Javez - All Points Bulletin


Gotta keep movin', that's what Javez always tells himself. Had a full name once, left it behind the day he walked out of school, aged thirteen, and never looked back at the place. Got a whole bunch of other names too, written across a whole bunch of police files, probation reports and social worker casenotes. Good luck to whoever wants to try to piece 'em all together and work out that they're all about the same person.

Gotta keep movin'. Don't let 'em get a fix on you. You stop, you're dead.

Javez grew up in Gresty. Usual way out of there was through crime. Having a regular job - driving a delivery truck, or standing out there in a monkey suit on Silver or Empire and opening doors for people - made you almost a pillar of the community. Javez didn't go for any of that. Didn't know what he wanted to do, just that he wanted out.

Skateboarding was cool, though. Hanging out down at the NCS, watching kids fall on their ass. Javez did plenty of that too. Couldn't 'board worth a damn. Scratch that as a way of getting out of Gresty.

The skatepark had another use, though. Blank canvas. All that concrete, in handy San Paro municipal grey, just waiting for someone to do something more interesting with it. The crew Javez hung out with, some were born to have guns in their hand, others a spike in their arm. Javez, though; put a paintcan in his hand, and he's a fuckin' artist.

Tagging was his thing. G-Kings' artist-in-residence. Back then, they weren't the biggest or the baddest gang in the city, and they still had plenty of problems with the Barbarians over on Border, but everyone still knew who they were. His tags, all over the city. Works of fuckin' art.

Others thought so. Effigy magazine said street was back in again. Picture it: Javez, glossy magazine cover star.

So now he's finally moving. Out of Gresty. Into the art galleries on Canalside and the Important People party circuit. Maybe flavour of the month, but he's going to make it last as long as he can. Rich bitches dig him, especially if he lays the ghetto stuff on thick. He meets Bonita Benjamin. They had a thing together for a short while, but don't talk about it anymore. That's cool. No problem there.

She introduces him to Big Daddy Arlon. Arlon's hip; sees right through the ghetto act and tells Javez he knows he's smarter than that. Arlon's a cool guy; came up from the streets, but never makes a big deal about it.

Arlon talks art. Arlon talks politics. Starts giving him books to read. Javez's head gets turned inside out. On the move again. Not social mobility now; mental mobility. Free your mind, and your ass will follow.

Street art goes back out of style. Effigy says he's gone from Hot to Not. Javez doesn't care. Got bigger things going on inside his head than wanting to ball their next month's cover model anyway.

Arlon's got a new thing going on. Javez wants in. This city. Just one big blank canvas, waiting for someone to start writing new ideas all across it.

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  • Subject
    Welcome to the upper Gs.

    Whats happening?

    You move up through the ranks, youll see things start to change. Gs are Gs, but a lot of the ones you been hanging with are the foot soldiers. They do a righteous duty, no doubting that, but you think Zombie or Double-B are ever going to be anything more than what they already are?

    Got to evolve, like me. You play this right, you're going to see a side of the Gs no-one knows about.

    More to this crew than just being Gresty board rats.

    - Javez

    Re: any advice, Javez?

    Change. Thats what its about.

    Look at me, used to be a Gresty board rat and tag-artist. Then, suddenly, tag arts big and Im hanging out at those Canalside galleries, getting interviewed by Effigy and selling stuff to rich stiffs from Virginia Gardens.

    Lotta girls on that scene really into street guys. Me, I play it up like Im Zombie himself. Chicks love it! Im not complaining much either.

    And thats how I met Bonita B, and how the Gs hooked up with Big Daddy Arlon.

    Shit, gotta run; something's come up. Later.

    - Javez

    Meet the Benjamins

    Guess its okay to start telling you about the Benjamins. You keep moving up, youre gonna meet them soon enough.

    Me and Bonita B used to have a thing together. She was like a lot of girls on that scene, wanting to hang out and play gangster princess.

    Thru her I met Big Daddy Arlon. Arlon Benjamin. Rich guy that came up from the streets. One of those rich guys who wanted to change the world. Trouble was, all the other rich guys liked the way it was already, with them rich and everyone else not.

    And thats where the Gs and Arlon came together.


    - Javez

    Re: RE: Meet the Benjamins

    You still not met Arlon yet, no? Hes a cool guy. Turned me onto a lot of cool ideas.

    Knows about politics, art, history, philosophy. All that stuff. Really turned my head around and got me thinking about things. Up until then, Id just been playing the scene, getting paid and laid for being this new big street artist discovery. Arlon changed all that.

    I turned him on to the G-Kings. Arlon got what the Gs were about. Our enemies were his enemies; Bs and the Gs, fighting the Ps and the money men behind them.

    Like I said, more to us than just Gresty board rats.

    - Javez

    Re: Re: RE: Meet the Benjamins

    You got the picture now? Gs bankrolled by some Havalynd rich guy to fight a bunch of other Havalynd rich guys. Our rich guy wants to change things. The other rich guys make their money from things staying the same.

