"STREET CLAN" FILE 0.5

 All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Welcome to a world where technology reigns, where the lines between corporate rule and government action blur, a dark dynasty rules. Those few who rise up against these powers run the risk of madness or death. Those who do not die lose the humanity they wish to save, or become just twisted as those they wish to overthrow. Morality in this world is nothing except for varying Shades of Grey...

You are about to meet a user of this world known as Salmon. He has just returned home after many years to his street samurai clan in Durik City. He has returned home for many reasons, but it can be certain, those reasons are going to be nothing when the real truth comes to light.

The Reaver Publishing Collective proudly presents to you:

Check this spot on October 31st for the next installment of "STREET CLAN" and follow Salmon's descent back into the hell of the Shades of Grey universe. If you liked this, please click the donate button on the sidebar and support Reaver so we can keep making kick ass stuff like this and spreading the word about the Global Revolution!

What the hell am I doing?

What the hell is the whole frukin' world doing?

Here I am. Back in the old neighborhood, slummin' it with my old crew and the dope boys and all the while trying to start a frukin' revolution. My wife's left me. Kicked me out halfway across the world and here I am back where it all fruking started. Fruk this shit. Sure, I'm comfortable. My family's here. My clan's all here. They take care of me and me them, same as always. But what the hell is that all for? Didn't I leave for something better than this?

Hell.

What if that's why she left?


What if that's why she fruking took up with that prick Fredriksen damn near the moment I left Kleria. Maybe that's why she's moving in with that fat mother fruker. That fat mother fruker who played at being my best fruking friend in the whole world when I didn't have my clan to lean on when shit got tough. Maybe Fredriksen, being that hypocritical cuntbag he has shown himself to be, played that shit up in hopes that he could move in as soon as I was fruking deported, thinking I would just write it off as my clan taking care of my lady.

He forgot one frukin' thing.

He's not my boy.

He's never run with my gods damned clan.

Mother fruker don't know shit.

My crew wants to fruk his ass up something shocking. It took all I had not to jack in and hack his frukin' InfoNet file and notify his fruking boss that he's boning another man's wife. I'm sure a Scripture teacher at the Cult of Athena Middle School shouldn't be doing things so scandalous.

But fruk him.

I'm breeding revolution in the streets of Durik.
Been gone for years, hanging low, staying out of sight from the Central Gaian Intel Ministry and the fruking police state they've enforced since The Wars, and you know what? Here I am, running with my boys, tweaking and drinking with the dealers, just like nothing ever fruking happened. Here I am, back on my old streets, seeing the jack-boot of the C-Feds pressing down harder than ever on our necks. Here I am, with all my knowledge weaned from the fruking data-dreaming I did, surfing the InfoNet.

Here I am.

Breeding revolution.

It's about eight at night in the L.E. Sector when Manny rolls up in his sleek little Jimungan Hefflon Corp TX-2999 sports car. Two tons of sleek black micro-carbon-weave beauty encasing an eight conductor JP11 engine. Manny got it while I was gone during a street war with our rivals, The Grey Shunjini, from 55th Street. Their warehouse was ceded to our clan in the peace negotiations, and since Manny had been the one who'd hacked through the security to attack it in the first place, he got first pick of the spoils. Now our clan, The Blue Katanas, was at the top of the heap. I'd left right when shit had started to hit the fan, mostly because of my connections to political dissidents I'd reached through the Black Net in order to get us arms.

Unfortunately, our Shogun had deemed the politics that had rubbed off on me as too dangerous for a clan already being watched so heavily by the Confederate Government. Said that since Durik City State had been under military control since the end of The Wars to Separate, the C-Feds had been farther up our asses than a recharge jack in an android.



I had been a liability, but now I had no other fruking choice.

I was back.

I heard the hum of Manny's engine from my window at my mom's place. She'd just gotten off of a twelve hour shift at the Cyber-Disease Rehab House she worked at, and the crazed jackers had taken a lot out of her. I was glad she'd found the work, mostly due to my clan's help. She'd been unemployed first due to the Wars and then due to the recession that followed. All in all that was almost ten years of being poor and hungry for me and my kid brother. I'd always kept my street work kept separate as possible from my home life. Mom rarely asked where the credits for the food and rent had come from. No matter how tweaked I was, or how good I was with an electro-blade, Mom would have kicked my ass to Hades if she knew that cash was hacked from the C-Fed Bank.

Even after being gone for four years, after having been in love and married in a different country, after dealing with the isolation and nightmares from the guilt of exile, here I was again. Sitting in my room in the tenement block, Mom sleeping on her cramped bed a few feet from me, and the blood-red sunset coming in through the window with the noise of my boys coming up for our ride. It was coming home to another fruking life that I'd damn near thought was a giant dream when I was in Kleria. It was the soggy smell of the afternoon drizzle drying up on the plascrete pavement. It was the Pound Punk music from across the street wafting over like a tribal dirge from the highland rises. It was the shouts of Mike, our drunken neighbor upstairs, yelling about his days in the V'Halsen Army in the Wars and how the C-Feds were all a bunch of fruking “cow'rds”.

