ILYTH
08-03-2010, 12:23 PM
The year Two Thousand and Thirty Four and The densely packed slums of London’s less fashionable areas are one hell of a place to ply your trade. The huge industry boom after the depression of twenty fifteen had lead to mass expansion of Britain’s industrial cities, London particularly. The capital now stretches from Ipswich to Basingstoke and from Oxford to Maidstone in an unprecedented mega city. The best and brightest rub shoulders in the clubs and restaurants of the old cities elite central business district, now restricted access granted only to the richest and most important of its twenty three million citizens.
Outside of this mecca of capitalism lurks a darker undesirable underbelly Crooks and killers of every kind are as common place as any form of legitimate business on the filthy streets. Every action has a motive measured in money and respect, every tenant of this fetid pit seeks to benefit from the actions and re-actions of the seedy underbelly of the city. The bottom feeders of the docks scurry too and forth to get their chance from the big fish in their high rise apartments in the CBD ever eager to capitalize and take the place of their ruthless bosses. Every debt is paid in blood and life is the cheapest of commodities.
The new city over time gained a reputation throughout the country as the roughest of all areas, more so than even the hellish wasteland of new Birmingham, the first and only city to have ran entirely on Hyper concentrated nuclear force an ill fated experiment for the city and its nine million residents. London’s outlying regions became known by another name, The Abattoir.
The police rarely venture into these areas as they are outnumbered and out gunned by the hordes of criminals they are condemned to oppose. The problem is compounded in that only the greenest of recruits and given the murderous beats as any officer with connections to the top uses them to be rescued from the hell of the Abattoir.
Bodies of fresh faced young officers were commonly found with the rising sun by the residents of the slums, some of which most likely had a hand in the death of the young men. For a time the issue of the Abattoir was skirted and put of by the government as facing up to the problem would mean admitting its existence, something a government clinging to power would rather avoid.
Before long though public unrest and pressure from the police union weighed on the government to a point where they risked civil unrest and riots. To appease the people and the police unions the government created a specialized task squad to deal with the area and keep its tenants under control. The unit that would become known as Crescent Squad was born.
Crescent squad represented the best of the best, soldiers from the front lines of Britain’s reclamation of its old empire given astronomical wages to enter a very different warzone formed the bulk of the squad. Others officers were pulled from other high risk areas such as downtown Manchester and Newcastle. They were to be outfitted with highest spec weapons and equipment, a budget that was in theory limitless and only one goal, regulate the Abattoir.
The man to lead this squad was decided immediately after it’s inception, an officer without peer with enough commendations to make even the most accomplished detective feel insignificant and the only officer above the rank of Detective inspector to have remained in the Abattoir. Harry Wolfe was the proudest product of the metropolitan police force and the only candidate with even a chance of tackling the issue of the Abattoir.
One man in particular took special notice of the appointment of Wolfe and the creation of his squad. The new age of policing threatened his interests as the king of London business. The Abattoir represented a source of cheap illegal business opportunity and Crescent squad sought to end this and Frank King knew that if they succeeded his empire would come crashing down around him.
This is a story about the war that would rage between these two behemoths.
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HARRY WOLFE
The stern man walked swiftly down the cold gray hall, his pristine leather shoes made a distinctive clacking sound as they struck against the tiled floor. The man walked with the determined stride of one who held all the cards and in his mind Harry Wolfe did indeed. The government had stumbled out of their dusty old chambers mere minutes ago and effectively handed over the reigns of the capital to the only lawman strong enough to enforce it, although others would identify brutality as a quality of Wolfe's rather than strength. The stoney faced man whistled a tune as he swaggered, a tune that though cheerful at first becomes disjointed and disturbing to the ears.
Wolfe thought back as he strolled, the moments leading him to this point had been highlighted by cold, extreme efficiency in the way he enforced his justice. Wolfe grinned as he thrust open the doors to his new den, the entire top floor of Scotland Yard had been given the Crescent Squad. Harry Wolfe chuckled to himself within the empty room as he waited for his squad to arrive. The Wolfe had been set loose upon the Abattoir and with this the war began.
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FRANK KING
"Dalian...I assure you...calm down, don't worry about this upstart flatfoot I'll have him taken care of...he poses no threat to us...How can I be sure? Because I'm Frank fucking King that's why and don't you forget it or I'll have your head on a plate, don't forget where you came from now your wearing big boy trousers...Look I'm sorry to have shouted, give my regards to Sally and the boys...Ciao." I put down the phone and sank back into the wicker chair by the poolside of my garden, Dalian could be a real ass sometimes, although that was an issue that eventually resolved itself.
The day had been unseasonably warm, even within the synthetically generated Mediterranean summer the CBD enjoyed. The phone had rang while I was waiting for news to come through on the uniweb, Dalian had rung me up to confirm my worst suspicions. The fat pompus government had finally got off their asses and decided to crack down on my city and worse still they had given that mad man Wolfe the license to do it.
My first reaction to the news was one of anger, I recall slamming my hand through my glass coffee table needing bandages and instaclot. The government, the government that had for so long enjoyed my charity towards them was deciding that it now wanted to run the country when men like me had been putting in the hard yards for their entire term? promising to crack down on the horror of the mega city when in reality almost all of their campaign budget had its roots in either my pockets or the pockets of those like me, the greatest of hypocrisies don't you think? Back to the point though, after ruining my table I went into my room and thumbed through the phonebook on my phone, untraceable of course. Grant Richard, Mr Rent-a-Kill they called him. I remember being very unimpressed by his resume but I wouldn't bother my usual man until a lot later after the escalation.
