Wilson LeBoyce - All Points Bulletin

Wilson LeBoyce

Poacher turned gamekeeper; an ex-gangbanger and former car-thief now recruited into the ranks of the Praetorians. LeBoyce is the product of one of Hea Choi's more controversial recruitment programs, which identified kids on the wrong side of the tracks who could still possibly be salvaged and turned into something useful. Going down on his fourth count of grand theft auto, LeBoyce was released on bail into the Praetorians' recognisance and inducted into a specialist training program. Most of his fellow inductees didn't make the grade, and were thrown back to be ground up in the machinery of the San Paro penal system. LeBoyce did, and now he's a fully paid-up protector of the city.

The Praetorians have given LeBoyce a second chance in life, and he won't hear a bad word said against them. Hell, they're even paying for him to go to college when he finishes his contract as a Praetorian. He used to steal cars; one day, he hopes, he's going to be designing them.

He still hates the SPPD - in the neighbourhood he grew up in, cops meant racist thugs and corrupt bullies - but the Praetorians are giving every kid like the kind he used to be a chance to make something of themselves, help their community, and turn their life around.

Sure, right now he's based out of Havalynd, where kids like him used to get arrested just for showing their faces at the wrong time of day on Silver Street or Shianxi, but one day not too long from now, he's going to be taking the law back into the neighbourhood where he grew up, showing the kids there that there's more to life than running with the gangs.

He still goes back to the old neighbourhood and talks to his friends there. Most of them laugh at him, and at what he's got to say. A couple of them are starting to listen. Just a couple, but maybe that's all it takes.

There are more and more guys like Wilson LeBoyce, and they all go back to their neighbourhoods and slowly spread the Praetorian gospel. Eventually, Hea Choi hopes, that's all it's going to take to hijack Justin Teng's masterplan and make the Praetorians a truly democratic alternative police force. Not ex-cops. Not ex-military. Just ordinary people, doing something to make their city a better place.

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  • Subject
    FW: Organisation Structure

    Hey, whats up?

    Welcome to the Praetorians kid. It's my job to shape you up so you don't end up as another statistic out on the street. I'll be forwarding you some S.O.P.s to read, so pay attention and you may just survive this.

    Wilson LeB


    FW: Organisation Stucture

    Each of the Praetorian representatives on the street are authorized to sell you specific goods from our armories and garages. Once you work with them for long enough, they will allow you to purchase these goods from the Purchase menu of any contact.

    Depending on the Operator you are working with depends on your rewards. Initially you will be training with Wilson LeBoyce, who will send you rookie kit at his discretion for no cost. Once you have completed your training, you can talk to Ty Durrant in Financial to unlock new weapons and modifications, or Eva Orlandez in Waterfront for different Vehicles. Other CSA agencies such as Prentiss Tigers will run similar systems, though we'd recommend sticking with us.

    Modifiable Weapons and Equipment are available to purchase depending on performance. Taking down criminals with a specified weapon type will earn you the ability to get more advanced weapons that fall into the same category. (See the 'Roles' tab of the Character Info Screen [J] to see your current progress)

    Good Luck,

    Justin Teng.

    Gearing up.

    If you want to make a dent out there, you'll probably want to get some specialised gear. While you will survive without them, Modifications allow you to tailor your playstyle to one that you are most suited to.

    To get you started, there's a Field Supplier attached to this mail. Once you've retrieved it, (click the paperclip), you can equip it by entering your inventory, going to the character tab, and double clicking on the empty character slot (or clicking once and pressing change).

    Activating the Field Supplier (the default key is '5') lets you resupply ammo to yourself and nearby teammates, or even change your weapon selection. Be careful though, it takes a little while to deploy and undeploy, and you are helpless while you have it out.

    Once you're done, remember to set yourself to Ready [K] again to start your next mission.

    Each modification has a type, listed at the top of the description, and you can only have one modification of each type equipped at a time. The Field Supplier is an 'Activated Modification', so cannot be used at the same time as any other Activated Modification.

    Shit, gotta roll on something. Catch you soon,

    Wilson LeB

    Being part of the team.

    We don't take kindly to lone wolfs in the Praetorians. If you want to get ahead in San Paro, it's best to work as a Cohesive Unit.

    When you enter Financial or Waterfront, you will be asked if you want to join a group, we recommend that you say yes. You can also look for open groups by using the Friends and Groups Menu (Press U or access it through the Escape Menu).

