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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Shepard snickers in the vacuum cleaner shop, gently flicking one of the metal bottoms with a small 'pang' as she heads towards the back. This isn't the first time she's been here, and it certainly won't be the last. She doesn't agree with all his methods, but there's no denying his process- if you need something technological done, you get Rick to do it. And she just doesn't have time for a lack of results; not with the way the island's rolling these days. So she whispers a few passwords, slips in the back, and waits to see if he'll actually greet her or just send a robot to blow a raspberry in her face. Either or.

They're friends. Kinda.

"Hey Rick! You in?"

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.

Well hey, it's one of his favorite customers. Dropping by unannounced, which isn't his favorite thing in the whole world, but then again no one ever really shows up here unannounced. Not when he's mentally tapped into every security camera for two blocks. Even the red light cameras! Man, mutants are shit at obeying traffic laws.

The initial back room is basically just your average office, with a desk and some other office-like shit. It's the door in the very back sealed with approximately ten billion electronic locks or passwords that leads to where the real magic is. And it's from this door that he emerges.

"Shep Shep Sheppy-Shep, isn't this a pleasant surprise?"

He grins at her. He actually does kind of like her, inasmuch as he likes anyone, human or otherwise.

He takes a swig from a hip flask. "Wh-What can I do you for? The biometrics on that gun I gave you still working?"

"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.

Sirius is no stranger to Rick's shop, although he usually goes in before a planned raid. Today's different. And it shows in how Sirius keeps his eyes on the "merchandise" at the front of the shop before he moves up to the counter, where he continues to look anywhere but at Rick's face.

"Hey. You got anything, uh. Small. Discreet. But still packs a punch?"

He tugs the sleeve of his leather jacket down absently.

Stan and Rick go way, way, way back. That's what happens when you've drifted in as many criminal circles as Stan has. He's supplied Stan with countless "vaccuum cleaners" over the years, and Stan's probably done him a favor or two. Frankly, he's one of the only people Stan would do a favor for and it's only stubbornness that won't let him admit Rick's probably one of the closest things he has to a...a frieeend? Is he pronouncing that right?

Today he's there on business though. He knows all the passwords and all the bullshit to get downstairs, but he doesn't feel like it, so he slams his hand on the bell a couple times.

"SANCHEZ!" he shouts. "I'VE GOT AN UNUSUALLY STUPID JOB FOR YOU AND I DON'T FEEL LIKE LUGGIN' THIS BOX AROUND!"

The box in question is sitting at his feet. It has a leather jacket thrown over it in what must be a flame resistance measure, because there's a vague smell of burning coming from it, and...laser noises? And tiny yips? "Unusually stupid" doesn't even begin to cover this job.

She's refreshingly at home with people like Rick -- people who skirt the edge of morality, mutants who can pass for human and have the luxury of being able to hide without having to shift out of his normal skin.

She's a regular here, as far as she knows, and when she shows up it's as much a social call as anything else. She's more than aware that he runs a risky business, and while she's pretty sure he can take care of himself -- she just wants to check, okay?

Besides, she's got Business to do with a capital B. She sets her hands flat on the counter, blue fingers splayed out against the scratched glass.

"I need some replacement parts for my Hoover." So what if 'hoover' is a loose term for the trapping gun that she's got in plain sight on her hips, looking a little worse for the wear? It could mean her damn vacuum hose. "Something with a little more ... kick."

[It's not that Pidge trusts Rick. Quite the opposite, honestly. But mutant or not he's involved with enough shit that if he chose to get her in trouble, she could take him down with her, and she needs to get supplies for her tech somewhere. Amazing how hard it is to go to legitimate places when you're trying to build and fix the tech that keeps you passing as a mutant when in truth you're a human spying on mutants.

Besides, he's not terrible to bounce ideas off of. Even if his powers mean he's cheating.]

My hoverboots keep dragging left. I need to fix the steering mechanism.

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.

This kid is something of a regular, and he's usually a bit of a cocky shit, so the fact that he's acting shifty now sets off quite a few alarm bells. Rick sends a couple mental pings to some of the nearest robots and computers. When a regular is acting shifty it's usually a good indication that you're gonna have to close shop early.

"Man, I got these weird ass Dust Devils that are like, l-like small enough to fit in a purse. Here, follow me, got 'em in the back room."

This one's got something up his sleeve, literally. Fortunately, Rick does too, both literally and metaphorically. He waves his hand and makes a show of turning his back on Sirius, as if nothing at all is wrong.

Behind them at the front door, the neon "Open" sign switches off and the electronic locks click quietly into place.

Rick leads Sirius into his office, where he does all of his legal and illegal and semi-legal business. He crosses his arms over his chest.

"So, what, a gun this time, or you want something m-more interesting?"

There aren't very many people on this godforsaken island that Rick actually likes, but Stan is one of them. They've known each other for practically a billion years at this point, gotten in and out of several scrapes together.