"Harry Wolfe..." I spoke softly to myself "The Wolfe is going to find this piggies house is made firmly of brick" or something along those lines, to be honest I had a lot on my mind at the time so the specifics are hazy.
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Outside of this mecca of capitalism lurks a darker undesirable underbelly Crooks and killers of every kind are as common place as any form of legitimate business on the filthy streets. Every action has a motive measured in money and respect, every tenant of this fetid pit seeks to benefit from the actions and re-actions of the seedy underbelly of the city. The bottom feeders of the docks scurry too and forth to get their chance from the big fish in their high rise apartments in the CBD ever eager to capitalize and take the place of their ruthless bosses. Every debt is paid in blood and life is the cheapest of commodities.
The new city over time gained a reputation throughout the country as the roughest of all areas, more so than even the hellish wasteland of new Birmingham, the first and only city to have ran entirely on Hyper concentrated nuclear force an ill fated experiment for the city and its nine million residents. London’s outlying regions became known by another name, The Abattoir.
The police rarely venture into these areas as they are outnumbered and out gunned by the hordes of criminals they are condemned to oppose. The problem is compounded in that only the greenest of recruits and given the murderous beats as any officer with connections to the top uses them to be rescued from the hell of the Abattoir.
Bodies of fresh faced young officers were commonly found with the rising sun by the residents of the slums, some of which most likely had a hand in the death of the young men. For a time the issue of the Abattoir was skirted and put of by the government as facing up to the problem would mean admitting its existence, something a government clinging to power would rather avoid.
Before long though public unrest and pressure from the police union weighed on the government to a point where they risked civil unrest and riots. To appease the people and the police unions the government created a specialized task squad to deal with the area and keep its tenants under control. The unit that would become known as Crescent Squad was born.
Crescent squad represented the best of the best, soldiers from the front lines of Britain’s reclamation of its old empire given astronomical wages to enter a very different warzone formed the bulk of the squad. Others officers were pulled from other high risk areas such as downtown Manchester and Newcastle. They were to be outfitted with highest spec weapons and equipment, a budget that was in theory limitless and only one goal, regulate the Abattoir.
The man to lead this squad was decided immediately after it’s inception, an officer without peer with enough commendations to make even the most accomplished detective feel insignificant and the only officer above the rank of Detective inspector to have remained in the Abattoir. Harry Wolfe was the proudest product of the metropolitan police force and the only candidate with even a chance of tackling the issue of the Abattoir.
One man in particular took special notice of the appointment of Wolfe and the creation of his squad. The new age of policing threatened his interests as the king of London business. The Abattoir represented a source of cheap illegal business opportunity and Crescent squad sought to end this and Frank King knew that if they succeeded his empire would come crashing down around him.
This is a story about the war that would rage between these two behemoths.
------------------------------------------------------------------
HARRY WOLFE
The stern man walked swiftly down the cold gray hall, his pristine leather shoes made a distinctive clacking sound as they struck against the tiled floor. The man walked with the determined stride of one who held all the cards and in his mind Harry Wolfe did indeed. The government had stumbled out of their dusty old chambers mere minutes ago and effectively handed over the reigns of the capital to the only lawman strong enough to enforce it, although others would identify brutality as a quality of Wolfe's rather than strength. The stoney faced man whistled a tune as he swaggered, a tune that though cheerful at first becomes disjointed and disturbing to the ears.
Wolfe thought back as he strolled, the moments leading him to this point had been highlighted by cold, extreme efficiency in the way he enforced his justice. Wolfe grinned as he thrust open the doors to his new den, the entire top floor of Scotland Yard had been given the Crescent Squad. Harry Wolfe chuckled to himself within the empty room as he waited for his squad to arrive. The Wolfe had been set loose upon the Abattoir and with this the war began.
------------------------------------------------------------
FRANK KING
"Dalian...I assure you...calm down, don't worry about this upstart flatfoot I'll have him taken care of...he poses no threat to us...How can I be sure? Because I'm Frank fucking King that's why and don't you forget it or I'll have your head on a plate, don't forget where you came from now your wearing big boy trousers...Look I'm sorry to have shouted, give my regards to Sally and the boys...Ciao." I put down the phone and sank back into the wicker chair by the poolside of my garden, Dalian could be a real ass sometimes, although that was an issue that eventually resolved itself.
The day had been unseasonably warm, even within the synthetically generated Mediterranean summer the CBD enjoyed. The phone had rang while I was waiting for news to come through on the uniweb, Dalian had rung me up to confirm my worst suspicions. The fat pompus government had finally got off their asses and decided to crack down on my city and worse still they had given that mad man Wolfe the license to do it.
My first reaction to the news was one of anger, I recall slamming my hand through my glass coffee table needing bandages and instaclot. The government, the government that had for so long enjoyed my charity towards them was deciding that it now wanted to run the country when men like me had been putting in the hard yards for their entire term? promising to crack down on the horror of the mega city when in reality almost all of their campaign budget had its roots in either my pockets or the pockets of those like me, the greatest of hypocrisies don't you think? Back to the point though, after ruining my table I went into my room and thumbed through the phonebook on my phone, untraceable of course. Grant Richard, Mr Rent-a-Kill they called him. I remember being very unimpressed by his resume but I wouldn't bother my usual man until a lot later after the escalation.
"Harry Wolfe..." I spoke softly to myself "The Wolfe is going to find this piggies house is made firmly of brick" or something along those lines, to be honest I had a lot on my mind at the time so the specifics are hazy.
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