It was home.

Gods, I fruking hated it.

Pulling the jack out of my neural port, I rolled up the chord and slid my data-pad under the couch. I stood up and shook off the jack-happy endorphin rush that came up on me like the tide with the moons. I'd been chatting with some of the dissidents on a secure Black-Net room about some news from the burgeoning revolution. News I intended to share with my clan.

Making sure my electro-blade was secured to the mount on my forearm, I pulled my proxyleather jacket over my shoulders and secured the clamps on my boots as their nanomachines clung to the form of my feet. I checked my dreads in the window to make sure they were in their proper top knot and tied my blue holo-cloth bandanna over my forehead.

I paused to look at the man in the reflection.

The man I thought had been left behind.

Fruk it.

Revolution.

I went out the front door and down the stairwell, all the while under the electronic eyes of three times more security cams than had been in my tenement before I'd left. Sign of the times I guess. I paused on the bottom floor to let the retina scanners run their lasers over my eyes. I had no worries. The Shogun had set me up with some implants before I came home. No C-Feds were gonna get his boys. Even if he had to threaten his own with his electro-blade for bringing down so much C-Fed heat. Death before dishonor. All that shit.

Manny was waiting outside for me, leaning against the side of the car, but at the sight of me he whooped and rushed forward.

“Sal! Mother fruker! How you been?” he said, his brown dreads trailing from his top knot in the wind like rotting cables.

We slapped hands and exchanged the quick hug you only see guys with knowledge of life on the streets do. Brotherhood. Unity. I'd missed that.

“Not too shabby, Manny.” I said, grinning for the first time since I'd been back over the past few days. “Still adjusting. Y'know.”

“Frukin' hell, Salmon.” he said, using my nickname that I'd acquired due to migrating uptown for a certain lady a few years back. “Everyone's gonna be so stoked to see you, man. Seriously. They've been stoked since The Shogun told us last week.”


His bandanna turned into a swirling summer blue sky as the holo-cloth read his excitement.

“Yeah...” I said, tugging at my dreads. “I'm surprised he stamped his seal of approval.”

“Meh. At least you're back in. It's been a few months since you've been back in the C-Fed, and I was beginning to think he'd never let you back in.”
I shuffled my feet back and forth.
Years of guilt weighed on my shoulders like Athena's scales.
Manny put his arm over my shoulder, walking me to the car.


“Come on, Sal.” he grinned, adamantine teeth glimmering in the sunset. “Tonight, we party.”
Manny blared his favorite Slimetechno band, Slave Port, the moment we got into the car. Accompanied by the sludgy techno vocals and shrieking electronic soundtrack, the already surreal experience of being back in Durik turned downright ethereal. We drove past sights I hadn't seen in years, places where friends had been arrested, enemies cut up, and girls fruked. Each street corner, each layer of pavement, neon light and holo-sign told a story. Held a memory. Memories that had haunted me. Memories. More like fruking nightmares. Man, I never thought I'd see any of this shit again. Not since I met her.
Not since I loved her.
“You alright, Sal?” Manny shouted over the music.
I took out a cigarette and lit up, turning down the stereo.
“I dunno.”


Manny's face went blank, the dragon holo-tatt on his face coiling up for sleep.
“Is it, y'know. Her?”


I shook my head and lied.
“Nah. Just still a shock being back and shit.”


Manny nodded and turned the music back up, patting my shoulder firmly.
I watched the past recede.

***
I guess now would be a good time to explain who “she” was and why I was still such a fruking mess over her. It really came about as a fluke to be honest. When the street war was starting up with the Grey Shujini, I had been busy hitting up just about every Black Net feed I could to try and get my clan some goods. I was the hacker for the clan. The Shogun loved what I did. I'd gotten us enough credits from C-Fed banks and megacorps that we'd all be able to fund just about any venture we needed in order to keep our cut of Durik City under control. My work had gotten our boys false I.D. Tags, good electro-blades with clean scancodes, and enough dope to keep that cash flowing in like Klerian sailors to a whorehouse.

When we'd expanded our operations so much that even the police didn't want to fruk with us, the Grey Shujini got nasty. They wanted in. Their first strike was to cut up one of our clan dope boys and flay his hide across the overpass that led into the L.E. Sector. Just about everyone saw it. Fruk. Even the InfoNet news feeds were streaming footage of it for about two days when it first happened. People got scared. There hadn't been a big war between the street samurai clans in Durik City since, well, before the V'Halsen Wars. Pretty much everyone had been too preoccupied with avoiding C-Fed bombing raids and V'Halsen Militia enforcement squads to be moving in on each other's territory. But now, no one gave a shit.

Luckily, the Vannies had left a lot of unused military-grade tech when The Noble Lady, Lady Katra V'Halsen, was taken down by the C-Feds. Although she was the traditional leader of Durik City State and all, I couldn't have been happier when she got a fruking death sentence for treason. This was for two reasons.

