Flash Flash Revolution - TWG XXIX Crack Dens and Avenging Angels

Sunday 5:02 P.M. March 26th 2009 was the reading on Commissioner Gordon’s watch. He still had to be in his office for another 58 minutes. Then sleep, then get up at 6:00, eat some breakfast, then drive to work, repeat, repeat, repeat, repeat, then have Saturday to himself. Six day work weeks sucked. Sundays were the worst day of the week. Today was worse, because they had a new guy. New Guys were the Sundays of the police force. He had avoided him all day, and would hopefully do so until the new guy got himself shot. He was envisioning the New Guy getting shot as he heard the knock on his door.

“Commish it’s me, James Hart, the new guy. I just wanted to meet you personally.”

Gordon suppressed his rage at having to talk to him.

“Oh, come in then. You know I always have an open door policy.”

“It’s locked sir.”

“Well, dangerous times you know.”

He unlocked the door and opened it up slowly. He hated this job. He only had one more year before he received full retirement pay, and he wasn’t missing it for the world. He would move somewhere cold. He had always liked the cold. He wasn’t sure why. But he reasoned it was a winning idea because the cold repelled whiny snot-nosed rich kids who thought they could give back to society by serving in the police force. When the door opened, he could see his guess was right. Hart was every bit the embodiment of what he hated about his job. His uniform crisp and fresh scented, his gun gleaming at his side, his hands held akimbo, expecting a warm greeting. The commissioner obliged him with a quick handshake and spoke quickly.

“It’s always good to see new faces around here nice to meet you now if you don’t mind I have lots of paperwork to do bye for now”

He said it all in one sentence, motioned the door, and Hart walked out slowly. As he was leaving he said;

“Tell Batman I said Hi.”

That was it. That was the end. That was what Made Gordon hate this job so much. And hate the new guys. Every one of them. They all made that joke. That moronic, imbecilic, obvious and unfunny joke. It made him boil on the inside. He had to get out of here, away from these people, away from this office, he had to take a case. At that moment, he looked out his window. He saw the Papal Motorcade pass through. He had forgotten that was today. Gordon was not a religious man, but he respected the power the Pope commanded. He watched the vehicles pass. Suddenly, there were three shots. He couldn’t see where they came from, but they had all hit the car behind the Limo. He dashed downstairs into the street to help, but the entire motorcade had drawn their weapons and surrounded the scene. He couldn’t get anywhere near. He flashed his badge and yelled;

“What in god’s name just happened?”

One of the men answered

“God had nothing to do with it Sir, the Pope has been shot.”

This was it. This was exactly the kind of case to end his career with. The kind that would require lots of work, lots of luck, and no New Guys. He went back inside, and went to his filing drawers. Off the top of his head, he knew of only one group who could pull a stunt like this. “Da Ruff Ridahz” were the biggest crack gang in the area. Lately though, they had gone religious fanatic. They had burned three churches in the last month, and stabbed the local bishop with his own pointy hat. They were well funded, and were allegedly well armed. This was a quiet town aside from their activities, it just had to be them. He knew what he had to do. He had to infiltrate their gang, and seek out the killers. He even knew exactly how to do it. Gordon left work early that night, and walked two blocks to a small man in a large coat. Gordon spoke to him in fluent ebonics.

“Yoho my homie G G Daddie pimp-stripe cracka, yo got any o dat fly blow here for me and my?”

“Yehea I can hook a g-dawg playa up if you know what I’m sayin’”

So Gordon reached for his wallet, removed a small tape player and said;

“Now that I have that on tape, I think I could bring you in. Possibly brutalize you thoroughly as well, I’m in a bit of a nasty mood. You know, I always light up when I see someone pepper-sprayed, it’s the best part of this job. Want to see?”

“Whoa whoa whoa slow down dere my nizzle yo, cant we help each other out or somethin’? dats what dey do in all dem dirty cop movies.”

“This is true, well, I guess if you could introduce me to your supplier, get me in his good graces, we could let your indiscretion slide.”

