel boys sure do talk a good game. And that is one pretty suit you got there. My compliments to your tailor. The name's Jeremy Walker. But you can call me Walker. Everybody does. However, sooner or later - and I'm guessing sooner - you and your friends are gonna start referring to me as the worst damned fighter pilot you've ever had the misfortune to meet in cold, dead space.
I can already see the surprise in your pretty little faces. What is this old man going on about? Well, allow me to explain. What I aim to do is to give you a little insight into the mind of a career miner. Having never done an honest day's work, you're at a disadvantage. You waltzed into this little...excuse me, you tangoed into this little situation without all the facts. Let me enlighten you.
See, a man who'll sit around all day shooting tiny little energy weapons at tiny little rocks hoping that some tiny little amount of something valuable will fall out of them so he can put those tiny little nuggets into a great heaping mother of a transport until it's fat, heavy, and full and THEN lug that tub halfway across Sirius through pirate infested - no offense pretty suit - sectors hoping he'll be able to sell it for a decent profit, well, that is a stubborn, stubborn man.
Getting back to my point, you'll forgive me of course, I've had a few. Now, a man as stubborn as all that, when all that hard work he's doing is threatened, well, he gets all prickly. Then he gets angry. Real angry. Not angry with the sniveling cowards who made the threats. They can't help the way they was raised. No one will ever be able to explain why their mothers didn't love 'em. No, he gets angry with ideas like injustice and inequity. But I'll be damned if you can shoot at injustice. And have you ever tried to nuke inequity? So all that anger's got ta go somewhere.
Where the hell was I? Oh yeah. I'm a stunningly good miner, but I'm a crap fighter pilot. You think that's gonna keep me out of the cockpit of my Nyx? Think again pretty suit. I'm going to surround myself with the best fighter pilots money can buy and then I'm going to provide your halfwits with a tasty target while the big boys tear 'em apart. Stubborn, huh? And you know what happens when you tear up my pretty little ship? I'll go out and buy another one and do it again. 'Cause the fifty mil a month we aren't gonna give you will buy a whole lot of firepower.
If they can't build Nyxes fast enough, I'll go down to Pittsburgh system and buy a Starflier. Then I'll set a course for Cali and giggle the whole way there. And if one of your little friends gets lucky enough and smart enough to shoot down my escape pod, eight or ten of my brothers and sisters who are just as stubborn as me will step right up and do the same.
I'll tell you. I feel right sorry for a man who messes with a career miner. You have yourself a nice day now. Hey, did I mention that I really like that suit of yours? That is a fine piece of work, that.
***Incoming Transmission***
***Location: Orkney ***
***ID: Director Ben Hunt ***
What a hilarious development.
The Cartel is more delusional than ever. I thought it was fairly mad when Niko Bellic flew around proclaiming himself "King of the Taus" , while exploding every so often. But this is much more amusing.
Your menial "forces" barely even come near us, they just sit on top of your dirty rock yelling feeble insults across the system. The only time these "forces" leave their orbit of your base is to move a little closer to Java in order to yell at the CR stationed there , claiming that the CR are cowards for staying too close to their base. The hypocrasy is palpable. And to add yet more hilarity, when the CR do move off to remove your pests, its straight back into orbit around your rock to continue wailing accross the system about how unfair life is.
You claim to have taken all this ore, but none of it is from us I assure you. When your ships are spotted heading towards the mining fields a cry goes up. But not a cry for help, or a cry of fear, or a cry of hatred. It is a cry of "Shotgun the front seat" as every miner crowds to the windows of their vessels in order to watch the inevitable comedy show. You should give Niko Bellic a special award here, he never fails to perform admirably in this role of comedian.
It is unfortunate that you prey on other miners though, and we will be doing something about that I gaurntee. The 50 million that you ask for each month will be used to outfit ever more ships as the continually growing ICMG expands its range of craft. Your forces will dissappear under a flood of newly commisioned vessels.
In conclusion, you, your demand, and your entire group are a joke.
***Transmission Ended***
Former leader of AFA (Farmers Alliance)
Former leader of [ALG] faction
Former GMG Trade Director
Retired due to career focus. Returned due to career de-focus.