    Stick together with your team and try not to run in alone, it'll just get you killed. This counts double for vehicles, as players not driving can hang out of the window (press any movement key) and shoot from the combat position, perfect for vehicle chases. Careful not to kill your teammates though, as it will severely reduce any rewards you receive.

    Weapon loadout is important. All guns (including the STAR you are using now) have ideal situations in which they excel. When in a group, try and compliment each others loadouts with a mixture of long and short range weapons. You can change your weapons at any Joker Ammo machine, Mailbox or Contact.

    Cleaning up the City.

    Patrolling is an important part of any enforcer's work. When out in the city, keep an eye out for criminals performing crimes. If you catch them in the act, you can call dispatch and we'll authorise a take-down (Symbolised by a handcuff icon above their heads, along with their current worth on mouseover. Target the criminal and press the witness key, Alt by default, when you see this to trigger the call).

    Once you get the authorisation to take them down, you'll be able to retrieve any stolen goods and money from them. Drop them (Kill or Arrest) and you'll be able to grab any money they have accrued but not yet laundered, and return it to the Evidence Locker. If you do this, you will be rewarded the same amount of money, multiplied by any Prestige bonus you have acquired.

    If you are so inclined, you can take a non-lethal approach to cleaning up the city. To Arrest someone, first you'll need a Less Than Lethal Gun. You can purchase one from Ty Durrant or Chung Hee once you have enough standing with them. Using a less than lethal, you can stun criminals that you are fighting, then you can press action (F by Default) when adjecent. This is more risky than a standard kill, but you will received increased rewards.

  •   Item Category Cost Rating
    Item Icon Epinephrine Injector Consumable Items $0 0
    Item Icon Med Spray Consumable Items $0 0
    Item Icon Boom Box Consumable Items $0 0
    Item Icon Resupply Box (Large) Consumable Items $0 0
    Item Icon Mobile Cover Consumable Items $0 0
    Item Icon Satchel Charge Consumable Items $0 0
  • Subject
    Magazine Excerpt: Effigy (June)

    This month we take a stroll through the mean streets of San Paro, where up in the sky the parties last for days, back in the hood the old-skool hip-hop still thumps out of the lowriders cruising along Green and Hinton, and something new is brewing in the simmering cauldrons Downtown.

    'The scene here is really alive.' We're talking to Pasquerelle, one of the crop of new DJs taking the high-rise clubs of San Paro by storm, with a mix of breezy beats and summer-lite keyboard washes that has captured the imagination of the cocktail crowd. 'I can play SkyCity, Tranquile, sometimes we play several places a night, and everywhere we go, there are smiles and happiness.' Building on a strong house tradition that started back in the eighties in the warehouse parties on Cortland Point, DJs like Pasquerelle, Hang Ten and Kitty Klark have made the shift upmarket, entertaining the exclusive crowds that don't even gather until the elevator's hit 60.

    'Oh god, it's a different world than it used to be.' says Klark. 'I remember seeing The Boardmen and Zunami, people like that, down the warehouse parties in Red Hill. They were good times, I think, but look around you. There's more money now.'

    Head to Midtown, south of Havalynd, and the street life gets a little wilder. Business suits give way to bespoke, the uniforms of finance quickly morph into a menagerie of colours and textures. The clubs here are ground level, patrolled by heat, and crowds of peacocks mill around outside waiting to get in. Not Sofia. She steps out of her zebra-stripe limo and beyond the rope, and we glide through in her wake. In this world, the right connections can save a lot of time.

    She's resplendent in a coat fashioned entirely from soft black feathers, and knee-length pink leather boots sat on six inches of inlaid ebony platform. I ask her where she finds her costumes and she looks through me like I'm fresh air. The club is Pasha on Klein, and she happens to own it. Inside, there's an ugly lowdown growl of bass and snare, jungle inflections darting in and about a crawling hip-hop beat. The dance floor is just starting to fill, and the bar is a gauntlet of gleam and bling. We walk straight through and into a backroom which is done out in purple velvet and leopard skin. The skin feels real; I don't like to ask.

