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The American Experiment (Riot Quest)

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[X] The Society for Universal Suffrage
[X] The Society of Friends of All Faiths
 
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[X] The Society for Universal Suffrage
[X] The Society of Friends of All Faiths
 
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Better Red Than Dead
  • Sidestory
    • Shadowhisker said:
    Huh, now I'm wondering if the Amigos del Pueblo might get any veterans of the Van der Linde Gang joining. Especially if the der Lindes have been broken up, or suffered an internal split.

    EDIT: Fuggit, I'm writing an omake.
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...

    Here we go.


    It had been some time since Dutch van der Linde had been gunned down by the lawmen of the United States in the midst of an ambitious robbery. In another world, perhaps he might have lived, but in an increasingly radicalized America, anyone who preached anything resembling anarchism felt the screws come in tighter and tighter.

    Without Dutch's unifying personality, the Van der Linde Gang- both the "Merry Men" to Dutch's Robin Hood, and the network of supporters in the impoverished communities of Arizona and New Mexico- began to fall apart. Outlaws were arrested, or went underground. Cowboys and bartenders disavowed the criminal organization, for fear that they would be prosecuted as well. The core of the gang limped along for another couple of years, but by the fall of 1898, they too had faded into irrelevancy.

    Still, for all that time had passed, der Linde's legacy wasn't entirely dead. The outlaw had preached a vision of free men, in particular freedom from the heavy hand of the law and the ever tightening grasp of the oil and rail barons. In hindsight, it may have been just an excuse, a cover for more unsavory activities. Maybe the whole thing was a simple gang of bandits run out of control. But a few said otherwise. In particular, the often overworked Mexican immigrant workers common in the Southwest had benefited a fair bit from the Robin Hood-esque activities of the Van der Linde Gang. Of those, some went so far as to join the outlaws directly. And of those, a few still remembered the glory days, and the ideals of freedom.

    ---

    There weren't many places in Texas that could still truly be called wilderness, but in the harshest corners of the state, a few remained. In one such corner, a band of drifters, numbering no more than a dozen, sheltered for the night in the shadow of a hill.

    The Becerra Twins, nominal leaders of the rogues, were still awake. Angelo stared across the campfire at his sister, Andrea. Both were dark skinned, and dark haired, and once carried bright hearts. The long years of fighting and running had almost extinguished those twin sparks. Tonight, in the cold of the desert, would see whether the idealism of a pair of youths, driven by dreams and rage, would be smothered by the harsh necessities of living on the edges of a hostile society- a capitalist society.

    "We can't go on like this."

    "I know that," Angelo Becerra shot back at his sister. "We've been telling each other the same thing for the last month; 'too much longer and we're dead men'. We haven't heard from Morgan in a season, we haven't pulled a successful job in a year, and we've been driven out of half the towns we rolled into. The name 'Van der Linde' doesn't get any respect anymore."

    "That's because we haven't been earning that respect," Andrea returned. "We don't have the firepower or manpower to fight back the strikebreakers, and we don't have the money to spread around. We're not like those leftists out east." A sigh rang out, barely audible above the whistling of the wind. "No one believes in the dream anymore. Not out here."

    Angelo held up a finger, and shuffled through his bag for a moment before pulling out a pamphlet. "Maybe not our dream. But there've been a few people that've been heading around the towns lately. Talking about 'organization' and whatnot." As the brother handed the slip of paper to his sister, he went on. "They don't know they're marking those towns, in the eye of the law. Don't know they're making them vulnerable."

    "The way I see it, we got a couple options. One, we roll into those towns, and take what we need. Like I said, they'll be vulnerable, and well. Can't make all men free if us and our boys can't stay free."

    Andrea scoffed. "The sun must've gotten to you if you think *that's* an option." The outlaw got to her feet, pacing around the fire as her rant grew more agitated. "Even if we accept giving up on the dream, this gang lives and dies on the support of the people. We can't afford to give up on them, to turn on them like that!" At this, she collapsed back into a sitting position at her brother's side. "We- we just can't."

    Angelo wrapped an arm around Andrea. "You're right. So, the other option, the only option, is to go to these 'Friends'. We give them the expertise to fight the man, and escape the long arm of the law."

    "And we subordinate ourselves to the urbanites and intellectuals." The heat wasn't in Andrea's voice.

    Angelo squeezed his sister. "It's not all bad. I've been reading some of them pamphlets. The reds and the blacks carry more of the spirit of freedom than you think. Besides, it's been too much longer. We're just about dead men, and I say better red than dead."

