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Gang Honor

 Post subject: Gang Honor
PostPosted: Sun Jun 08, 2008 8:05 pm 
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Joined: Sat Oct 13, 2007 11:31 am
Posts: 90
Scortch wiped the sweat from his bald head. He winced in pain as his soiled rag ran aross the razor burned back of his skull. He spat, "Damn Clippers, he prob never washed them. Prob get the red fever now...." He sighed. Scortch, one of the newest members of Widow Skulls gang, looked around and took a drink of gut pump. He snorted. Sitting across from him, on the floor, was some nameless punker from a rival gang, the Flesh Orphans. They were scum, the lowest of the low, not like Widow Skulls.

The heavy rusted door opened up with a grinding protest of rusted metal on metal and the large form known as Pick came in. The left side of his face was covered in a spiders web tattoo and six tiny skulls were caught in the web. Six rival gangers died by Pick's hands, not to mention the countless numbers that died by his ivory handled slug thrower. To this day, Scortch still didn't know what "ivory" was, nor did he care. He just wanted to be tough and respected like Pick. The muscle looked around and sneered at the bruised and bloodied form tied up and sitting on the ground. Pick looked at the young Scortch and frowned, "Eh you, listen up. We're goin to negotiate with da bastards. They want that back, they goin pay. If not, you gonna do'em in, eh?" Scortch nodded. Pick turned to look at the helpless form once more, murder in his eyes and then left, the door closing with a hollow thud.

What seemded like hours passed and finally a weak voice asked, "Water?" Scortch nearly jumped. This was the first time he heard the bag talk. Scortch tried to conjure up a visage of toughness, but only made himself look like he needed to take a dump. He walked over and tried to be as intimidating as his 17 year old voice would allow, "Wad you say punk?" The huddled mass tried to move away, but the fear and ropes prevented him from moving far, "Water.....please." Scortch looked into the deep brown eyes of his captive. The rival couldn't be any older than himself. They nabbed him as he was wondering through Widow Skull territory, looking for food. Poor, dumb, bastard. The Skin Orphans probably wouldn't negotiate to get him back, it would be a sign of weakness, but gang rituals had to be honored. This might be Scortch's first kill. His first kill. This wasn't how he thought his first kill would be. He always imagined running the lanes, guns blazing, or saving some muscle or an enforcer of the Widow Skulls. No, he was on watch duty. "Wanna be a tech and I get doll sitting" muttered Scortch.

Scortch filled a rusty metal cup and let the Orphan drink. The nameless captive simply said thank you and started to cry. That made Scortch angry, because it reminded Scortch of himself. He dreamed of getting out of the subs and maybe getting a real job, like a mechanic or a mechanic. Scortch knew deep down, he just wasn't that clever. Something that would let him eat real food, something that would let him sleep in a clean bed or hell, just have a mattress where he didn't have to worry about getting sick or having a toe gnawed off when he slept. He wanted better. He wanted to live in a place where he didn't have to travel through three other turfs just to get medical help at the community medicae, if he could score enough creds to pay for it first. He was tried of being property. Not that Pick treated him bad, he was lucky to have Pick. At most all Pick ever did was beat him when he fragged things up. Not like Fingers. Scrotch shudered at the thought of being owned by the one eyed bastard known as Fingers. He looked at the crying form on the floor and felt pity, "Wats yer name chum?"

The bound form looked up, but not into Sortch's eyes, "They call me Hex." Scortch frowned, "What the hell is a hex?" The boy frowned, "It's dem screws and things dat go in da machines. I belong to one of our grabbers." Scortch let out a low whistle, he didn't realize how important this bag was. The property of a grabber! Grabbers grabbed all the keen tech and made simple tech work. They could make things work. They weren't real mechanics, like up above, but good enough. Scortch asked, "You think you gonna be a grabber?" Hex shrugged, "Don't look like it now. You is a hammer?" Scortch was surprised, this punk though he was a hammer. A hammer. Ass-kick!

Scortch sniffed, "Naw, me just watchin you, wastin time till the black." The form sniffed and began to cry again. Damn, shouldn't have said the black. The bag looked at the snub nosed Ricter-6 slug gun on the table. It's oily metal glistened in the dim lamp light. Scortch tried to change the subject, "You lookin fer eats?" Hex nodded. "Yeah dats what I heard." Several minutes passed and Scortch looked at the prone form of Hex. He pulled out a deck of cards and tried not to think about shooting Hex. The cries, the begging, the mist of blood and the splatter of meat on the wall. Hells, Hex was just like him, tired, hungry, alone and property. The difference is Scortch didn't cry like Hex. Anger swelled in Scortch, then sadness...well, he didn't cry as much.

Hex asked, "Wat's yer name?" Scortch looked up. Long moments passed, "Scortch." Hex nodded, because that's what he thought he should do. "Scortch, I know what's goin to happen. I'm goin to black. I just want ya to know that I wasn't disrespecting your family, I was just hungry. I know it don't change nuthin, I just wanted someone ta know." Scortch was impressed with Hex's bravery. By rights, he could kill Hex for talking to him. Bags don't talk unless talked to first. Still, Scortch had to admit, he was probably scared. Scortch would be to if roles were changed. If roles were changed? Frag it.

Hex looked up, "Scortch, can I play card with you for a bit? I just want to, I just want to....I don't wanna go like dis! My brother and I used to play cards in block 18, before he got punished." Scortch looked at Hex, "He got punished? How?" Hex looked away, "Smoker." Scortch frowned again, smoker? Gods, what a shitty way to go, being burned alive. Wrong place at the wrong time. At least Hex's death will be quick.
Scortch looked at Hex and thought, he was just lookin for food. That's no different than I've done, I've just been lucky not to get caught. Frag it, it's just cards and Pick won't be back until much later.

Scortch walked over to Hex and untied his bonds, "You play jacks and hooks?" Hex sat down on his knees as there was only one chair, 'Yeah, but I ain't very good." Scortch laughed to himself. After a few games, Scortch asked, "So you like bein a grabbers boy?" Hex looked up, "Yeah, except for the initiation." Scortch stopped dealing cards, "What you just have to steal sometin right?" Hex shook his head, "No they cut off fingers." Scortch sat upright, "Wat?" He looked at Hex's digits. Hex nodded, they cut of two of mine. It hurt real bad." Scortch snorted, "Wa? I'm lookin and you gots all your fingers right there." Hex frowned and started to cry, he pulled the left forefinger joint off to reveal a tiny metal hook. Not very useful, but a sign of being a grabber to be. Scortch grabbed the hand and tapped the tiny hook. "Gaaa, that hurt?" Hex nodded, "Not as much as the other one." Scortch looked at the hand and asked, "What was the other one?" Hex sniffed and showed Scortch his right hand. Scortch shruged, "Wat?" Hex jammed his middle finger into Scortch's right eye and a three inch long, retractable saw shot out of the tip of Hex's finger. Scortch's body spasmed and shuddered. Shock played across Scortch's face until finally it stopped. Hex pulled out Scortch's knife and began to cut open Scortch's chest cavity. What little life remained in Scortch gurgled out a betrayed question, "Grabber?" Hex smiled, "I'm a grabber for one of our butchers. Good cred in body parts."


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