..CuR..

[loneshine]

Main Entry: cur
Pronunciation: 'k&r
Function: noun
Etymology: Middle English, short for curdogge, from (assumed) Middle English curren to growl (perhaps from Old Norse kurra to grumble) + Middle English dogge dog
1 : a mongrel or inferior dog
2 : a surly or cowardly fellow

if you join, please don't sour this story with sex.
say thankya big big.

 

[PhoenixPrime01]

As this is a SEXUAL Roleplay Board, don't you think than perhaps this would be more suited to another Roleplaying Board if you don't wish the story "soured with sex"?

 

[loneshine]

He heard the footsteps sweeping up behind him on the carpet and he had just enough time to think
Shit. I knew I shouldn't have gotten the rest port brand battery gel.
Then he heard a low woosh and the pain blooming in his skull was swallowed up by cascading oblivion.

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Earlier in the day when he stopped at the Tyco rest port orbiting directly above Mars' south pole, Cursanz knew that tonight was going to be one of those pivotal nights in his life. He wasn't doing anything he didn't normally do, but tonight's arrangement had come together shockingly quickly due to his small window of opportunity to set up Mr. Feslo.

Cursanz had been working for Feslo (a manganate who controlled ninety percent of the ore in Mars' northern hemisphere) for three years and had finally gotten the chance to raise his standing among Feslo's small batallion of hardjacks. For the past three years he had done several nickel and dime intimidation jobs, some evidence corruption, three arsons, one implosion, and one frame-up. Hardjacking was good work for someone who wasn't particularly susceptible to qualms.
Before Cursanz could even be interviewed for the position he had to have a NaChip installed in his heart. There were two reasons for this. First, It's a test to see how long you think before acting. To see if you're truly committed to the job. Secondly, it was a standard-practice insurance policy for anyone who actually needed hardjacks.

The NaChip, when activated, was programmed to dump massive ammounts of sodium-based nanobots into your system. As they rush to your extremities they insert random DNA sequences into your cells and once they reach their destination they begin dissolving you from the inside. Not all of you, mind, just the important parts, the fingers, toes, and head. That way if the job is compromised you can't be easily identified and noone can reconstruct your memory from the grey/brown crust left behind. NaChips are a pretty efficient way to maintain loyalty among your hardjacks as they can be activated automatically (upon the death of the carrier) and manually (by the hand that rocks the cradle and signs the checks).

-----

Two days prior, Cursanz had been sent an envelope. Expecting the average goon work, he tossed it aside and continued interfacing with the hibernating insects in his Cicada farm. Exactly one half hour after delivery, the envelope began shrilly beeping startling Cursanz and causing him to flood the dream interface killing all but two of his longtime friends as they slept.
Cursanz leapt up and grabbed the envelope, tearing off the top end. As soon as the vaccuum seal was broken, the beeping ceased and Cursanz took a moment to mentally recenter and stop the ringing in his ears. He tipped the envelope up and instead of the usual plasmasheet, two pieces of paper slid out.

Fucking finally, he thought, this is my shot.

On the first sheet wa an enlarged print of an EID (Earth Identification) card featuring head on and prifile pictures of a woman in her late forties set above her personal information. Cursanz knew from the green S in the upper right corner that she was an environmental scientist.
The other sheet was handwritten, another novelty, but one that let him know this this was no joke. There were four sentences: She expects to meet a copping partner tomorrow at 22:15 Earth Standard, her place. He's already been dealt with. Nic her, destroy her brain. Burn these sheets, and the envelope immediately and call me when you're done. The note was signed simply, Mgmt.
Cursanz memorized the information, burned the paper, and promptly relinked to dream interface to comfort his two remaining Cicadas as he dug out their dead kin.
------
The job answered her door when he rang at 22:16. Cursanz shoved her backwards into her hallway and shut the door behind him. The job was sprawled on the floor, dead still except for her angry breathing, glaring at him.
"Who sent you," she asked, voice cracking with rage, "Feslo?" Cursanz nodded and pulled out the Nicotine pump. This insidious device flooded your sinus cavity with concentrated nicotine which would, dually give you a heart attack and liquefy your frontal lobe. The job did not react as he expected. As he approached her, she rolled her eyes and said in the same angry voice, "You tell Feslo that I am but one of many. His time is short." This struck Cursanz, causing him to forget protocol and break the cardinal rule of any hardjack: No questions, they only lead to trouble.
"What do you mean?"
The job glared at him, breath slowing. They stared at each other in silence for a moment, then Cursanz engaged the Nic pump. The job spoke up immediately.
"Felso wants us dead because we're lobbying to save Mars before it collapses, and that entails putting Feslo out of business."
"Nonsense." Was Carsanz's reply as he grabbed her hair and inserted the pump into her nose.
"I used to be his Head of Geology," the job blurted nasally, "Mars has a year, tops, before the northern hemisphere collapses. I -- We tried to tell him nine years ago, and the day after the meeting my Mars visa was revoked and every paper in Mars scrolled discrediting headlines about me and my team."
Cursanz removed the nozzle from her nasal passage and asked a simple question.
"Are you lying?"
"Why would I li-" her response in the form of a question was cut short because Cursanz shattered her right arm. She screamed, Cursanz shoved the nozzle back up her nose and she stopped. He repeated the question.
"Are you lying?"
"No." She squeaked "Billions will die," and Cursanz stood up. He couldn't do the job.