    Andrea turned to return her brother's hug, burying her face in his shoulder. "Alright. We ain't gonna die. So, better red than dead."

    Breaking the hug, Andrea stood up once more, and offered Angelo a hand. "Let's get the boys awake. We got a new job."


    Cranked this out in like half and hour or so, so forgive any mistakes. As for bonuses... @Physici I'd like the Amigos del Pueblo get a cadre of "experts" skilled in fighting and working outside the law. Probably not enough to count for a full militia unit, but enough to train one up easier. Not sure what sort of bonus that would make, though.
     
  • Sidestory
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    [X] The Revolutionary Federation of American Anarchists
    [X] Amigos del Pueblo (Friends of the People)
     
    Ramble said:
    Would it be possible for the customer organization to contribute funding to the factory?

    Would it be possible to set up a continuous standing order for guns from the expanded factory or does the customer always need to spend an action for a stockpile guns action?

    Can the first two be merged? Like, the customer organization investing in the expanded Gun factory and in return, they get whatever mechanically makes sense for a continuous standing order.

    Do i need to spend an action accepting the investment or can I just roll it into the expand factory action? Also what would be the next tiers of factory expansion? Like "upgrade to medium factory, upgrade to large factory, build new medium factory" etc.
    Click to expand...
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    Is the customer organization a player organization or in universe?

    Shadowhisker said:
    Cranked this out in like half and hour or so, so forgive any mistakes. As for bonuses... @Physici I'd like the Amigos del Pueblo get a cadre of "experts" skilled in fighting and working outside the law. Probably not enough to count for a full militia unit, but enough to train one up easier. Not sure what sort of bonus that would make, though.
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...
    Canon, and sure. They'll get an available action next turn. Also got a name for the omake?
     
    [X] The Revolutionary Federation of American Anarchists
    [X] Amigos del Pueblo (Friends of the People)
     
    Physici said:
    Is the customer organization a player organization or in universe?
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...
    The customer is a player organization, and apparently I've tentatively got at least two customers.

    And one of them might be willing to shell out for artillery depending on how much it would take to invest for that.
     
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    The Rich Man’s War
  • Sidestory
    • The Rich Man's War

    The rain fell gently on the streets of the tiny backwoods town. Little puffs of dust rose with every raindrop, except for a few patches under windows. Edmund carefully avoided those places, his face wrinkling in disgust. If he'd had his way, he would be in his mansion, with indoor plumbing and cobblestoned pathways and perhaps a fine lady and a fine bottle of wine, but it was not to be. His great-great-great-grandfather had come here from England with a fortune from wool and become a proper Southern gentleman, purchasing vast swathes of land and cultivating rice and tobacco and other such fine goods. Those who came after built the fortune through intelligence, valor, and hard work, whether it be in romancing the daughters of other wealthy planters, importing and breeding new livestock, or driving off savages and Yankee marauders.

    Of course, the nature of the business was such that after a few dozen harvests, the land ceased being valuable, but even then he and his ancestors had found a way to make a profit from that, by renting the land out at high prices to farmers and letting them scrabble in the dirt, while he took a fine cut from each of them. It was a lucrative venture, one that had allowed him to purchase political office, the attention of high society, and a second mansion in Raleigh. But it required some careful management, to ensure his farmers did not get any ideas of acting like uppity peasants and trying to cause trouble.

    And it seemed that the men he had trusted to do the managing had failed completely, because apparently they had lost a recent election, and the new mayor and sheriff were causing trouble.

    So, regrettably, he had to go down with a few good men into the disgusting, filthy little town and show these mongrels who was really in charge.

    Out of a stinking saloon came just the men he came to see. He started to open his mouth, to give them a piece of his mind, but they cut him off.

    "Mr. Gilland, I was just about to pay you a visit. But it seems like you had the same idea. How fortunate," the taller of the two drawled.

    Edmund's gaze snapped to him, burning hotter than a blacksmith's forge. So focused was he that he didn't notice who else was coming out of the saloon.

    "We wanted to discuss the debts you are owed. And how it would be good and Christian of you to forgive them, what with it being declared a jubilee and all. Just like in the Bible."

    Edmund growled. "I am not going to forgive one lousy penny. Not only do I have no obligation to do so, but it would be downright uncharitable of me!"

    The mayor stepped closer and glared down at Edmund.

    "You filthy, lying bastard! You wouldn't know charity if it bit you on the cock!"

    Edmund was a proud Southern gentleman, and so some things could not be borne. As the mayor let loose with more atrocious, vile insults, including publically mocking him for his fondness for indiscretions with tenant's daughters, he slapped the man across the face.

