Veronika Lee - All Points Bulletin

Veronika Lee

Veronika was born into shit so she never expected much else. The youngest of four children, her earliest memories were of screaming. It was informational, not that she knew at the time; her mother merely trying to impress upon her father that he'd come home drunk again. It was to become a familiar refrain.

They lived in a fourth-floor apartment off of Gresty Road, just about eye-level with the flyover. From the neighbouring blocks they could hear kids taking potshots at the moving vehicles. Neither of her parents worked much. Instead her mother vicariously and compulsively channelled the misery of others, spending her days soaking up daytime talk shows and reality television, while her father drank and gambled away the welfare that dripped in. Home was one long vigorous exchange of contrasting views. One night George Lee was shot in a bar-room scuffle over a bad hand of cards; he was a lousy player, a lousy father, turned out he was a lousy fighter too. It got quieter for a while after that.

Her brothers weren't home much. They'd already worked the equation, join a gang or spend your life running. They got in early with G-Kings, a new group out of Gresty, spoiling for trouble with the Barbarians. By fifteen they were learning to shoot. By sixteen, two of them were dead. Death didn't sound so bad to Veronika. Maybe she'd give gangs a try.

She started running with the G-Kings. She learned to skateboard but she was there for the company. Attention was a novelty she couldn't get over. She liked the way the boys looked at her. On some level it amazed her that they cared. She discovered a hitherto unsuspected sense of mischief. They'd hang out down at NCS and she'd work the boys against each other, like a child playing chess with herself.

All that fooling, but it was Zombie who was the first. The first time she lost control of the game, and her world revolved briefly around him. There was the ephemeral phosphor flare of a relationship, but it was never going to last. Zombie was in it for the team, always someone else's problems on his mind. He still looked out for her, she knew. That's how Feargal got the broken wrist, no bullshit accident. It annoyed her a little sometimes, he'd had his chance, but sometimes she was glad of it too.

Now she's full colours, packing the new heat coming down from Mr. Fell. Zombie lets her do the meet and greets, because she can talk better than the rest. Since the G-Kings owned NCS, she's down there day and night, uncrowned queen of the half-pipes. She's glue, and she likes that. Bleach and Deadbolt posture like apes, competing with the dangerous tricks, but it's Veronika's withering tongue keeps them laughing at each other. They took her in, these freaks and misfits. She found a place; it was a thing she never guessed she'd be able to do.

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  • Subject

    So kewl to have U with us. Liked how U handled th@ thing 4 us. 4cers or other krews got 2 get the message. We did it 2 the Barbarians  my boyfriend Zombie wasted them BIGtime!! - so now every1 knows that Gresty is G Town!!

    This is such a sweet time 2 b a G. Lots of gr8 things going on. H8rz aren't going to stop us. Not this time. Want to tell U more, but we're not supposed to talk about it, haha!!

    Gresty 4ever,

    Villainous V

    my bf

    U know my boyfriend Zombie? U met him up at U-know-where, right? (Like we're not supposed to talk about it coz it's such a big secret that even the dumb 4cers have maybe figured it out by now hahha!!)

    I was telling him about U. (Don't worry  I wasn't telling him U were hitting on me. Coz if U did U better move to someplace like Mars where even he couldn't find U haha!!)

    He got sent away coz the 4cers h8d him 2 much. He's gonna b coming back 1 day though, and  OH BOY!! - R the Gs gonna party some then!!!

    Stay Gresty,

    V the G


    Remember when I told U there was things I couldn't tell U about? U turning out to be a real G, so I guess it's ok to let U in on what's happening.

    Gs are taking over. 4Real.

    4cers think we're just dumb sk8er losers but we're a lot more than that. We're organized. We've got this big Havalynd money guy behind us. We know wut we want and we no how to get it.




    Veronika Free

    where woz u

    @ Asylum Nite last nite!!!

    Some place in Red Hill. G Town's home, but it's good 2 go overseas for a nite.

    Lots of krews there. But it's Asylum, so everyone was being super-kewl. Was talking to one of those Blood Rose rich bitch freaks. Last week we were popping off rounds @ each other and now we're talking makeup and clothing labels. 4Real!!

    Some Red Rain guy tried to hit on me. Someone told him I was Z's girl and he disappeared FAST hahaha.

    Luv AsylumNite. U gotta come with us next time!!

    Living life in the key of G,

    Queen V

    U no these guys?