He put her in a taxi with a wad of cash and instructions to get to the Greenland UXchAnge, the only place to go for non-sanctioned surgery, and change her face. Then to go underground and never resurface again. When she was gone, he flashbombed her apartment, immediately incinerating all organic material.
It'll make me look thorough he thought. As he left earth's atmosphere, he hoped that the job would do as she was told. For her sake and his.
----------------------------------------

The next day Cursanz called Rohrich, Feslo's assistant to tell him it was done, but before he could start Rohrich told him Feslo wanted to hear it personally. In three hours. He then hung up, leaving Cursanz in a cold sweat. If he didn't show, Feslo would activate his NaChip, and there was still a very good chance that noone knew except for him and the job. That was still no reason to walk in unprepared, so Cursanz found himself at the south pole rest port buying battery gel for his Eyezaround(tm) viscon system. He had to get the generic brand because he'd given all his loose cash to the job, to send her off the radar. Using nanobots that lived on his hair and scalp it allowed him to see entirely around, above and behind his head. He injected the gel into a gill behind his ear, waited a moment, then opened all his eyes. It was dizzying at first and hard to get used to, but nonetheless useful in shady situations. As he reboarded his vessel, he closed all but the two natural ones and headed north for his meeting with Feslo.
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When he arrived, Cursanz was sent straight down to Feslo's office. He opened the rest of his eyes and was dismayed to see that all but his two naturals were dim and blinking.
Those cheap fuckers at the port probably changed the expiration date on the gel. If i walk out of here, I pity that place.
Cursanz entered Feslo's office to see Feslo sitting on the edge of the desk while Rohrich behind it. He was laughing at something Feslo had just said. Feslo looked over and noticed Cursanz. His small eyes lit up, and his face wrinkled back in what was meant to be an amicable smile. "Cursanz!" He said, "You've been a good boy, so you'll get off easy. This once." Cursanz had just enough time to register the soft shh-sh-sh of footsteps and curse the gel before he was put to sleep.

------------------------------

When Cursanz came to he was lashed to a makeshift operating table. His jaw was pulsing a clouded achy whimper to his brain.
"Wuh-" Cursanz tried to speak, but his mouth wouldn't move. Feslo suddenly appeared over him. "We're gonna solve that whole question problem you've been having." He then addressed Rohrich, "Open his mouth."
Rohrich opened Cursanz's mouth sending a bolt of pain up to his brain.
Rohrich smiled benevolently down at him. "We cut the muscles and tendons in your jaw, cause this stuff needs time to set," and with that, Rohrich hoisted a jug filled with a thick yellow liquid into Cursanz's sightline and began pouring it into his mouth. The stuff tasted like cooking oil, but Cursanz knew it wasn't. He had seen this before. It was Nu-Derm, a skin generating medium, usually reserved, in moderation, for burn victims and such. He could feel it almost crawling around his mouth, growing tissue inward from his cheeks and outward from his tongue, sealing the hole in his face. Cursanz tried to scream, but all he could do was grunt with increasing urgency as his eyes got wider. Rohrich closed Cursanz's mouth to limit the growing space and then poured some over his lips. It bubbled and seethed and fused them together, as his nasal passage got smaller and smaller. Cursanz started jerking as he began to suffocate in earnest, and Feslo chuckled leaning in over the top of his head. "Just one more thing and you can go," he chortled, positively amused.

