Yknow, lad.
Seems yer moth has got ye into some hot water an' sure.
Th Rogues want ye, Oi want ye, an yer own folk've veritably frown ye at th' dogs.
A simple "Sorry, Congressman for my accusation. You were within your rights and I was way out of line." would suffice.
S' yer choice now, boyo.
-Wake out
.:j:.
Congressman Tim Finnegan
Coileach an Taobh Tuath
Looks like your rally went wrong GangStar.
Its real simple.. we live back in here in Puerto Rico.. dis is our home,
and nobody don't mess with us. My friends here, they are not nice like me,
you keep baring your fangs and you'll soon end up with your throat slit.
Indeed he has gotten into some trouble. Not without reason, that guy is totally mad, he doesn't know when tae shoot and when tae just pass. Someone needs tae teach him some diplomacy, I'd say. Preferably the hard way...
Gar, 'bout time this Gangstar get's this. He be hurtin' my business all over Liberty. And callin' I a traitor is not gad callin' for a soci'path.
Adam look's back in to rochester at the Bulldog on the landing bay, and has a big smile as he thinks to himself, "A lov'lie little chance ta test mi little toy out. I wonder's what he'll think's 'bout one of these crazy cont'ption"
The hacker shows up awkwardly dressed, A horrible, orange colored shirt and an antique vision corrector.
Hey, bro.
Thanks for the foul-smelling news. Let me advise you slightly.
Don't stomp on junker grass without apparent business intentions e.g. selling loot. The reason should be obvious to you by now. Their "no camping allowed" signs are easy to overlook.
Furthermore, true gangsters never leave the console, whether it's a coolant leak to prevent or a personal one to take. The trick is to have a portable version and take it with you anywhere you go.
Do not blame others for your own deficiencies, such as gross negligence to put up a "not for scrapping" sign before taking a nap. I was looking for a good comparison but realized that nothing really compares to powering your ship down right next to the Junker HQ, the ultimate scrap heap, the smelter of smelters.
So be advised - it may not seem so at first glance. The Lane Hackers have no room for complainers.
*Bridge of the Wake*
*Trafalgar airspace, New London*
*Finn grins broadly*
Skeert, son?
Aint seen ye'z in some time.
Almost loike ye' hidin'... *waggles a finger*
I'm like ta forget about ye'z, ye stay underground much longer.
Course there's tha' wee matter o' you takin' out onna me own, Congresswoman Michelle...
I'm nae like ta ferget tha' one soon. *taps console*
Knock knock, ya dirty bugger.
Oi's lookin' fer ye'z
Best check yer six.
Often. *smirks*
-Wake out.