The Real ALM
22-02-2005, 20:04
OOC: This is continued from the "Power Cosplay" thread.
IC:
Charleston, West Virginia
The city of Charleston had seen better times. Formerly a thriving settlement where life was quiet, and uneventful, the Miners' War (as the locals called the war between the Public Safety Commission and the UMWA) had turned the city into something like an American Belfast or Gaza, with a touch of Mikey Moore's Flint for good measure.
Soldiers, dreary eyed, patrolled the streets, wire fencing was hung on bridges and in alleys to deter anybody from dropping explosives or planting bombs, machine gun posts sat at every corner, angry pro and anti UMWA graffiti was on the walls, the ruins of demolished houses and abandoned storefronts sat crumbling, now homes for rats and heroin junkies, and scummy tenements hosted entire groups of refugees fleeing the bombings in the countryside. Pimps intermingled with soldiers, drug dealers, and hitmen, it was hard to tell any of them apart. Shooting and random explosions could be heard at anytime of the day, but nobody cared.
The mood was dreary, the town as a whole seemed like a paitent on life support, with UMWA forces increasing their campaign of terrorism and acitve guerilla war. If the troops left, then the Virginians would lose control. But even now, the CPS seemed to have little command of the area. It didn't help that it was raining, and would continue to do so for the rest of the week.
This is how the city looked when Karl von Esling came in. He flew in his modded Learjet, militarized with chaff projectors and in-flight refueling. He stepped off at the airport, and he said to himself: "So this is Charleston, eh? They can keep it."
He then sauntered to the waiting Ford Crown Victoria, marked with the badge of the CPS. He got in, and he began driving, escorted by several Hummers, to the CPS HQ.
Driving through downtown gave Karl a view of the worst of things. He saw the decay, the misery, the shell-shocked, but he paid no mind.
He reached the CPS HQ, in what was the Charleston City Hall. The building had seen better days, it was surrounded by Abrams tanks, Hummers, and angry gorilla faced guards.
He then got out of the Crown Victoria, and walked past the guards. He got searched, but they were expecting him, the process didn't take long.
He walked inside, where after some searching, he found his office. It was a thing straight out of a film noir movie, it had an old fabric covered chair that was worn, two oak chairs that were clearly not up to code, and a desk that wasn't either. Several file cabinets, stuffed until their drawers were unable to be shoved in all the way, were sitting next to each other. The windows looked outside to the rainy streets, only one did so, the others were sealed up with concrete for his protection. The only thing good was the laptop he borught.
Karl then said, "Humble, very humble......no problem, I'm used to this."
Indeed he was, his office had looked the same way when he was in the Stasi, in the days when there were two Germanies. Only his office looked this way for want of organization, this one was in want of everything.
He excused the guards, and sat down. He pulled out an old piece of paper, and began scribbling down a speech.
OOC: More to come, need somebody to RP as the United Mine Workers of America resistance force. Please?
IC:
Charleston, West Virginia
The city of Charleston had seen better times. Formerly a thriving settlement where life was quiet, and uneventful, the Miners' War (as the locals called the war between the Public Safety Commission and the UMWA) had turned the city into something like an American Belfast or Gaza, with a touch of Mikey Moore's Flint for good measure.
Soldiers, dreary eyed, patrolled the streets, wire fencing was hung on bridges and in alleys to deter anybody from dropping explosives or planting bombs, machine gun posts sat at every corner, angry pro and anti UMWA graffiti was on the walls, the ruins of demolished houses and abandoned storefronts sat crumbling, now homes for rats and heroin junkies, and scummy tenements hosted entire groups of refugees fleeing the bombings in the countryside. Pimps intermingled with soldiers, drug dealers, and hitmen, it was hard to tell any of them apart. Shooting and random explosions could be heard at anytime of the day, but nobody cared.
The mood was dreary, the town as a whole seemed like a paitent on life support, with UMWA forces increasing their campaign of terrorism and acitve guerilla war. If the troops left, then the Virginians would lose control. But even now, the CPS seemed to have little command of the area. It didn't help that it was raining, and would continue to do so for the rest of the week.
This is how the city looked when Karl von Esling came in. He flew in his modded Learjet, militarized with chaff projectors and in-flight refueling. He stepped off at the airport, and he said to himself: "So this is Charleston, eh? They can keep it."
He then sauntered to the waiting Ford Crown Victoria, marked with the badge of the CPS. He got in, and he began driving, escorted by several Hummers, to the CPS HQ.
Driving through downtown gave Karl a view of the worst of things. He saw the decay, the misery, the shell-shocked, but he paid no mind.
He reached the CPS HQ, in what was the Charleston City Hall. The building had seen better days, it was surrounded by Abrams tanks, Hummers, and angry gorilla faced guards.
He then got out of the Crown Victoria, and walked past the guards. He got searched, but they were expecting him, the process didn't take long.
He walked inside, where after some searching, he found his office. It was a thing straight out of a film noir movie, it had an old fabric covered chair that was worn, two oak chairs that were clearly not up to code, and a desk that wasn't either. Several file cabinets, stuffed until their drawers were unable to be shoved in all the way, were sitting next to each other. The windows looked outside to the rainy streets, only one did so, the others were sealed up with concrete for his protection. The only thing good was the laptop he borught.
Karl then said, "Humble, very humble......no problem, I'm used to this."
Indeed he was, his office had looked the same way when he was in the Stasi, in the days when there were two Germanies. Only his office looked this way for want of organization, this one was in want of everything.
He excused the guards, and sat down. He pulled out an old piece of paper, and began scribbling down a speech.
OOC: More to come, need somebody to RP as the United Mine Workers of America resistance force. Please?