Century Station

War Journal: Entry 1

Shining Path logbook

My return to the land of my birth was uneventful until I reached my new adopted city; Century Station. I specifically chose to live with the proletariat in sub-district of Waingroh; the poorest of the poor, where daily life is filled with fear and anxiety under the bootheels of the bourgeoisie.

After moving in to my apartment and taking careful inventory of my weapons and gear, I purposely dressed as conspicuously as possible, in order to alert the neighborhood that I am here to wage a war, and to attract converts to my noble cause. I chose the name, “Red Faction” originally as a code name for my alter ego; however, I have changed my name to Shining Path as I hope to be the light that leads this city out of the darkness.

As I left the apartment building I ran into my neighbor, McBane. A hideously scarred man with an equally hideous penchant for violence. I have the troubling feeling that he may eventually become one of the villains plaguing this city. For the time being, I will work with him; keeping a vigilant watch and hopefully calming his anger and curbing his disturbing tendencies. I have reason to believe he was a police officer in the past; perhaps his physical deformities and obvious self-hatred are a result of his service.

Soon after leaving the apartment, we witnessed a gun battle between rival gang factions; a drive-by shooting at the Walgreens followed by a gunfight between multiple gangs. I easily disarmed one of the thugs, while McBane fought with lethal force. Apparently, the fight was between two factions of the Assassins gang. The Golden Avenue Assassins and a lesser group. McBane and I decided our first order of business should be to find the leadership of the Assassins and cut the head off the beast. No leads yet though.

That night we walked to the corner store and came upon a robbery in-progress. Some sort of strangely attractive mutant or alien cat-woman leading half a dozen thugs. One of the thugs had a disgusting habit of screaming gibberish and vomiting acid. After fighting the cat-woman in hand to hand combat, the group attempted to escape via their getaway vehicle. McBane wounded several of the thugs and I disarmed a couple of them. I fired a shot into the cat-woman’s leg to slow her escape, but unfortunately blew her leg off. I will be losing sleep over this for some time to come; she is a criminal, but did not deserve that level of force. The criminals managed to escape, but the store was not robbed; the store owner/manager thanked us profusely. The good exposure can only help my cause.

I was wounded from the fight and had to go to the local clinic, who patched me up. It is unfortunate that the citizens of this district don’t even have a hospital. Once again an indication of the corruption and hatred the bourgeoisie have for the poor.

The next day McBane and I were patrolling the area in his car, looking for leads on the Golden Avenue Assassins. We came across what appeared to be a mugging in an alley between a group of pig-dogs and a lone man. As we approached, we noticed two bodies slumped on the ground. We stopped the mugging and saved the last victim. Questioning two of the thugs, we discovered they are members of a gang called the Pelham Bangers; who specialize in drug dealing. Apparently the bangers practically run the drug supply in this section of the city. The victim’s name is John Woo, and he is actually a member of a rival gang called the Red Phoenix, which is a farm league for the Chinese triad operating in Brisby Flats. In exchange for saving his life and not turning him in (and a cash contribution from me) he decided to be an informant for us.

We went to a neighborhood described by the two Bangers as the center of their drug trade. After talking to a prole hopped up on drugs, I persuaded McBane to approach the drug house and make a purchase so that we would have evidence of wrongdoing. He made the deal and came back with a bag of what appeared to be cocaine. However, this was not enough. We needed to test the drugs to make sure they were real. Having lived and struggled for the common man in my time in South America, I developed the skill to determine the difference between real and fake cocaine by taste. It was real.

After calling the police to pick up the two members of the Pelham Bangers, we left the scene. McBane noticed we were being followed by a black sedan. We stopped at a gas station to fill the tank and so I could get a slushy. When I walked out of the station, McBane was gone. He phoned me and told me to walk away from the gas station. After walking down the block, he picked me up and we returned to the station to see the car leave and drive to a bookstore. Two men, one middle-aged and the other young – late twenties/early thirties, got out of the car and entered the bookstore. I hung back in the shadows while McBane went to investigate their car. I saw the two men rush out of the store and head to the car. Then I saw them arrest McBane. I called an attorney and bailed him out of jail. If he doesn’t shape up his act, prison may be in his future.


mmmmmm. Note to self. The pinko-commie lies. Takes credit for scarring criminal kittens he would’ve rather stuck his pinko-dick in. Probably set me up to get arrested. Must watch commie closer, no matter what he changes name to.

War Journal: Entry 1

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