    And then the sheriff stepped before him. And behind him came a dozen burly farmers, each one with a grubby green and black armband. The sheriff grabbed Edmund's arm and squeezed. His vision flashed white and he fell to the ground, a keening sound coming from somewhere as his hand and wrist burned with unimaginable agony.

    When he recovered, two of his men lay in a heap on the ground and the rest were nowhere to be found.

    "Well, I think at a minimum that's assault. I imagine while I keep him in lockup and our boys go through his house, we'll find a few more crimes. And I suspect he'll be confessing to quite a bit while we are waiting for a trial..."

    Edmund hung his head and wept in despair as he was roughly dragged through the streets of the town and thrown into a cell. How could this happen to him?

    +5 to the guarding voting booths action for the Southern People's Alliance, @Physici
     
  • Sidestory
    • The Roosevelt House (semi-canon)
  • Apocrypha
    • Roosevelt House
    Shortly after New York City Election Results Announced

    "They said WHAT?!?"

    Roosevelt's wife winced and finished shooing the children down the hall as Teddy's voice echoed into the hall. He never shouted at them, but work sometimes got his blood pumping, and he was still adjusting from being out in the "wilderness" so much. Then again, having heard what caused the shout, she couldn't blame him. One of Roosevelt's aides closed the door the rest of the way as his family went elsewhere to avoid distracting him. Or having the children learn interesting words.

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

    "You're telling me these blathering nincompoops are trying to turn this into a-a…a bloody conspiracy?"

    His senior aide glanced to the man who worked most closely with the press, and thus had gotten a head's-up about some of the incoming think-pieces and interviews. A wince and a nod told enough.

    "Yes, sir. Several of the more…prominent…papers are trying to turn this into a sort of cabal of the Jews and the socialists."

    "Poppycock! This wasn't some shadowy plot!"

    "I'm not saying it is, sir. But that's what they're putting out in the papers."

    "Who do I need to talk to to stop this?"

    "Sir, respectfully, they don't work for you. We…can't do much to just stop them."

    "We can bloody well put out our own statements! Give speeches, statements to any paper that will carry them. I'll walk every street in the city if I have to!"

    Teddy Roosevelt stood up and started to pace.

    "We got more votes from some folks, Hillquist got more from others. That's not a damn fool conspiracy, that's politics. We competed, fair and square! He won, I lost. That's how this whole damn thing works! Hillquist got more votes. I may not agree with the man on everything, but he's the mayor and it's not some fucking conspiracy! We didn't do enough to get the votes from the Manhatten districts, or some of the other boroughs.

    Well, this nonsense stops here! Get everyone you can to work on drafting as many letters and articles refuting this nonsense. And someone run to the Mayor's office, ask about us getting a photograph together. Need to shake the man's hand, tell him good race and all that. Show him and everyone else there's no hard feelings! Bah!"

    He shook his head and turned to look out the window, hands clasped behind his back.

    "The world's different than it was even just a few years ago. I understand being uncertain and afraid. But that's no excuse! None at all! If things look upside down, then by God we need to stand on our heads until it makes sense."

    With a sudden burst of energy he turned and grabbed an overcoat, hat, and his heavy walking stick.

    "No time to waste! Get moving, I'm going on a walk, and if I catch one of these rascals spouting this nonsense, I'll give them what-for! Tell the missus I'll be home for a late lunch!"

    And without further warning or argument, Teddy Roosevelt was off to set the record straight. Moving about the streets like an angry bull moose.
    =====================================

    Just excising an idea I had.

    @Physici ideally if there's a bonus here, apply it to the TOD action trying to reduce or reverse the weird racist/conspiracy nonsense about the NYC mayor's race.
     
  • Apocrypha
    • The Clerk's Day

    James had a routine, and he liked that routine. He arose with the sun to the smell of bacon and eggs. Then he sat down to the breakfast his wife made. He ate it, gave her a kiss, and took the streetcar to work. And work was normally quite routine as well. He was one of the clerks in Illinois who handled the intersection of business and government. He filed ownership papers, sorted documentation, and occasionally he was called to testify about one legal matter or another. But the recent anti-trust law had upended that precious routine. Now people with settled businesses were coming in to demand this or that change to try and avoid the requirements of the law, there was a crowd of wealthy demonstrators and their supporters making their opposition known outside, and a crowd of ruffians and revolutionaries making trouble for everyone right nearby.

    The din was audible from his tiny office tucked into a corner of city hall, the space that he normally found so safe and sheltered. Carefully, trying to ignore the chaos intruding on his little world, he lined up his pens just so, stacked his papers as he liked them, checked and double-checked that everything was ready, and then checked it again, and again.