    She unfurls like a panther across the seat. Either side of her are the two biggest men I've ever seen. Chrome Uzis, customised by Armstrong & Chen, for killing with class. Over a glass of sparkling mineral water she tells me with a straight face, 'Fashion is more important than life.' Her answers are largely monosyllabic, until I get to wondering why she even let us in. No, she doesn't see a connection between the club culture and the street violence that dogs the area. No, she's never seen trouble at any of her establishments. Yes, there's a good life for people here in Midtown, if they want it, if they want to work hard. Before we know, the audience is over, and we're back out in the club. It's a room full of strangers, but in a way that's difficult to finger, the crowd seems to have closed ranks. It's in the half-glances, the shoulder profiles, the eyes that turn away; there's a cover charge here that we can't afford.

    Fortunately for us, San Paro isn't all sophistication and glamour. Only a few blocks away, in the grimiest section of Downtown, a new scene is finding its voice. Bands like Fister, Pinchsquint and Blind Vortex are refashioning old-skool emo into an altogether more aggressive beast. Lovelorn tales of boy-girl hi-jinx and awkward assignations, buttressed by the bludgeoning force of gristlecore; ladies and gentlemen, this is Nu-mo.

    The fans are easy enough to pick out. Heavy leather boots and belts, tats and small-arms. Their rainbow hair teased into implausible structures, they tear through the streets of Trasket on modified streetbikes. We catch up with Blind Vortex, one of the leading exponents of the new music.

    'Love is violence, man.' says lead singer Danny, 23. He's intense and wiry, chain-smoking beneath a tall coxcomb of purple hair. He looks like he could use a good meal. 'We could paint it pretty, try and be Kristabel or somethin', but what's the point? Some fucker looks at my girl, I wanna kill him.' Isn't that a little extreme? 'You fuckin' think so? You ever been in love, chico?'

    That evening we see Vortex tear up the stage at the Octopus. The volume is intense. The hometown crowd are in fine fettle, going nuts; the whole basement is swallowed by the mosh. One fan down the front, a big guy with a scorpion tattoo coiled around his shaven head, is spitting what looks like a bottle of his own piss onstage at the band. Three songs in and Danny hurls his mikestand like a caber. It goes scything through the crowd, knocking two fans to the floor. A skirmish erupts, security intervenes and one of the bouncers takes a bottle to the side of the head. The fight spills out into the street, Danny is still screaming about a girl, and the raucous feedback whine mingles with the sound of approaching sirens.

    The kids are angry again, angry as they should be, and everything is fine.

    Pasquerelle - 'Live at SkyCity' is released on June7th on Descender Records. Blind Vortex new album, 'Snip the Rib' is out on Fantomb on June14th.

    Biography: Havalynd (Financial)

    Havalynd was always about money. When the banks first moved in, with their tidy little fortresses made out of brick, horses were still shitting in the gutters outside. Things were nice and conventional then, almost a gentlemen's agreement. The banks kept the money in big metal boxes, and the crims tried to get in the boxes and take the money. Everybody knew where everybody stood.

    Trams came, then cars. Havalynd expanded outwards and upwards. An initial wave of vertical engineering, growing in momentum through the first few decades of the twentieth century, stalled in the shadow of global conflict. Throughout the decades after, the centre gradually emerged above the stunted grids of the surrounding districts.

    By the eighties, Havalynd was reaching its fingers into the sky. A newfound optimism and stridency had infected every sphere of society. San Paro was a boomtown, and money was pouring in. Developers competed to create the biggest, the greatest, the most priapic monuments to their wealth and power.

    At ground level, sheet glass gives way to marbled foyers. In the forecourts stand cantilever steel sculptures, fountains spume skyward. And at nearly every corner, regular as lampposts, men wait rigid, fake-nonchalant, all the time scanning behind their dark suits and dark shades. Utopia patrolled by private security.

    The flagship stores of the fashion cognoscenti line Border Street. Behind the tyre-traps and raid barriers, Sensay rubs shoulders with Carlo Vitorelli, Devereaux jewels glitter like waterfalls under the reinforced displays, and even Testero and Lyka, whose very public spat at the San Paro Fashion Expo the previous year had exploded into a legal fireball of suit and countersuit, were willing to share space in the invitation-only Golden Mall that graced the ground floor of the prestigious Pyramid complex on Shianxi Boulevard. Even the shop dummies here are fashioned from chatoyant mahogany and inlaid with ivory. At ground level, Havalynd has always had the power to dazzle. But then, most of Havalynd doesn't happen at ground level.