It's late enough that there's no one in the store, and frankly, Rick doesn't actually get that much real vacuum cleaner business as it is, so whatever. Stan is of course leaning on the bell, because that's what he does when he's annoyed about something. Rick watches him on the CCTV screen for a second, grinning to himself and letting the guy sweat, eyeing some trails of smoke rising from that box of his.

This should be interesting.

Finally he leaves his office and steps out into the store proper, spreading his arms like he hasn't seen Stan in a million years, when actually it's been more like a week.

"¿Eyyy, cómo estás, ese? Boy are you f-fucking lucky this store ain't bugged. The fuck you want, Stan?"

Boy, he's getting all of his regulars all at once these past few days. It's exciting. Maybe they'll finally start calling this war what it is. Wouldn't that be hilarious? Watching that idiot queen try to spin it. The lady is not very good at spin.

Either way, something big is happening, and business is booming thanks to it.

Mystique is one of his favorites, too. She's all famous and shit. It's like having a goddamn celebrity walk into your corner store. Always good for business when she comes around.

He grins when she walks up.

"Well you're in luck, I've been working on modding some of the Hoover models, got all kinds o-of shit, better suction, filters, the works. Y-You wanna step in the back and check it out?"

That gun she's packing looks like it needs some TLC.

[He kind of likes her, in the sense that she's smart and sharp and doesn't take anyone's shit, and he's always liked those qualities in people. That's not to say he wouldn't kill her or engineer her death in some way if it came to it, but eh, whatever, it is what it is.]

M-Might be the thrusters, fuckers started outsourcing some of the parts to fucking China, been having, uh, h-having all sorts of fuckery with the stabilizers in these things lately.

[You can't talk a machine into working if some of the parts are faulty. Bullshit.]

Gonna cost you.

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.

You'll get paid.

[Not technically by her. She could never afford his services. But it's amazing what you can do when you're employed by a government you hate and have the technical skills and cleverness to move the money around and mask the numbers. The Genoshan government is paying for the tools she uses to spy on them, and if all goes well, they'll never know. She's pretty sure Rick doesn't care where the money comes from, so it all works out.]

This mean you've got better thrusters for me?

She's been calling it a war privately for years, now, but it just isn't condoned by the Queen...and as much as she likes being famous, she knows she should probably not overstep this particular boundary -- call it the one thing she'd learned in her youth.

"That's perfect timing, isn't it? Must be my lucky day. Show me what you got." He'd have to be blind not to see the events ramping up in the way that they are, and she's glad the suspicion he was smart enough to take advantage of it was correct.

Once they head to the back, she drops the gun unceremoniously on the nearest table.

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.

I'm thinking an advance this time. I-Island being a goddamn powder keg and all. Never know when the dollar's gonna, gonna start being glorified green toilet paper.

[Civil wars tend to be bad for the economy and all.]

But yeah. Boot thrusters...

[He flips open a laptop and types in a few buttons. A moment later, a robot that basically looks like a Roomba with a few knives attached to it emerges from a hidden chamber in the wall and crosses the floor to Rick's side. He holds out his hand without even looking and an appendage extends upward from the Roomba, holding a small foil-wrapped box.]

Here we go. Got so sick of w-working with that Chinese shit I just went ahead and built some myself. With a couple of f-fun mods, since I know you like that shit.

"M-M-My timing's always perfect."

It literally isn't.

But whatever, he leads her into the back, which is basically just a totally nondescript office, but when Rick taps a certain section of wall, a small workbench folds outward. It's got all the usual tools. Rick slides the gun toward him when she sets it down, then picks it up, peering down the sight line, testing its weight.

"Balance is way off, a-angle's skewed. The hell'd you do, throw it against a wall a few times? M-M-Might be easier to just replace it. Could get you something way better."

She snorts as he approaches, making up nicknames and probably half-drunk, as usual. She halfheartedly wishes she could spend as much of her days plastered as he does, but a rebellion doesn't run itself, after all, and she's got too many people she needs to protect. Maybe someday. But for now, she just folds her arms, keeps on smiling. She didn't just come here to hang out, after all.

"Yeah, workin' fine." The gun in question is in the backpack she's carrying, which she reaches into to pull out a longer metal device with curved plates. "Came for a tune-up on the tac cloak. If I click it out before it times itself out to recharge it's been sending static shocks into my spine and I'd really rather it not do that. Makes it hard to stay quiet on recon missions when it feels like I'm being stabbed in the back. Literally."

"Right, how could I forget."

She's probably steered people away from Rick's place more than once by reminding the task force that he provided them with invaluable weapons. Her eyes flick to the gun as he speaks and then she smirks, just a little wickedly.

"It got thrown down a flight of stairs." Attached to a person, probably. "And hey, whatever you say -- money's no object." She nods to his table.

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.

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[OPEN] most mutations are basically just cancer, morty

ayyy lmao

eyoooo 8/5

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[video forever]

8/6, later in the day.

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8/6

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