Sunday, September 18, 2011

9/15/11 - Brief Notations from The Black Rat of Armagh

* It's been a little under a month since the city Converted. Since then, everyone's been able to be reunited with their homes and things. As usual, there's the normal Conversion insurance claims to deal with, and insurance scams to investigate, but that's not my !@#$ problem. My !@#$ problem is where the !@#$ I'm going to get another perfect, pre-secondary revolution marble bust of Lenin for my toilet tank. It was a gift from Boris, himself, after the attempted coup pretty much spelled the end of any hope of a Communist revival. It was also something of a peacemaking gesture on his part, as it was accompanied by a few crates of good, proper Russian vodka. I have a lot of fond memories about what I did when I was drunk on that vodka, and fond memories of what other people tell me I did while drunk on that vodka, so having the bust get smashed during the Conversion is a real !@#$ letdown.

* What wasn't a letdown was to see that the city's gotten to grips with its new landscape rather nicely. They've made new friends, new enemies, and new relationships, same as always. The days of this neighborhood and that neighborhood have been effectively over since then, and any attempts to put them back together on ethnic or societal lines have been rendered futile. What's the point of having a Chinatown if the thing's likely to be scattered all over town every few years? Some people say this is turning the city into a monoculture. I say it's becoming more of a melting pot. And I have a gun, so there.

* And no, I didn't need my spy network to tell me this. I'm learning it from walking. Between yesterday's trip to the Bangkok Eight, and today's slog down to the Black Rat, I've had time to get a good long look at things. Which is !@#$ hilarious if you think about it. How many times did I stand up, wave a gun around a black budget hearing, and insist that, new super technology fliberty-goo things or not, we needed boots on the ground, eyes in the walls, and ears in the cornfields more than spy satellites and boom mikes? Not that we didn't need those other things, too, but HumInt is worth more than its weight in gold.

* Speaking of The Black Rat, it's deserted today, which is weird. It's just me and the bartender, and he looks kind of scared. I think it's because Aaron isn't here to protect him from me and my needs. Not that I really need anything from him, anyway. Gods know where his hands have been, much less his !@#$. No, as long as he keeps bringing me my Singha, no one will get hurt, which is a lot more than I can say for some of my other projects.

* Project Number !@#$ One: GORGON. We have tracked their subs. We know where they went. The bad news is that it's not underwater. It's !@#$ underground. And that means they could literally be anywhere. So I think our good friend Myron the Ersatz Underman is going to be earning his !@#$ keep real !@#$ soon.

* Project Number Two: HONEYCOMB. Thanks to them tipping their hands a little too much, lately, we have developed the technology needed to be able to intercept and change their HIVE signals into meaningless noise. This means that, the next time we take one down, another one will not reactivate to take its' place. This means that we can actually fight them to a !@#$ standstill for once, provided we can determine the location of most of those currently active HIVEs and carry out a simultaneous strike on at least three-quarters of them. That'll keep them from manually turning the others on, or changing the signals.

* Project Number Three: The Legion. I was not amused by the exploding Katooey. I was really not !@#$ amused by the Flaming Patriot. And I sure as !@#$ !@#$ was not !@#$ amused by that Moloch !@#$ during the hurricane. But turning my flying car into a death trap is the absolute !@#$ !@#$ !@#$ limit. I have some plans in motion to deal with them, as of this morning's revelation from the Ice Palace, at which point the proper equipment and personnel will have to be brought into play. But as soon as we got that up and running, there's going to be a !@#$ reckoning that will make what I've done so far look like a playful little slap on the ass at your birthday party.

* Speaking of "what I've done so far," so far no one suspects a !@#$ thing other than the official story. Even the President's come around on it. But I have this weird feeling that this one's going to blow back on me, somehow. That could just be post-wetwork guilt sneaking in around the corners of my well-trained lack of a conscience, of course, but it feels different, somehow. So thank the gods for beer or I'd be really paralyzed right now.

* Speaking of which, where the !@#$ did that bartender go? I need another Singha. Hey, !@#$head! Beer! ... Hmm, !@#$ disappeared. That's weird.

* On the subject of disappearing, I had a weird bit of info come across my desk this morning, courtesy of the Director of DAMOCLES. It seems the Lizard People are leaving Earth in large numbers. Not all of them, obviously, but enough to be concerned. They won't say why, either, except to say "(Unintelligible Concept) Is Coming," which is no !@#$ help at all.

* Oh yeah, DAMOCLES. I am now enjoying a much better working relationship with their Director, after I got the goods on him and kicked down his wall. Our first big collaboration is going to be figuring out what the !@#$ happened to that ufo his people went after, over a month back. We now know that we know absolutely nothing, except that once his people got close enough, their last transmission was a Code Triple Black order to vaporize the area from orbit. Under those circumstances the Director's unable to override it, or stop to ask questions. He just authorizes the switch and tries to figure out what the !@#$ happened based on what's left, which, in this case, was less than nothing. And he hates not knowing, hence his reluctance to tell me a !@#$ thing. I can respect that. I can respect him. (He's also got nice buns...)

* !@#$ it. I called for beer. If I don't get it I'm just gonna get it myself and put it on the !@#$ tab...


* Well, of all the places to run into an old friend. You gonna waste time talking or you just gonna try and burn me again? Cause boy do I have some surprises for --


(SPYGOD was listening to Monoculture (Soft Cell) and enjoying a Singha. Now...?)

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