    Biography: Waterfront

    The Waterfront is a schizophrenic district, part sprawling anonymous hinterland of commercial transit, part coastal resort for the comfortably-off. To the west the giant wharves jut with unyielding potency into the Nantego. Go east and the landscape softens, palm-trees line the roads and smart residential blocks spring up. Head into Prentiss, where the money lives, and things change again, all for the quieter and more genteel better.

    San Paro Port has been an eternal engine in the commercial development of the city. It is the conduit through which the trade came that drove the growth of the young metropolis. In early years, merchants and vagabonds rubbed shoulders in the rowdy bars along the port area. What seemed like a hundred different tongues mixed and churned in a babble of deals and cross-purposes. Little Fin in particular was a den of impropriety and vicious exchange. Drink flowed and the prostitutes displayed their wares across the quays.

    As the port grew in size and importance, the inns and hostels were swept back and away, replaced by warehouses, yards, all the paraphernalia necessary for systemic management of import-export traffic on a much grander scale. A rail-link was built that vastly improved the throughput of materials and goods. There was ship-building in the yards south of Armory Wharf. By the turn of the twentieth century no-one lived in the west port, but 12,000 men earned a daily crust working its platforms.

    The maritime tradition persisted. Shipbuilding ended, but the great passenger liners made dock here.. Twice they were supplanted by squat grey machines of war that bristled in the channels. After a few years they would return, bigger and brighter, to disgorge their cargos of blinking passengers onto the sunbleached quays.

    Nowadays, the Port never sleeps. At every mark of the clock, the whirring, the jolting, the crash and creak of loading and unloading emanates from the area surrounding the wharves. As one ship arrives to loose its burden, another departs plimsoll-deep and grunting beneath the weight. At night the arc-beam halogens describe a world overrun by giant mechanical beasts. An occasional mushroom belch of fire and smoke marks the human activity, as the gangs skirmish across the surreal blocky wastes of Yard Stretch.

    East of the docks is the low-rise district of Little Fin. Once a dense knot of rat-infested housing ripe even for San Paro, it was levelled at the end of the nineteenth century, an unmourned victim of the port expansion and of the housing reforms of the time. Since then it has soaked up the overspill of warehousing from the Port. Now money is washing across the coastal districts and Little Fin is up-and-coming, with property developers sweeping in from all angles, in a scramble to swallow territory and increase yield.

    The new-style developments are typified by the bland luxury of Fortuna Village, a multi-storey sprawl of spacious condominiums serviced by its own mall and characterized by a homogenous adherence to upper-mid brandthink. Lacking the time-accrued undergrowth of personality, the area serves by turns as an abstracted environment in which human beings have been replaced by the tinted SUVs, or as a blank canvas for the Blood Roses and the Tigers, punching their ballistic tattoos into fresh brick.

    The same could not be said for Prentiss. The residents who sip gin slings by the well-tended lawns and pools consider their little empire to be a separate entity from San Paro, a port town and a community with its own history and identity. This attitude has garnered them a reputation for snobbery, largely justified. Prentiss is certainly the most genteel district, its lack of strategic value for a long time allowing it to remain aloof and untouched by the routine street warfare afflicting most every other corner of the city. Only recently have they started growing their own gangs, middle-class parents abruptly realizing that they can no longer distance themselves from the carnage, looking on in helpless horror as their children bear arms and tear up the night.

    Radio Broadcast: WTF San Paro

    "I've said it before, and I'll say it again - WTF is happening, San Paro? Back in the day, kids wanted to be rock stars and get blown from one backstage party to another all round the globe, or be some kinda sports star and get paid about a million bucks a day to knock a ball round some piece of astro-turf, and get paid a million more bucks to wear some faggoty-looking pair of sneakers while they were doing it. And you know what - there was nothing wrong with any of that. Nothing at all. That's what the talented and just plain lucky exist for; to give us all something to aspire to and envy and generally hate the crap out of. Now? Shit, where am I even gonna start...

    "Being famous is all that matters in this town. I'm kinda famous in my own small way - and, let me tell you, being famous rocks - so I know what I'm talking about. I get to hang out at some of the famous people places. But I gotta tell you, the currency of fame in this city has definitely been devalued. There's been a stock market crash in the value of one of our city's most treasured assets. Its celebrities.

