Jeung was always the first kid into anything new on the scene. First to dye his hair, first to get a lip piercing, first to get into (and then out of, as others picked up on the trend) a series of increasingly bewilderingly-named Euro dance trends.
He was also first to murder someone - some junkie bum that he had found in one the old warehouses down at the Waterfront, and stabbed to death with a ceremonial dagger that he bought on an internet auction site. He was fifteen at the time.
Afterwards, to commemorate the act, he took his girlfriend Charlotte down there and used the same knife to carve the outline of a flower design - a rose - into both their arms.
And that's how the Blood Roses were born.
Jeung always knew he was meant for something a lot more interesting than the safe, cosseted existence he had lived so far, growing up surrounded by the Old Money world of The Concession. He thought he was going to be a rock star, maybe. Or a DJ or fashion designer. Instead, sealed in that blood pact he had made with Charlotte, he became a criminal.
Jeung became the dark star around which like-minded souls soon orbited. Most of them were kids like him and Charlotte, from The Concession or Virginia Gardens, but looking for something different - their own scene - away from the traditional gangs that ran in those districts. They congregated together in the VIP suite of the Beltane Club, ironically converted from the warehouse building where Jeung had murdered that bum just a few short years earlier. There were plenty of drugs around in the scene down there, but that wasn't what Jeung and his crew were into, not if they wanted to stay sharp and focussed, mentally and physically. Where Jeung led, the others quickly followed.
The first job they pulled was late night club talk made real, done almost on a dare among each other. They went in scared, even Jeung, who already had blood on his hands. They came out exhilarated, on a high better than anything you could buy in any of the clubs. They money they made from it didn't hurt, either.
They pull more jobs, start getting a name for themselves. Jeung meets Tyron Sennet, recognises him for the type he is - hangs around money and success, looking to feed off any crumbs that come his way - but recognises that he has his uses. Then Michael Simeone makes his presence known and hits Jeung with a few harsh home truths.
The Blood Roses are good at what they do, and he admires professionalism in others, but if they're going to move up to the next level - out of the clubs and onto the streets of the Waterfront to make a big chunk of the city their own - then they're going to need some representation and professional management when it comes to dealing with people who have been doing this a whole lot longer than them.
Jeung thinks about it, thinks about his old teenage dreams of being a rock star, and then signs up. Simeone's management, but he's still the front man, the one the rest of the crew listen to and follow. He'll go along with Simeone's arrangement. At least for the moment.
STANDING REQUIRED: 0
No Unlocks for this level.
STANDING REQUIRED: 19,500
|Unlocks the following items:||Category||Cost||Rating||Faction|
|"Real Blood" Birth Knife Harness||Clothing||$115||0|
|"Real Blood" Sisterhood Bullet Belt||Clothing||$37||0|
|"Real Blood" Good Girl Hockey Mask||Clothing||$166||0|
|"Real Blood" Minx socks (L)||Clothing||$15||0|
|"Real Blood" Minx socks (R)||Clothing||$15||0|
|"Real Blood" Hybrid Ballet Flats||Clothing||$90||0|
|"Real Blood" Red Bullet Bracelet||Clothing||$19||0|
|"Real Blood" Charlotte's Watch||Clothing||$17||0|
|"Real Blood" Furies Leather Choker||Clothing||$40||0|
|"Real Blood" Finger Band (Pinky, L)||Clothing||$15||0|
|"Real Blood" TruMaster Skull Pendant||Clothing||$15||0|
|"Real Blood" Blood Rose Claw Earring||Clothing||$40||0|
|"Real Blood" T-shirt||Clothing||$25||0|
|"Real Blood" Live Birth Skirt||Clothing||$40||0|
|"Real Blood" Birth Bikini Bottoms||Clothing||$215||0|
|"Real Blood" Birth Bikini Top||Clothing||$165||0|
|"Infamy" Armband of Innocence||Clothing||$65||0|
|"Infamy" Seung's Desert Scarf||Clothing||$50||0|
|"Infamy" Knife Sheath||Clothing||$90||0|
|"Infamy" Ninja Knife Holster||Clothing||$115||0|
|"Infamy" Bullet Belt of Mystery||Clothing||$35||0|
|"Infamy" The "Bible Belt"||Clothing||$10||0|
|"Infamy" Hand Printed Boots||Clothing||$115||0|
|"Infamy" Jeung's Bandana||Clothing||$50||0|
|"Infamy" Cabra Bara Armband||Clothing||$15||0|
|"Infamy" Seung's Stud Earring (L)||Clothing||$20||0|
|"Infamy" Seung's Stud Earring (R)||Clothing||$20||0|
|"Infamy" Be My Dog Bracelet||Clothing||$17||0|
|"Infamy" Sleeveless Shirt||Clothing||$25||0|
|"Infamy" Seung's Combats||Clothing||$115||0|
|"Infamy" Boxers for Britney||Clothing||$35||0|
|The Blood Rose Porker||Symbols||$0||0|
|The Blood Rose Porker||Unlocks||$0||0|
|Macchina Cosenza FTV2||Vehicles||$20,000||30|
|Kurai NO3 "Infernos"||Vehicles||$15,000||30|
I want you to be the gelding knife to some Enforcers dream of being the big, swinging dick in the district. Kill a Prestige 5 Enforcer for me. Send pics.