    The chaos outside was clearly getting to him.

    Then he started going through the papers. The first form was ordinary enough. The "Universal Textile Factory" was being sold to a...Walpurga Voight, for the price of one dollar. He frowned and read through it carefully, but it seemed to be perfectly in order.

    The next paper was much the same. And the next, and the next.

    He went through perhaps fifteen, all transferring a business to Walpurga Voight, the infamous Valkyrie Queen of Chicago.

    Finally, it was lunch. The crowds outside had quieted down, or perhaps been chased away, which was fortunate. He slipped out and walked three blocks away to the only tolerable street food vendor in the city. He was a quiet man who sold delicious meat patties. There was never a line for the man, no other customers trying to talk his ear off, no paper boys hawking their wares. He paid the man with a dime, took his patties, and ate at his desk, relishing the oasis of peace.

    And then he braced himself for what would come next.

    Not everyone handled their paperwork in such a way that he could review it in peace. The afternoon was when he was responsible for helping people fill it out, answering questions, and generally handling all the upsetting parts of his job.

    The first to come in was a young couple. They had a farming tool factory - he couldn't imagine what kind of tools they made, nor did he care - that they wished to sell. Who were they selling it to?

    Somehow, he was not surprised that it was Walpurga Voight.

    He sighed and told them what to sign and where, and that before the sale would go through he would contact Voight to make sure she approved. And then came the next person, a withered old lady with a cane that looked more like a club. She had a sewing needle shop she wanted to sell.

    To Walpurga Voight.

    Finally, the question that had been burbling in the back of his head all-day burst out.

    "Why her? Why is everyone selling to her?"

    The old woman cackled, the sound of noise a witch might make. James flinched, and carefully probed his ears to make sure they hadn't started bleeding.

    "Well, just imagine the look on her face when she finds herself with all these new factories!"

    She chuckled.

    James really couldn't see what was funny about this, but he let out a little laugh of his own and prayed that tomorrow, he would not see the name Walpurga Voight anywhere.

    @Physici

    A +5 bonus to this action for the SUS:

    -[] Give legal ownership of your industries to loyal individuals who can then run them the same and donate the proceeds to SUS, ensuring the organization doesn't get broken up by the Anti-Trust Act.
    --[] Assign legal-ownership of those industries to Walpurga Voight.
     
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    ...yknow what the futurists could do that'd have me believe they were actually about exploring future tech? them having/opening a research firm for radio stuff, cus right now they are kinda just acting as a wedge between the minority working class and the majority...and that's about it
     
    Love and Glory
  • Sidestory
    • Love and Glory:

    (Pastor William Smith POV)

    "The Lord will rescue me from every evil deed and bring me safely into his heavenly kingdom. To him be the glory forever and ever. Amen." He prayed to god for strength, and he knew what he had to do. Timothy was always close to him, and when it came time for reassurance. That he was not alone. That the Lord himself was not going to let his shepherd walk into this den of wolves alone.

    He had always viewed violence as an unnatural course that man must try to overcome. Love one another as brothers and sisters of god.

    Yet he knew that just because men of god could love, did not mean they would be powerless. They would be weak. He had remembered for a long time, his own father. A man who fought in the War of States on the side of his home, the Confederacy… for Slavery against God's Children.

    He worked tirelessly, his entire life, to redeem himself for his father's sins. To serve God Abley and with vigor and purpose.

    He was not going in alone, however. He had the Lord.

    And enough buckshot to kill many men. But he did not see them as such men, and children. They were wolves attacking sheep. And the only way to deal with wolves… was by massacring them.

    He hoped he was not too late. That much could have been felt through his body, and he prayed to almighty god that was not too late to have his son.

    He now knew, at least in his own heart, that he failed his child once, by not being a better man, by not trusting him when he so desperately needed that terrible thing.

    As he looked at this mockery of a place they called their meeting house of worship, this, Place of God, that they are so defiling with their worship of evil against other men… It was for a moment in his soul, vindicating.

    They came to this temple of God's Glory on Earth. And turned it into a den of violence, and satanism.

    He pumped the action once, listening to them jeer and cheer, as the speaker was proclaiming "And this child, who refuses to accept the world of God, the word of Jesus!"

    But for William Smith, a Pastor of the Southern Baptist church, a man of God…He would not stand for such Blasphemy, nor would HE… So he did as a good shepherd does. He kicked down the door.

    The church was half empty, with many men with bottles of whiskey and moonshine, screaming and hollering. Yet even with his entrance, they did not care. They did not see him enter.

