entrancelogs | [OPEN] most mutations are basically just cancer, morty

Entry tags:

[OPEN] most mutations are basically just cancer, morty

Who: Rick Sanchez and ALL
Where: Rick's chop shop in some slummy corner of Genosha.
When: Throughout the event (8/5-8/9)
Rating: PG-13ish
Summary: Rick is a technopathic mutant LIVING ON THE EDGE and he doesn't care about the rebellion but he'll gladly sell weapons and robots to both sides. Need an assassin bot to kill that high profile mutant? Call Rick. Need a computer program to wipe out the rebellion's communication network? Call Rick. Wanna just cause some mayhem? CALL RICK. War profiteering is fun!
The Story:

Rick doesn't give two shits about things like basic human (or mutant) rights and never has. He could care less about the human rebellion, and he literally cares even less about the mutant higher ups, because fuck authority. The best side to be on in any given war is no side at all--and yeah, this might be just a "rebellion" or a "resistance" to the media, but he knows a war when he sees one. If you don't pick a side, you can profit from both sides, and then when circumstances come around to force you to choose, you can usually just run. There's a whole lot of world out there outside Genosha, and Rick's lucky enough that his mutation will let him pass for regular old human out there with the rest of the angry humies.

Besides, anything that happens among the Genoshans isn't going to matter in the long run. The rest of the world has Sentinels, after all. This whole Genosha experiment isn't going to last much longer either way, especially once the rest of the world hears that mutants are oppressing humans over here.

So might as well make bank while the banking is good, right?

Rick can be found through a network of fences and drug dealers and thieves and other scummy sorts. You just have to know who to ask. He sells vacuum cleaners in a shitty part of town as a front, but the real business is in the basement, because all real businesses are in basements. Just bring money, an air-gapped computer, and a few passwords, and you might be able to get a face to face Rick, assuming he lets you past his SEVEN PROXIES.

Also just know that if you cross him, he can kill you with your own fucking toaster and probably has. He also has an army of robots at his disposal.

Don't fuck with The Rick or you gon get wrecked.

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It doesn't matter if he's a mutant. Objectively, it does, fair enough, but he's got his fingers in an awful lot of pies. Worked real hard at making himself indispensable, as you do when you're playing both sides of this little war. It doesn't matter one way or another. Kralie has need of something, and he knows exactly where to go to get it.

Not that Rick would trust him as far as he could throw him. Fair enough. Kralie would put a bullet in his brain if he could, it's just that Rick makes himself that goddamn untouchable, so he works with it. He dings the little bell on the front test of the vacuum cleaner place, leaning up against the counter.

And then he dings it again, and again. C'mon, Rick. You've got someone who needs some quality explosives, stat.

"Yeah, yeah, don't get your dick in a t-twist, holy fuck, hold on!"

The voice issues from his back office. Rick emerges shortly there after, tipping back and apparently draining a hip flask as he walks out. He burps loudly, wipes his mouth, shoos away another random customer, and looks over to find out who's leaning on the goddamn bell.

Christ, this asshole again.

"Kralieeeeee." He drags out his name for almost five full seconds as he strolls across the store, grinning. "Here for another Roomba, huh? What, break the last one already?"

It's code, but only sort of. Rick kind of makes shit up as he goes.

Rick is just one of those necessary evils Kralie will have to live with. He's tolerable on good days at least, even if "tolerable" is a long way from "likeable". He leans against the countertop, counting out bills with affected nonchalance.

"No Roombas," he says evenly, pausing as he tries to think of a reasonable and socially-acceptable substitute for I need some C4. He could probably get some from other sources, but there's a reason he's here. Rick's damn good at what he does, no question. Probably the best out there, even if he's a goddamn snake.

"You know where I could get some smoke detectors?" Yeah, it's not a vacuum-related buzzword, but it's not like Rick has any consistency when it comes to this shit.

Rick makes a few "hm-hm" sounds and drums his fingers on the counter, mentally putting a few of his nearby robots into alert mode. Kralie might be a regular, but Rick trusts him about as far as he can throw them. He trusts most people about as far as he can throw them. There are psychos on both sides of this stupidass rebellion and Kralie is one of the psychoest.

"Yeeeah, yanno, I actually just came into a whole supply, got delivered to the wrong address and fucked if I'm g-gonna try and navigate the goddamn Genoshan postal service. Figured I'd, I'd just sell 'em anyway."

He gestures to Kralie like he's a dog.

"Got 'em in the back, follow me."

He heads toward his back office.

It chafes that he treats him like this, like he's lesser, but as insufferable as Rick is, he really is one of the few that can supply him with that which a human like him couldn't get his hands on otherwise.

Kralie obliges regardless, even if his perpetual glower just got perpetual-er. No matter how many times he cases the place, there's always something different about it, whether it's the clutter or the items on display or just the general layout of the place. He's hosted several private debates with himself regarding whether this is intentional on Rick's part or if he's simply that disorganized, and eventually came to the decision that it didn't really matter.

"What kind of payment are you looking for?" Make it all business and talk, nothing more. No time for pleasantries.

Rick treats everyone like this, even the people he likes. It's when he actually hates someone that he starts treating them differently.

They step into the back office, which is in an even sorrier state than the front store, with papers and bits of machinery everywhere, as well as piles of junk and garbage. For the most part it looks like a pretty typical back office, since during police raids it's not like they're just going to skip over the back office. The basement is where all the goodies are, and no one gets down there unless they a) know it exists and b) have Rick's permission.

There are plenty secret compartments in the actual office, though, so Rick bangs on a section of wall and a slot opens. Inside are several bomb materials and a half-eaten sandwich. Rick grabs the sandwich.