    You know Shift? Shes plugged deep into this stuff. Says theres maybe someone else even behind Arlon. Cant say the name, not even here. You as smart as I think you are, you can maybe guess it.

    We always part of someones bigger picture, right?

    Good luck,

    - Javez

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  • Subject
    Biography: Geography (Part 1)

    "A parcel of many different-coloured and different-tongued rogues and thieves" is how one far-flung 18th century traveller from more civilised climes once described the city that still stands at the point where the Nantego and Makoda rivers meet and flow into the sea.

    San Paro's early history is muddled - especially when it's dependant on who is writing the history books - but it's generally agreed that the (delete-as-applicable) trading post/pirate base that the city would grow from was founded by (ditto) intrepid merchant traders/opportunistic sea marauders who had travelled across the Pacific to find the safe anchorage of Nantego Bay and the attendant rich pickings of the various trade routes that intersected there.

    Many nationalities helped build the city. The Chinese, Koreans, English, Dutch and Spanish all established trading posts in the bay. In the centuries that followed, various wars and trading alliances between these peoples saw these trading posts begin to merge together, forming the beginnings of the city. Some were swallowed up entirely, as one trading group disposed of a weaker rival.

    It was the Europeans who emerged the final victors - their superior firepower and all-conquering spirit of manifest destiny enough to establish them as the city's dominant power players for the next several hundred years. The Koreans hung on where others fell away, and have always managed to deftly negotiate a continuing seat for themselves at the top table, as the city changed hands various times between various new colonial masters.

    Colonial overlords came and went, each leaving behind something of itself in the San Paro gene pool, but the Spanish lasted long enough to at least leave behind the name of San Paro, and the British (and later, after them, the Americans) were around long enough to ensure that English remains the official linga franca of this most polyglot of cities. Korean and Spanish are also widely spoken throughout the city, although a traditionally Anglo-dominated city bureaucracy has always blocked any serious attempt to put ether of them on the same equal official footing as English.

    The Koreans, happy to go along with any superficial accommodations as long as they continue to control a significant portion of the city's wealth, don't press the point. The Latinos, now mostly forming part of the city's burgeoning underclass, aren't in a position to do much of anything about it.

    As a free port and major Pacific trade hub, San Paro is used to the flotsam and jetsam of shifts in the global financial and employment markets washing up on its shores. Some have prospered. Others have not. Welcome to the unofficial San Paro City Lottery. Race has never been a major issue in San Paro, where so many cultures have always come together to trade. Here, it's wealth and celebrity that define your status, not the colour of your skin or the language your grandparents spoke.

    Havalynd is all about business and serious money, and serious money, in San Paro, means Anglos and Asians. They've stamped their skyscrapers down on top of the remnants of the early trading port that used to exist there, redrawing the maps in the same way that they've tried to rewrite the history books to prove they've always been there. Gresty, a public housing enclave carved out by well-intentioned but doomed-to-failure zoning policies of the Social Progressive Party in the 1970s and 80s, hangs on by its fingernails, its mixed community of poor Africans, Anglos, Asians and Latinos banding together to give the collective finger to their social superiors.

    Midtown is a 100% melting pot, the hotspot where all sections of San Paro meet and mix, with everyone grabbing a piece of whatever they can get. Everyone's got a foothold; no-one has full purchase. The Asians - Chinese, Japanese and lower-class Korean - have a stranglehold on the Denkiba area and its electronics retail trade. The Projects around Green Street, a dumping ground for the problems social services couldn't deal with or shift out to the city's outer fringes, are predominantly African and Latino, and are an ever-dependable recruitment pool for gangs like Red Rain. The middle class San Parians who can't afford the jump to safer parts of the city cluster together in the areas around John Holland University and the SPPD's Keep headquarters, seeking reassuring shelter in the shadow of these crumbling civic edifices.

    The Waterfront was the original point of entry to San Paro for much of its immigrant population. A lot of them prospered and moved on. Some didn't, and still form the pockets of impoverished resentment in Netherport and around the Yard Stretch. Now the descendants of other more prosperous immigrants are returning to the area, re-colonising it to gaze down from their luxury converted warehouse apartments at the wharfs and jetties where their great grandparents first stepped ashore. The wealthy and quietly conservative enclave of Prentiss continues to glower suspiciously down at this unwelcome social mobility. Fame and money open most doors in San Paro, but the membership rolls of Prentiss's country clubs and golf ranges remain barred to many outsiders.

    Biography: Macchina Calabria Ltd

    Macchina Calabria Ltd (MCL)

    Macchina Calabria Ltd (or MCL) is an Italian automobile manufacturer, formerly marketed under the "Spirito Italia" brand name. MCL's main offices are located in the Esposizione Universale Roma (EUR) in Rome, and the company is the third largest car Manufacturer in Europe. While their well made and affordable cars have made significant inroads into the world automobile markets, the company has suffered a series of minor scandals in recent years. While accusations of price fixing and labour racketeering appear largely unfounded, in 2003, the Italian government arrested Raffaele Guardo Laconti, the head of MCL, and charged him with embezzling 150 million Euros (200 million USD). However, succeeded by his chairman, Bernardo Vizzini, the brand popularity of MCL appears largely untainted. In the U.S. MCL Marine is a joint venture with Aquator Corp that produces motors for boats and other maritime equipment.