Kill 1 Prestige five Enforcer.
In San Paro, crime is both a job and a hobby. It exists in every strata of society. Sometimes it hides, but mostly it struts. For some it's about greed, or status, or the feral thrill of a life without laws, but for most it's just about survival.
For the young and independent, burglaries are the staple, the same tenth-hand electronics swilling from living room to pawnshop and back again. Pickings are thin; not so far removed from working a regular nightshift. There's muggings too, but it doesn't take long to work out that anyone with anything worth taking is commensurately well-armed. Liquor stores are like magnets, and as a result most pay protection to one gang or other.
Throw in the constant risk of treading on the wrong toes and then maybe getting your feet shot off, and most kids are scoping a gang apprenticeship before they hit ninth grade.
The system's as simple as it ever was. Make yourself useful and they let you stick around. Hang on long enough without having your tail shot off, you get colours. They give you a piece of the business to look after, a bit of turf maybe, and you're away. It's a beautiful demeritocracy, a flowering of the capitalist dream, no less pure than anything that happens in the corporate boardrooms.
In most areas, the city is a carve-up. From time to time, territories bleed and shift, but a balance maintains; there are some things which are understood. Red Rain got most of Midtown. Whispa runs that from the Y-House, back of Green Street. There are occasional would-be usurpers, kids high on cordite who don't want to pay tithes. Blind Flies were one, Deathskulls another. Without the skills, without the contacts, they get stepped on soon enough.
The Antoinettes run in Midtown too, and it's all smooth enough if they keep it east and arterial, club action only. They get their kicks late-night shopping in Havalynd, browsing Border Street for the best threads in town; most shops accept ramraid. Through the daylight hours they lay up in Charlesworth and Brinkley, preening in their penthouse apartments, or tweaking old ladies in Central Park.
Then there are the speed tribes. Gangs like the Rollers and the Dead Hundreds. They groom their terrifying machines, fretting and tweaking, coaxing torque. Then at night, when the boulevards become hot torrents of neon and halogen blue, they hit the streets in quicksilver formations, Nu-mo exploding out of their speakers. The Police always know they're coming, always give chase. They can try; the new Fencer will out-accelerate a patrol car over 200 metres and leave it for dust on the straight.
Not all the gangs are self-serving. There are groups that have evolved out of a social necessity. Communities let down by the system, assailed by criminal elements, bled dry by taxes, unprotected by the law. They take the only route they can; they fight back. Down in the Yard they're not waiting for the cavalry. The Liberators on Joseph and Twenty, Peace Union buried deep in the Grub. They foray over Camber Tracks, pulling raids in Rain territory. They've got a soup kitchen running under the South Ring L, hot meals for the hungry, whoever they may be. In some areas of the Yard there are barter systems evolving, localized skill economies, an organic response to an environment in which, through its unrelenting absence, the concept of money is no more relevant than the concept of God.
