The weekly newsletter for Fed2 by ibgames

EARTHDATE: July 16, 2006

Inside Scoop - page 2

BLAST FROM THE PAST: THE MAFIA WARS - PART 1

by Monkey

It all started one night in Chez Diesel. There were two of them. They spoke in low tones, passing an anonymous looking black box between them and checking the LED frequently. One was a lowly trader, his conspirator a merchant. In the grand scheme of things they were nothing but flotsam and jetsam, but all that was about to change.

The seat of power in Fed had long been synonymous with wealth and rank. The Conclave was generally made up of the highest-ranking players in the game and together they probably held about 95% of all the money. So whilst these rich sods were all busy exploiting bugs, boasting to each other about how much money they had and generally making the poor folk feel, well, poor... our two ne'er-do-wells were thinking outside the box in a bid to shake things up a bit.

Space-fighting mobiles hadn't been in the game for very long. The first couple of incarnations of Pegasus, who stalked through Sol like a big wing-ed stalking thing, were a bit on the soft side. Players could generally kick his backside if they were in any way familiar with how to use their weapons. That soon changed, however, and the new and improved version was seriously dangerous.

Late at night in Fed and Sol was empty save for two lone crusaders who were testing their mettle against Pegasus and Monty. They had to tread carefully as they didn't actually want to kill the mobiles and pique the interest of the Conclave but they needed the sparring practice. As soon as someone logged in, they quickly scattered to the four winds and no-one was the wiser. The time of reckoning was drawing near and once their cards were on the table there would be no going back.

The plan was audacious. They were aiming to shift the axis of power within Fed over the course of a few days and become rich enough so that when the dust settled they would be "there or thereabouts" giving them a significant advantage in the race for eternal fame at the top of the tree. There would be no namby-pamby exploitation of bugs in the game. No being given cash by players on the verge of suicide. This was going to be done the right way. With honour. With cunning. With threats, violence and lots and lots of death.

The plan was hatched in Chez Diesel, right under the nose of the Universe's richest players. If truth be told, the time was right. Those at the top of the Conclave had rather taken their eye off the ball. Player planets were on the horizon and there was a race afoot to get the first online. The Alliance and Cartel existed in name alone and besides any erstwhile members were pencilled in to be the first against the wall. The plan was in three parts. The first was to kill a high-ranking player and then ambush them again as they flew from Earth to re-insure. This was to solidify the reputation of the "terrible two" as dangerous. If possible, a hefty ransom was to be levied to allow safe passage to the insurance office on Venus.

The next part of the plan was to target low-ranking bods and force them into the new terror organisation which the pair had, with great lack of invention, decided to call "The Mafia". There were two ways to get recruited. If someone was interested then The Mafia would pay off ship loans and buy new ships bristling with weaponry on the understanding that the newly sworn-in newbie would stand ready to target anyone they were ordered to. The other recruitment method was to threaten and if necessary kill those that were not immediately amenable.

Finally, once The Mafia had grown to 10 members all ready to fight and kill for the cause, the plan was to completely disrupt all forms of groat-making via mindless violence. Higher-ranking players would offer jobs to young captains only to find their cargo floating past the viewing port of the bar they happened to be ensconced in along with various bits of laser-charred ship. Then, when everyone was up in arms about it a solution would be put forward. One million groats per day out of the pockets of the Conclave in order to safeguard their economic interests. Not a king's ransom when you consider that most of the Conclave had wallets so heavy that they needed forklift trucks to carry them from bar to bar, but how would they react to a bunch of paupers holding them to ransom?

The plans were finalized, the black box was placed on the table in front of them and a toast was raised, "To death and glory! To uprisings from the bottom! To killing rich people!"


To be continued...


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