    So many kewl people in the Gs. U met Shift? That thing that went down last Trader's Day parade? That was Shift. Same when we had Asylum night right there in Justin Teng's apartment. Partying all night in the P chief's Needles penthouse duplex, LOL!!

    U met Chiro? I got some totally wild 4 Wheel Doggi skinart done by him. And Javez, he designed my very own tag 4 me. And my boyfriend Zombie. I mentioned him b4, right?

    Oops. Just remembered we're not supposed to talk about this stuff. Too many 4cer drones tapped into i-Net. I'm so busted hahaha!!

    l8r sk8r,

    Veronika la Gee

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  • Subject
    Biography: San Paro

    When the first humans left their prints in the wet, white sands of Nantego Beach, they thought they had found a paradise. At the meeting of two rivers, where the Makoda subsumed itself into the shimmering span of the Nantego in its final rush to mother sea, they abandoned their journey and sank their roots in the land. A settlement quickly established itself, propelled on by an abundance of natural resources. The rich soils of the river basin supported a variety of crops. The warm winds blew across from the gulf, and from the crystal waters the fishermen reaped the treasures to feed a growing population of craftsmen and traders. And all the while the town spread its tendrils further inland, reaching out for the wider world, eager for contact. As centuries passed, the deep river channels were perfect for the ships that sailed in from all points of the compass, bringing silks and spices, pottery, cloth, wine and rare metals. San Paro became a maritime hub, a launch point for explorers, a thriving international port.

    Of course, that was then.

    Sirens cut through the night. The turbo whine of tuners careering headlong through the neon alleys. Uptown, the air is alive with the pepper-rattle of small-arms. The sky is clear but there are no stars, only a jaundice haze bleeding into black space. The broiling boulevards, the leviathan scrapers; a lattice of electric light stretching in every direction, obliterating heaven.

    Sunrise comes, and the banks of smog roll over from Cortland Point, retched from the hundreds of chimneys which form a thorned carapace across the western edge of the tributary. On a still, hot day, the glass and concrete spires of Havalynd disappear into the grey mire; a debased Olympus, built with the blood of men and inhabited by corporate gods.

    The Nantego is a great brown slug, squirming uncomfortably between the quay walls and the rotting banks. Its stench rolls over the docks and the coastal districts, permeating everything. Nothing has lived in there for thirty years.

    The gunfire has subsided now. The gangs are sleeping. Only the occasional crackle and burst as the cops try to pick up the stragglers. Already, blank-eyed medics sift through the bodies. Soon the citizens will emerge, their broken sleep painted in tiny fracture lines around their eyes. They crawl in gridlock along the arterial roads, tired or scared or empty.

    Welcome to San Paro.

    Biography: Luke Waskawi (Part 1)

    Vincent Waskawi, a Polish immigrant, arrived in San Paro thirty five years ago. He married Martha Waskawi, who worked as a maid for a family in Virginia Gardens. Their only child, Luke Waskawi, would change San Paro forever before his sixteenth birthday.

    Vincent Waskawi made an immediate impression on everyone who met him; a strong, capable and warm-hearted man who believed absolutely that San Paro could still be a land of opportunity for all those that came to it with something to offer it. What Vincent Waskawi had to offer were the same ideals he installed from an early age in his son, Luke - a belief in hard work, honesty, decency and a duty to look after your family and those less fortunate than yourself.

    Waskawi Senior worked in the Dyler power plant in Cortland Point, just one of the many poor immigrants who toiled there every day, to satisfy the city's ever-growing demands for energy. It was tiring and undeniably menial work, but it was still work, and Vincent Waskawi wasn't afraid of the long hours and backbreaking labour the job required. As he often told his young son, he and his co-workers were providing the energy that kept San Paro running. Power is the lifeblood of the city, providing energy to the city's offices and factories. Power keeps people in work, keeps people safe at night on well-lit streets, keeps the city's subways running, keeps people safe in their homes.

    San Paro needed power to stay alive, and someone had to be the source of that power. It was a lesson the young Luke Waskawi would never forget, although almost certainly in a way his father never intended.

    Vincent Waskawi's personal and intellectual - he was bright, albeit self-educated - qualities soon got him noticed, and his popularity with his co-workers eventually took him into union management at the plant. If the power plant owners thought that an uneducated immigrant labourer would be easy to manipulate, they were badly mistaken. Vincent Waskawi brought both his characteristic work ethic and a fiery natural intelligence into trying to get a better deal for his co-workers.