The gangs are consumers in a chain, and someone's supplying. Street soldiers pack basic heat, but the captains carry exotics. The tech doesn't come from nowhere. There are connections that nobody wants to talk about. Only two ways into that kind of R&D; federal government and corporate hive. Neither has any legitimate reason for business in the hoods. But it's people on the ground that vote, that administer the vote, so it's the people who must be controlled, indirectly through media bias, or directly through the city-wide terror campaigns wreaked by well-armed gang militias.
The Feds have had that action forever. Now the corporates got it nailed too; the gangs are determined and pitiless in their pursuit of little prizes, but they lack the ambition or the imagination to think beyond being top cock in their own backyards.
The corporations don't deal directly with the streets; they use agents. Only Luke Waskawi is able to negotiate with them as anything like an equal. He's got some serious weight behind him; the corporate respect that. His brand was value-added in the hoods and the pens ever since he blew away old man Derren. His unscheduled departure from the Block only cemented the legend. Now he's playing serious power games. The corporate think they've got a handle on him - a crimelord with delusions of grandeur; talking revolution only to recruit street trash rubes to do his dirty work for him. They think they can control him, that, if he ever does take it over, it'll still be business as usual.
They have no idea of just how much they might have miscalculated here.
Biography: Luke Waskawi (Part 4)
He waited for ten years in prison, until the conditions were right, until he sensed the city was ripe to explode, and then he made his move.
How do you make high explosives in prison, enough to blow apart solid walls and heavily-guarded security points? Enough to facilitate the mass escape of hundreds of dangerous and highly violent criminals? Simple. You mass manufacture it in secret, using nitric acid from the vehicle batteries in the prison workshops, phosphorous extracted from bird faeces and rendered human fat unwillingly donated by the occupants of the prison's sex offender wing.
Word of the escape was on the city streets almost before it even happened. The escapers disappeared into the San Paro criminal underworld, spreading out to re-establish contact with their old street gangs. Some of them were the bitterest enemies in the world outside the prison walls, but they all carried with them the same word, a word that passed as a persistent whisper through the city's dis-united new criminal fraternity. It was only one word, but it was enough to get enough people's attention.
Luke Waskawi had spent long years preparing for this moment. Prison was the perfect place to do it all from. A revolving door justice system saw hundreds - thousands - of the city's most persistent criminals pass in and out of prison, all of them coming into contact with Luke Waskawi. Coming under the system of protection and fair adjudication that he had established inside the prison. Now all those years of preparation were about to pay off.
Waskawi was out. He was the Man With The Plan, the dude that was going to lead them all to the Promised Land. San Paro was theirs by right, was there for the taking, and he was going to give it to them.
He got to work, putting his people into the place among the city's new criminal landscape. Money, force, coercion and - most of all - subtle manipulation were his tools. Many of the ordinary members of gangs under his oblique control - or, at least influence - had never even heard of the name Luke Waskawi. He was a ghost, a man who didn't exist, a name that bribes to the right people had ensured was erased from as many official records as possible. Asylum was founded and fortified, made into being even before the city authorities even knew it was there. It was his powerbase, but he still moved around the city with relative ease, often passing unnoticed among his own followers.
Waskawi. Enough people knew the name. Few of them knew the face that went with it.
The sudden ascent of Jane Derren, her appointment of August Carter and the subsequent cleaning-up of the SPPD was an unwelcome surprise. He still remembers her as the frightened little girl that day on the steps at City Hall, staring at him with incomprehension as he gunned down her father. Jane Derren makes him feel ashamed. Ashamed of how he allowed himself to be used by the men who sent him to kill her father. Her presence back in San Paro is not welcome, and is not part of the plan.
Carter's rebuilding of the SPPD is also not part of the plan. A corrupt, inefficient police force only brings more people round to Waskawi's way of thinking, and moves things along in the direction he wants. In a way, he admires Derren and Carter. They're radicals, in their own way, challenging the old, broken-down ways of doing things, and trying to make the city a better place. They're wrong, though. They still believe the city's political, financial and law enforcement systems can be reformed. Waskawi knows the damage runs too deep now. The systems need to be destroyed completely. Power in San Paro will come from the streets, where it belongs.
The City Security Act was a bold move, one that has forced Waskawi to accelerate his own plans, turning the heat up on the city's law enforcers and putting more guns onto the streets. The resultant increase in violence is Derren's fault, he tells himself. The CSA will only prolong the agonies of the death throws of the old San Paro, and bring about the deaths of far more people than Waskawi anticipated.