"Up front like usual, always, a-always liked that about you, Krails. You just, you go straight for the 'murder and blow shit up,' I like that. I'm thinking c-cash this time, but it's gonna depend on what you're after this time. Semtex again o-or something bigger and better?"

It's not like Kralie's workspace is any cleaner. But that's not why he's judging. He's judging because Sanchez is mutant lowlife, and like all mutants he probably buys that propaganda claiming that humans are some kind of inferior, base species. It's disgusting.

He came here armed - he'd be a fool not to - but he doubts force will be necessary. It never is. Even if Sanchez's little Krails pet name.

"Semtex is fine," he says flatly. "For all his faults, he can admit one thing: he never dances around the point. He always cuts directly to the chase. He still has a fat wad of bills from his latest "caper," though it had gone considerably more...explosion-inducing than he would've liked. Hence his need for more of Sanchez's wares.

Honestly as far as Rick is concerned, the entire human race is a pile of shit, and that includes both humans and mutants. It's absurd to have any sort of superiority complex when there are actual aliens out there in the universe. One of these days he's just going to build a fucking spaceship and get himself out of this dirthole.

"B-Boring old Semtex, fine. Guess it's a step up from fertilizer. S-So how much of the Anarchist's Cookbook do you have memorized, just curious."

Terrorists are all the same. Boring, irrationally dedicated to their cause, and never willing to try new things. Never actually in it for the mayhem. Boring.

Rick pulls out a box of Semtex from somewhere.

"How much you need? 'Nuff to 9/11 a mutant orphanage or just wanna Timothy McVeigh some sucker's o-office building?"

Mayhem itself isn't what pulls Kralie's eye. It's simply the means to the end. The cause is the underlying factor here, though he doesn't feel the need to justify himself to Sanchez of all people. Their dealings are far from cordial. It's just business.

"Enough for a building about the size of one of those smaller places based in Havershaw Heights." He'd smile, but he does so rarely. As it is, the satisfaction is thick and readily evident in his tone. Tearing the mutant elites a new one, as is his prerogative. He doesn't need to outline the plan of attack explicitly. It's doubtful any anonymous tips will be called in anyhow. Sanchez's entire business would crumble in a heartbeat if such a thing could get traced back to him.

Rick can handle "just business." So long as people aren't rude.

He can't help a flash of a grin, even just at the bare-bones description of the plan.

"S-Sticking it to the rich people, I like it."

Who doesn't want to blow up a few CEOs now and then, anyway? Rick starts pulling out the appropriate amount of bricks of Semtex and stashing them in a completely innocuous cardboard box. Semtex might be boring, but it's also delightfully stable. You can transport it in your goddamn pockets if you really want to play that game.

"Two thousand of whatever the currency on this shitisland is per brick."

Whether or not Sanchez approves is irrelevant, he reminds himself grouchily when he senses the barest flutter of satisfaction that he won't be facing any resistance or scrutiny or moral judgment on his dealer's part. Not that he would've expected it either way.

Kralie counts out the required bills and lays them in a thick wad on the table.

"This should cover it."

But really, who doesn't like sticking it to rich people? Taking rich people down a notch is basically one of the best feelings in the world.

Rick counts the bills, also separately counting out bricks of Semtex. It doesn't take all that much to blow up a fancy house. It's not as difficult as blowing up an office building or something. Houses have the benefit of being usually made out of wood, too, which is great for when you want the added destruction of a fire.

"There y-you go, that's about enough to bring down one of those fuckers. A-And maybe some extra. F-For emergencies."

Even if Alex himself isn't a fan of mayhem, he tends to bring the chaos. Rick is sure he'll find a use for whatever explosives are left over.

"I appreciate it," he says, the words a dry pull as he hefts the box up in both hands. He'll had to step carefully, but he's already plotting his course back to his nominal "office" without much difficulty. He's had to do this enough times to know how it works, how to chart his way around law enforcement and those who might not be overly inclined to trust that his intentions are pure.

Largely because they are pure. Purely destructive, yes, but pure. One cannot argue that.

"As long as I don't owe you," he adds, because he wouldn't put it past Sanchez to expect a little extra for that extra. Granted, Sanchez is also the type to enjoy whatever chaos comes from that destruction, but Kralie has a policy about mutants. Perhaps you've heard of it.

Unless there are bomb-sniffing dogs patrolling the posh neighborhoods--or bomb-sniffing mutants--Alex should be fine. Gated communities, some underpaid security guards and high-end home security are all basically a cakewalk. No one expects anyone to bomb a house.

"Nah, d-do you know how easy this shit is to make? Call it a, a, a baker's dozen. I don't care. Y-You need a detonator too?"

He shrugs. It's Sanchez's call, and if he's fine with it, Kralie has no reason to object.

"That'd be nice. I hadn't planned on this being a suicide bombing." That might've passed for a hint of a sense of humor, if you squint. Kralie's delivery is completely deadpan. "Or taking an unnecessary risk that would lead to the same outcome."

"Not gonna lie, y-y-you do strike me as suicide bomber material."

It takes a certain mindset and Rick is pretty sure Alex has that. In spades.

"Anyway have fun blowing up gold toilets. C-Can't wait to see that shit on the news. Hahahhaah 'that shit,' like, literally."

That earns Sanchez a flat glare. Not that it'll do much to deter him. Nothing deters the little cockroach for long. They've all got reputations to uphold, and whatnot.

"You flatter me," Kralie drawls, unimpressed. "But no, I'll not be making that kind of attempt."

Yet, anyway.

He folds up the box, detonator and all, and tucks it under one arm as he starts heading out.

"Best of luck in your business endeavors."

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[OPEN] most mutations are basically just cancer, morty

eyoooo 8/5

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