The dealer nodded, and wrote an address on a card, and told Gordon to meet him there the next day at Five. Gordon walked away smiling. He picked up that recorder from a garage sale 10 years ago and had never even put batteries in it.

In the following days, Gordon met and entered the ranks of “Da Ruff Ridahz.” I could go into more detail, but I have two other perspectives to type out, so I won’t.

Bishop Archibald was weary of the world. His life as of late had been really boring. The only light he had was the visit to his church by his holiness the Pope. He had spent about twelve hours a day, readying for his visit, for the last two months. He had made entirely new vestments, cleaned all the stained glass, and coached his choir. He had worked tirelessly. He was finally ready, an hour before the event. He was out, standing in his robes, waiting for the Pope’s arrival. He saw the limousine approaching. His heart leapt. It was his moment to shine. His moment to show his devotion to his lord. When the shots rang out, he knew instantly what had happened. He felt as if he had been shot as well. He ran to the scene and heard the Pope had been shot. Now it was real. There had been doubt before, but there it was. Undeniably. He went back inside his church. There was but one thing to do. He must avenge the death of his leader. He was a preist. A warrior of god against Satan. A prayer-warrior, maybe. In the name of god, he reasoned, their deaths would be justified. He pulled on his gloves, hung up his robes, and walked out into the world, determined to find and end those responsible for this.

In the following days, Archibald met and entered the ranks of “Da Ruff Ridahz.”

They had talked only on the internet. The three Ruff Ridahz who had pulled this. They had arranged and plotted over IRC. One had contacted the other two, saying this was the time to prove their devotion to their beliefs. They had decided on a time, a place, and what weapons to use. It was decided to shoot from three separate buildings, so if one was caught, the other two could escape. Plus, if they never met, they could tell no one could roll on the others. They all agreed it was left better anonymous. It was time for them to strike. Once the deed was done, they returned to their home, all the Ruff Ridahz lived there, a derelict outside of town. The police were scared of them, so they never touched it. They looked around once they walked in at different times. Wondering who their compatriots had been. The next time they talked together, a plan formed. They saw the power they had together. Why did they need the rest of the gang? It was decided they should take them out one by one. Until there was just the three of them. The profit margin would be amazing. There was surprisingly little actual work done by their gang. They were really just price-jacking middlemen. So they were decided. They were three strong from here on out. Them against the rest.

The players and AIMs of said players are:

Tasselfoot - Tasselfoot
Talisman - stressreliefball
nforcer - nforcer06164
FishFishRevolution - Insanelikeafish
Afro - Afrobean16
Tasuke - tasuke1382
Kilga - bjstrattonIM
Wilkin - Wilkini Evili
Iggy - Iggy911Mc
Jursey - xxplatoniclove
MiniNeo - Min1ne0
TPS - Tps7910
Hans - NotSoFarOff
Guido - ElSoyokaze
blah - mastr414
Vash - Pyro31191

PMs have been sent. If you did not get one then you are a green.

Now, to clarify; 3 wolves. One wolf is the master and knows the ID of the other two, they do not know who he is. During night phases, they send me a pick each. I forward these picks to the master. He chooses a kill. If the wolves want to chat, they pm me with a secret AIM name which I will forward to the other wolves, for them to contact under a false name.

The angel sends his pm with whom he wants to gaurd, and to possibly kill at the same time. If it is successful, you will know there was a successful gaurding, but not who it was.

The interrogator will IM the lynchee during the night to ask his three questions. These must be logged to avoid whining by either party.

It is now Night One I need the PMs from the people. Get on it!

Interrogator Rule For those who didn't see:

The interrogator may not ask any questions in which the assumption is that his/her subject had lied to any of the previous questions - This makes it so addressing the same question twice, and also asking someone if they are/were lying is illegal. This includes question sets like "Who do you think the wolves are?" "Who do you think the humans are?" Because one would assume that whoever wasn't mentioned in the first question would be the answer to the second question.

If at any time the interrogator asks a question which the host deems illegal, the host will throw out the question, the lynchee will not have to answer it, and he/she may count that question as the one he/she has to answer truthfully.