    "Used to be, famous people parties were full of models, designers, artists, movie stars and - if it was one of the more low rent famous people events - some buncha retards from TV. Sure, there was always that unsavoury element present too - usually someone's agent or coke-dealing cousin, or a politician or two - but now it's all heisters, gangbangers, getaway artists, protection racketeers, glorified stick-up punks and assorted street trash. Shit, even the politicians are starting to look semi-respectable by comparison. That's how low we've sunk. And, let me tell you, all you people out there who know I'm talking about them, and that are probably right now doing an internet search on where I park my car at night, listen up good. There's more to being a celebrity than colonic irrigation, paying $10,000 for ridiculous-looking suits and having your apartment designed by some flavour-of-the-month Effigy-featured European powder-puff called Jasper. You got that?

    "Ahh, why the hell do I even bother? I mean, I'm living in a town where Deke Swearinger and Kiki Monroe are what passes for heavyweight cultural -icons. Hey, and let's not forget intrepid little Mikko Wong. 'Hello? Is that the San Paro Standard? Yeah, put me through to your holier-than-thou liberal muffdiver desk, please...'

    "You wanna know how bad things have got? Look at our bimbo heiress celebrities, surely one of San Paro's greatest contributions to global culture. Used to be, you could comfortably divide them all into three broad categories - fucked-up charity guilt case do-gooders; fucked-up wannabe rock & movie star dilettantes; and those in a state of strictly temporarily unfucked-up transience between rehab, prison and oh-gosh-I've-just-found-religion-again court appearances. Hell, on a good month, at least one of them would be hitting every one of the points along that same line. Now, though, they're all wannabe badass bitches that you're gonna see in some Needles club as part of the entourage of some genuine badass, or posing with a machine-gun on the cover of Effigy.. That sound like progress to you? Only thing that's still the same is that most of them are still called Seindorf, and that they're still all gonna be photographed falling dead drunk or drug-trashed outta a limo in a way that's gonna show they routinely go out on the town without any thought about the need to wear panties.

    "Oh shit. You done it now, Marta. Better change the subject quick, while the station management fields another call on the hotline from the Seindorf family attorneys...

    "Yeah, so... CSA vigilantes. You think they're much better than the crims? Most of them are just gutter punks too dumb to pass the final exam that would move 'em up to street trash level. And the rest? I swear, I feel so much safer, now I know our city streets are protected by a combination of soccer moms and overgrown boyscouts with access to automatic weapons, cops and ex-cops who borderlined the psychology tests that shoulda transferred them over to the rubber gun squad, and trigger-happy yahoos who think having a certificate from Mayor Derren saying it's okay to shoot people now is a bonus point to be included on their personal résumés..."

    - Excerpt from 'WTF, San Paro', a popular daily drive-time show hosted by well-known and controversial San Paro radio personality Marta Riviera. Riviera later seriously wounded after being gunned down by a celebrity-obsessed fan in the station parking lot. Many critics dismiss the incident as a ratings-booster publicity stunt.

  • Name Stages Final Stage
    WORKIN' LIKE A DOGGI 3 MovingTarget
    DEALER BUSTS 6 MovingTarget
    SHOW OF FORCE 5 Escort
    ORGAN GRINDER 7 MovingTarget
    BOGUS BURGLARY 6 Delivery
    BANKROLL COLLECTION 7 TerritoryControl
    ROUGH DIAMOND 6 Delivery
    GET THE LOOK 5 Delivery
    SIGNAL TO NOISE 4 AntiGraffiti
    ENEMY AT THE CRATES 3 Delivery
    BRUSH WITH THE LAW 6 Delivery
    TUTORIAL 2 AntiGraffiti
    TUTORIAL 2 Sabotage
    TUTORIAL 2 Sabotage
    TUTORIAL 2 Sabotage
    TUTORIAL 2 Sabotage
    TUTORIAL 2 Delivery
    TUTORIAL 2 Delivery
    TUTORIAL 2 Delivery
    TUTORIAL 2 Delivery
  • Level Name
    5 First Steps (10 Joker Tickets)

    You'll never progress if you don't finish missions. <col: Yellow>Finish a mission</col> and I'll give you a reward. Doesn't matter if you win or lose, just that you finish. Now, get out of here.

    Complete <col: Yellow>1</col> Mission.