Jane Derren should never have come back to San Paro. She's the threat to the security of the city, to the better and fairer city he's trying to create. John Derren tried to bring change to San Paro and was killed by forces he was unable to control. The forces unleashed by Luke Waskawi are larger still, and - he thinks - more or less unstoppable. He doubts whether Jane Derren will be able to survive them.
Biography: Somatic A-TAS
Somatic A-TAS (Somatic Advanced Tactical Systems)
Somatic National Laboratories (a National Security facility) is a major weapons research and development laboratory, managed and operated by the Somatic Corporation. Their main secured campus is located on Silverfield Air Force Base. Established in July 1945, and developed during World War II and the Manhattan Project, the primary mission of Somatic Advanced Tactical Systems is to develop, engineer, assemble and test, advanced weapon delivery platforms. Their weaponry is developed in close collaboration with the Government Defence Forces, using joint R&D groups to modify and develop new products through field-testing and active deployment in the theatre of war. Conspiracy theorists argue that testing occurs closer to home, with rumours of a Somatic-equipped covert division within the Praetorians. Wilder tabloid reports even suggest midnight manhunts on the streets of Havalynd. All unconfirmed.
|Victory Emote||Victory Emote|
|DanceIrish Emote||DanceIrish Emote|
|DanceMetal Emote||DanceMetal Emote|
|Whistle Emote||Whistle Emote|
|Yes Emote||Yes Emote|
|Boom Box x2||Consumable|
|Large Supply Box x2||Consumable|
|Mobile Cover x2||Consumable|
|Satchel Charge x2||Consumable|
If you're working directly for me now then it's best we get the rules clear. I expect you to do whatever you're told to do. The Blood Roses are a family, and the strongest families are built on loyalty and obedience. Wouldn't you agree?
So, there are expectations, but there are also rewards. The best parties, the best clubs, the best fashions, the best of everything. That's what it means to be a Blood Rose
PS. Oni @ Banshee. After-show party in the VIP suite. Come along.
Have you met dear cousin Seung yet? Is he still sulking in Havalynd, telling everyone how he invented the Blood Roses? And the part about how he's building up his own organization - I hope he didn't leave that out?
Poor Seung. Even when we were kids, he was always trying to be better than me. He never managed it, of course.
Charlotte says we should get rid of him, but family is family. Still...
One day, I'm afraid we'll probably have to do something about Seung.
PS. Crispin Q's looking for Roses to cameo in some music video he's shooting. Interested?
DON'T save the tigers!
We lost three more Roses to the Tigers this week. Those Prentiss bores are proving greater competition than I expected.
That old fool Byeong Lee has been annoyingly effective at organizing them - although I imagine being sat down in front of a blackboard while the team coach explains tactical formations must be a comforting feeling to those steroid-laden inbreds.
I've been studying hankumdo - a Korean sword-fighting art - recently. I'd love to show that little bitch Akiko X what I've learned.
PS. Launch party at the Rimbaud Room for the new Elizabeth Bathory line. Be there.
Hell Night is coming...
You're still a bit new here, so you might not know about our Hell Night celebration - it's become something of a Waterfront tradition.
I came up with the idea (so obviously cousin Seung will say it was his) as a way to reward the foot-soldiers - we let them off the leash for the night, to trash, burn down and blow up whatever they want.
It amuses them. And keeps the CSAs busy and away from whatever real jobs we've got happening.
I hear the Furies are planning something special this year. More details, nearer the time.
PS. MDK awards party next week. Join us.
These guys piss me off.
I can't decide who I hate more - Simeone, or his lackey Tyron Sennet.
On reflection, probably Sennet. Simeone, at least seems to have some class about him. Well, for a nightclub entrepreneur who got lucky in property speculation anyway.
Tennet, however, is just a lower-class wharf rat with a few useful but similarly low-class criminal connections. And he thinks he can tell me and my Blood Roses what to do?
Let the two of them both think they're controlling the Roses. The Roses are my creation. They'll always be mine. If you've been talking to Suji, you know plans are in motion here to effect some change on this...
PS. Charlotte and I are having dinner at Fidelos'. Feel free to join us.