    The union job provided enough extra money to allow the Waskawi family to move into one of the better blue collar neighbourhoods in Cortland Point. There, he gradually became an unofficial community leader of sorts; friends and neighbours seeking him out to ask him to informally intercede in local disputes. Waskawi's growing reputation for straightforward and honest dealing, both in the neighbourhood and in union business at the power plant, brought him into contact with various local political, religious and business interests in Cortland Point. It also brought him into the orbit of another undeniably important local interest group; the criminal underworld.

    Luke Waskawi still remembers the quiet-voiced, dangerous-faced men who stopped to pay their respects to his father on the street, and he remembers the way his father's hand - perhaps unconsciously - protectively tightened its grip on his own as he stood and exchanged pleasantries with known thieves and murderers. Soon, some of these men were coming to the house, wanting to talk to Vincent Waskawi about, they said, matters of mutual interest. The Dyler power plant was a vital part of the local economy, not just in Cortland Point, but in San Paro as a whole. A union-sanctioned strike at the plant meant costly power blackouts throughout the city, something which the city council and most especially San Paro's big business interests were extremely keen to avoid. One or more San Paro's mobster fraternities had longstanding arrangements with Vincent's union organiser predecessor regarding the ability to ferment instant labour problems at the power plant. They now very much wanted to continue those same arrangements with the power plant's new union organiser.

    The men who came to Vincent Waskawi's door were not fools. They knew a man like him - that rarest of all things, an apparently sincerely honest man - could not be bribed, and they doubted he could be easily intimidated. Like Waskawi, their lack of formal education did not imply a lack of intelligence, and they had a genius for finding and targeting individual human weakness. Vincent Waskawi's friends and neighbours looked on him as their unofficial protector against forces larger than themselves. Violent gang-related crime was on the rise all over San Paro. The gangsters at Vincent Waskawi's door simply pointed out that it was in their power to place the neighbourhood under their personal protection, guaranteeing that its common street crime problems would disappear almost overnight. Vincent's young son and the children of those same friends and neighbours could safely play out in the streets, and neither would they grow up to become sidewalk soldiers for any of those same gangs.

    Vincent Waskawi told his son how to deal with such men; give them the respect they demand, but give them as little else as possible in way of concessions and compromises, and give them nothing at all of yourself, otherwise they would own you forever. Vincent prevaricated while the mobsters waited on his decision, but they were not patient men, and when they encounter an obstacle they cannot move, they simply find another way round it. If Waskawi could not be swayed, then lesser men could, and it wasn't long before other union organisers at the plant were doing what Vincent would not.

    Biography: Obeya Corps. Armory

    Obeya (Obeya Corps. Armory (OCA))

    Obeya is a government-owned munitions manufacturer developing a wide array of products used by armies and law enforcement agencies around the world. The OCA have recently opened a new headquarters in Concession in response to large orders taken from the new San Paro Vigilante groups. As part of its civil diversification program, the OCA teaches Community Policing to San Paro citizens under the auspices of the City Security Act. The OCA also works with corporate bodies, to provide security consultancy and anti-terror training. Along with other intensive courses at the OCA headquarters - some running up to four or five months - the OCA now offers a Master's degree in Community Coercion and Homeland Security, in partnership with the Metropolitan College of San Paro. For those with more extensive funds, OCA specialists can also be subcontracted to provide protection for VIPs and high-ranking individuals.

  • Name Stages Final Stage
    ORDERS FROM ON HIGH 4 TerritoryControl
    CONSUMER RIGHTS 4 Graffiti
    SKIDMARKS 4 MovingTarget
    CASH FOR CLUNKERS 4 TerritoryControl
    YOU'RE FIRED! 4 TerritoryControl
    THE MAN KNOWS HIS JEWELRY 5 TerritoryControl
    ONE NIGHT IN SOFIA 5 MovingTarget
    IT'S A STEAL! 5 Deathmatch
    BLIND JUSTICE 4 Graffiti
    DELIVER THE LIVER 5 MovingTarget
    POWDER TRAIL 3 Deathmatch
    KLEPTOMANIA 5 TerritoryControl
    BADGE OF DISHONOR 5 TerritoryControl
    TAGGED AND BAGGED 3 TerritoryControl
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    10 Supply Lines Open (5 Joker Tickets)

    Heyyyy. Double B keeps bragging about how many Suppliers she gives out. Use your <col: Yellow>Field Supplier</col> to <col: Yellow>resupply your teammates</col> 25 times today. We'll show her that no one cares if you're just giving it away, it only matters if they know how to work it.

    Resupply <col: Yellow>25</col> magazines to teammates.