Feslo pulled out a laser cutter about the size of a pen and set about carving his new name on the canvas that was once his mouth: C U R.

As his eyes rolled up in his head and oblivion closed in faster, Feslo looked down at his work, chuckled and said "How ironic," then used the cutter to make an incision in his windpipe, and the hardjack took his last conscious breath as Cursanz and passed out.
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Cur came to splayed naked on the hood of his vessel. He rolled off one side and staggered to the door. As soon as he walked in, a message began to play on the master screen. It was the job, not the least bit altered standing beside Rohrich, the message was short. "You failed your test. As long as you're alive you work for Mr. Feslo, and you report to me -- lest you forget your NaChip." This played five times, then the screen went blank.
................................

Cur walked into the Tyco rest port, jumped over the information counter, his blue coat billowing behind him, put a sodium gun to the teenage clerk's head and made him initiate the emergency evacuation sequence. When he let the kid go, he bolted toward the dock for his 'sphereSkipper without looking back at the robot-voiced stranger with the gun and the red scarf tied around his mouth.
--------------------------------
He watched the mass exodus until it looked like everyone had skipped, launched, or paralleled off the docks, then he drynuked the core of Tyco's 'gem in the sky above southern mars'.

(cont'd)

 

[loneshine]

(cont'd)

The port split in half as bright plumes of green and white light eminated from the place where the hub was. 14,000 gigatons of advanced organic polyplasma went careening off into space, end over rent end. The other half went crashing into the south pole of Mars, starting the first of the earthquakes which would be the end of Mars.

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This is where the story of CUR begins.

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I am looking for other Hardjacks, Bosses, Scum, and the like. I also need Interplanetary Law enforcement agents.
Does this pique anyone's interest?

 

[AmandaAce]

In the depths of a palatial space station, orbiting high above Mars, a steel door hissed open.
From the darkness behind the door, a wild, ululating cry was raised. It echoed through the chambers of the station, scattering the workers.
A cadence of marching footsteps began, followed again by the Martian warcry. All over the station, the crew were running for cover.
Through the airlock door a tall, sinister figure appeared. She was young, younger than most of the crew on the ship, but her grey eyes were unscrutable and old.
She dressed all in white, in sharp contrast to her black hair and bronze skin. From the corner of her mouth, a brutal scar ran up almost to her right eye, turning the right side of her face into a perpetual sneer.
A band of clones surrounded her. From the first man to the last, they were blond, blue-eyed, beautiful, and shirtless.
As the tech gaped, they swept past him in formation. Almost without looking, the clone nearest him reached down and fired his sodium gun into the tech's temple. He never knew what hit him.
Ariadne O'Neill and her clone army stormed the bridge of the Decameron with no opposition whatsoever.
Through the huge window at the bridge, Ariadne watched as the earthquake literally ruptured the surface of her home planet.
She took a deep breath, lit a cigarette. As the clones stood at attention, Ari gave her orders.
"Get the Shark ready," she said in perfect Martian. Two of the clones darted off toward the docking bay. "B, what've you got for me?"
Another clone stepped forward, punching buttons on his arm-reader.
"Slapped his hand on the counter," B said. "NaChip isolated...here! The reader on the information counter picked up his ident. Cursanz. A fucking lowlife hardjack."
"A hardjack?" Ari hissed. "A hardjack is responsible for blowing up Mars? For fucking up my chances with Tyco?"
B nodded.
Crushing out her cigarette on an instrument panel, Ari stood up and strode off the bridge.
"Listen," she said softly, as they made their way to the docking bay. "B, G, you come with me in the Shark. We're going to find this Cursanz. K, bring me Feslo. The rest of you stay here and try your best to intimidate the crew."
Turning on her heel, she jumped into the Shark, B and G close behind her. The Shark, a vehicle designed for covert operations and ambushes, was armed to the teeth. Activating the huge sodium cannons on the top, Ari gunned the Shark out of the docking bay and into space.

OOC- More later.