    Mika Wong Report: PRAETORIANS


    Op-ed piece by Mikko Wong - Staff Writer, San Paro Standard (article unpublished)

    It's possible this article might never appear in print, and that none of you will ever read it. It's possible I'll get canned about five minutes after I turn it into my editor. Hell, it's even possible I'll end up in some Midtown alley tonight getting a forcible lesson in the newly rewritten rules regarding freedom of speech in this city, courtesy of a couple of guys wearing ski-masks and calling each other 'Mr Black' and 'Mr Brown'.

    And you know what? I don't give a shit. I really don't.

    I woke up this morning, and there was a squad of stormtroopers guarding the entrance to my condo block. I got to the Standard building, and there was a couple of guys with shiny jackboots and even shinier automatic rifles checking staff IDs and staring at women's asses, mine included. I'm looking out the window of my office right now, and I see more of the same type doing lazy drive-by patrols along Empire Boulevard in the kind of heavy-duty RV you'd normally associate with invading Poland.

    Better get used to it, San Paro. The Praetorians have landed.

    They're here to protect the lives and property of the citizenry of San Paro, but - hey, wait a minute - don't we already pay taxes for a police department to do that? Yeah, but the SPPD's withering on the vine and hampered by those pesky little things we used to call due process and constitutional rights, the People That Matter tell us, so it's time for private enterprise to step into the gap and contribute its share to the public good.

    Pro bono, they call it, with large-caliber attitude.

    So we're getting a new city-wide security force, there to protect and serve, organised and subsidized by corporate Havalynd's own Masters of the Universe and all for less than we already pay for our garbage to be collected every week. Sounds like a good deal, right?

    Think about it, people. Was this what Mayor Derren - our very own Attila the Nun - wanted when she first thought up her half-assed bill that handed law enforcement rights over to every asshole out there with a gun and a grudge against the kids down the block who throw garbage into his front yard?

    Goobers with guns are bad enough, but now we're looking to protection from the same corporate cocksuckers who landed us in this mess in the first place?

    Don't believe me? So who do you think manufactures that automatic pistol that some teenage mutant psycho used to blow away the guy behind the counter at your local seven-eleven the other night? How do you think these weapons get onto the streets in the first place?

    The black market? Riiiiiight.

    Those big business tax breaks that were paid for out of the city budget and ended up cutting off the SPPD's funding at the knees? No prizes for seeing who benefited there, or who lobbied hard for them in the first place.

    The neighbourhood where you grew up is completely screwed because the local factory got closed down and all the jobs got shipped out to someplace where the daily wage won't cover the cost of a ten-minute San Paro taxi ride, and the kid who used to bag your groceries is trying to break down your front door with a baseball bat to steal your widescreen TV, because that's the basis of the local economy now? Where do you think the budgetary decision that kick-started that particular little chain of cause-and-effect first happened?

    The more I look at it, the more this column looks like a letter of resignation, so - fuck it - let's get down and dirty with a little naming and shaming, shall we?

    Justin Teng. Looks great in those public service announcements where he's promising how from now you're going to be able to make the daily school run without getting shot at, or those "We don't start trouble - BUT WE SURE AS HELL STAND READY TO STOP IT!" recruitment ads for the Praetorians. Got himself a line of nice suits, and some even nicer dental work. Seems like a swell guy, right?

    Justin Teng's the pointman for the consortium of Havalynd heavy hitters that are bankrolling the Praetorians. Justin Teng earned something in excess of $64 million last year from his various stock options alone, and pays someone to squeeze the toothpaste onto his toothbrush every morning before he gets up.

    So ask yourself this - just how much of a shit do you think Justin Teng and his colleagues really give about you and your loved ones, about your friends, neighbours and workmates; about what happens out in the Yard, or Midtown, or Red Hill, or whatever quasi-Third World - from their elevated viewpoint - craphole you happen to live in?

    Ask yourself that, and then ask yourself why people like that would be so interested in putting armed stooges under private enterprise command on every street corner in the city. And then start to worry when you come to the same conclusion as me.

    The SPPD may be far from perfect, but at least it's publicly accountable. The Praetorians, on the other hand...

    They're not a private-funded public service, people. They're a coup d'etat waiting in the corporate wings, for when San Paro city machine really starts to break down.

  • Name Stages Final Stage
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  • Level Name
    10 Fall Down, Go Boom (15 Joker Tickets)

    I'm a big fan of grenades. I'm making a frag video in honor of my favorite type and need some footage. <col: Yellow>Grenade kill 3 Enforcers.</col> Doesn't have to be all at once and can be with any kind of grenade, I just need some footage.

    Kill <col: Yellow>3</col> Enforcers with grenades.