    And your son was dressed… in an embarrassing fashion. A simple fashion, but one you recognized well. They made him out to be the Whore of Babylon, in their own sick, twisted fantasies, he was one of the great evils. He was dressed in the dress of a woman, torn, and matted, his body broken and bruised.

    But his face held defiance still… Yet it was he who saw you.

    "Jesus entered the temple courts and drove out all who were buying and selling there. He overturned the tables of the money changers and the benches of those selling doves. "It is written," he said to them, "'My house will be called a house of prayer,' but you are making it 'a den of robbers." He spoke, shouting loudly into the halls of God, so defiled by these… Animals.

    And the leader stopped talking, and all turned to face him. All were surprised. All watched with fear.

    His Wrath was coming, if they did not know that now, they were either fools or agents of Satan. And it would matter little anyway. Fools couldn't be reasoned with. And Agents of Satan had no place in the house of God. "Hand over my son, and I will leave this place peacefully, and without protest." He spoke calmly, as he assessed the situation around him.

    They were all mostly unarmed, and they were drunk, this mockery being nothing more then a minstrel show to them. The leader was the only one with a weapon, a knife, and a pistol in hand. Yet he was hiding, cowering behind the podium that was his speaking platform.

    "Father!" William's son shouted, and he nodded to him, allowing his son to recognize that he was going to be cared for shortly.

    That moment allowed him to show hesitation, but for a moment. He was going to hold him soon.

    But he had God's Work to do.

    "This nergo lovein socialist!" The leader spoke as he gathered courage in his voice, the same courage that only whiskey and stupidity could grant…"Seeks to defile our sacred honor! Our sacred bonds as men, with his wish to show not only, love and care to those Negros who defile this land! Our Culture is at risk pastor, and you do nothing to prevent it's destruction! Nothing but-"

    "A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another." He quoted John. "My son has taken the lessons of our Lord to heart, and lives, as he does, in service and Commanding, to the Lord. And you, have not."

    "Kill this-" The Leader tried to speak. Yet instead of being allowed to continue…

    A shotgun blast echoed, and William Smith, dutiful servant of God, and his Messiah, Jesus Christ, began enacting the Lord's Vengence.

    Three quick blasts followed, as he took aim and aimed at those too drunk or too shocked to move. They were blown back by the force of buckshot.

    William however, took the time to be methodical, as a servant of the Lord was, and reloaded calmly, despite the men trying to get to their weapons, to cover, to anything that could help them.

    He reloaded the shells with calmness, and steadiness, knowing the Lord was protecting him from harm.

    This was not vengeance. Vengeance required one to feel wronged. And despite his son being taken by these men, William Smith only felt as if he was doing one thing.

    He was doing a chore. A bloody one, done righteously.

    Another blast fired, and this time, the man who was hiding was not so lucky. His head exploded into a puddle of gore and blood. Spilling everywhere across the church. Like an animal being sacrificed at the Temple.

    He wasted no time in dispatching three more, and he felt nothing as they screamed in pain, as he walked forward.

    The men, aimlessly with fear and horror, fired their pistols wildly, but not a single bullet struck him.

    William was driven. He was protected by his Lord.

    And he had enough shells for all of them.

    He did not take cover, like them, the Lord protected him.

    Soon enough, the twenty men that were among this farce, were there, dying, in puddles of their own blood. Those still alive trying desperately to keep themselves conscious, to keep themselves alive.

    But the Lord would see them in hell, soon enough.

    The only one left was the leader. He was holding William's son with a knife to his throat. "You… You killed them!" He babbled.

    "Yes." William replied with a cold gaze. "They died because of their hubris, their pride… their envy. The Lord called them Sins for a reason. It makes one less human. More a devil. But this was just work, a chore… nothing more."

    He paused and chambered a slug into the action. "Now. Let go of my son. And I may let you live."

    He pressed the knife closer to the jugular. "After what you did… you are going to be hunted like a dog!"

    William did only one thing. "No longer will violence be heard in your land, nor ruin or destruction within your borders, but you will call your walls Salvation and your gates Praise."

    The man could only look surprised when the shotgun blast blew his head off.

    For William Smith, merely saw this night as him doing his duty to the Lord.

    Driving the wolves from this Temple. From this land. Into the next life, where Hell awaited them.

    AN: Well, there was a comedy omake I was working on, but it wasn't that good.

    So I decided to do something that I was actually good at.

    Killing bad guys with cool badasses at the helm

    @Physici I want the White league to suffer a Roll Malus!
     
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