One:

Her Militias were full of self-righteous assholes who busted my little brother's knee caps for not addressing them “properly”.

Two:

No-one paid attention to where all the V'Halsen War Chest was going or where their arms were.

That meant money, mother fruker!

I spent most of my nights jacked in and sliding around on the Black Net to try and see where I could procure a decent amount of things such as EMP mines, sub-machine guns, and stun grenades. Gods knew there were plenty lying about in all the anti-government groups running around the InfoNet in those days, and Gods knew they all needed the cash. In a few Net meetups with dealers, I'd usually end up getting to talk with them about politics. They sent me some interesting stuff, especially stuff that was found by a VHM hacker named Deronium.

Gods-damned lunatic I had thought.

All that talk I started to get meshed in with started to bring some extra heat down on myself and the clan from the Confederate Gaian Military Forces who had pretty much but the City State on lock down to make sure it wouldn't break away again. Their shadiest branch was the Black Ops, and the more dirt I was presented about them, the more there were weird unmarked vans parked on my street and everyone else's street. Phones went missing only to show up the next day with some features disabled and weird interference on certain calls. A few of my guys got caught up at a routine check point into the downtown Sector and detained for seven hours. No reason was given.

The stress started to get to me.

I was worried about my mom and brother.

I was worried about my clan.

Then I started playing around on a VR Wargame based off of the V'Halsen Wars. I was playing on the CGMF side, half in case the Black Ops were watching, and half because I still did not and do not have any love for those hijacking V'Halsen bastards. That's around the time she messaged me. Here. I still got the convo transcript recorded in my internal CPU. Check this shit out:

Server: Mountain Front 23499

Room: CGMF Air Assault Base, Cafeteria

Room

Setting: Out of Character Discussion

Users present: 05

Loading...

…

…

OPERATION TERMINATED

Sorry. I don't think I'm ready to show you that yet.



Besides, the party's about to start.

“Sal!”

I was greeted at the door of our clan castle, a three floor apartment building on the south-western end of the Sector, by Jerri-Boy, the baby of the clan. His mohawk bobbed from side to side as he ran up to me and gave me a rib cracking hug, my arms pinned under his.

“Hey, kid.” I groaned loud enough to be heard just barely over the bone-shaking music blaring from the building. “You, uh... Got strong, my friend. And, uh. Big.”

Jerri let go and laughed manically and called over my shoulder to Manny.

“'My Friend!' The mother fruker talks like a gods-damned Klerian now!”

Jerri patted me on the shoulder.

Hard.

I clutched my ribs and rasped, “Hera's tits, Jerri. When'd you get the augmentic work done?”

“During the war with the Shitjinis.” he said, using our derogatory term for our rivals.

He pulled back the sleeve of his jacket to reveal carbon nanoweave sinews glimmering in the glow of the street lights.

“Lost it running into one of their houses. Took a double shot gun blast of acid shot. Man, it frukin' hurt like ass when my arm fell off!”

He paused and glanced at me, still doubled over and wheezing for breath.

“Oh, shit man. I just got it last year. Sorry.”

He bent over and tried to help me up.

“You got it last year, Jerri-Boy.” Manny said from behind us as we walked inside. “That means you should be used to it by now. Either that, or you're a fruking idiot who can't get a handle on augmentics.”

We walked up the steps and Jerri flipped Manny the finger, grinning.

I made the gang sign to the kids hanging out on the stoop and they did it back, grinning to each other. They had mohawks like Jerri-boy and varying amounts of red stripes on the sides of their bandannas. They were all still soldiers, not full fledged samurai like myself or Manny. The mohawks signified that. The red stripes signified something which was important to each and every street clan in the world's many mega-metropolises; the wounds earned through battle to become fully initiated. It took me three years to gain the mandatory five. Jerri's arm was his fourth it seemed. When I left he'd only had one, and that was just a cut to the leg he'd gotten in an electro-blade duel. Now here he was, just barely still an initiate.

Hell.

There were a lot of initiates all through the building. There were at least five times more mohawks than dreaded top-knots. All through the building, fresh faced kids only eleven or twelve with one or two stripes on their colors flashed me the sign, drank, and popped pills. Like a ripple, they all seemed to notice me. I had no idea who most were, if I even knew any of them. They sure as fruk knew me.

I shot Manny a glance as we headed upstairs.

“How do they know who I am?”

He grinned.

“Jerri-Boy told all the new recruits after the war about you. You're like a fruking hero to them, man.”

“Why?”

Jerri-Boy turned to me with an expression better suited to a teacher talking to a dull student.

“Because you got out.”

I smiled half-heartedly and looked around the room.

What greeted my gaze was a floor packed with raving top-knots, a flurry of blue, green, and yellow strobe lights, holo-dancers and vids, and the full gut vibrating force of thudding sub-woofers. There was drinking and drugs here too, but in even more massive quantities. Boots pounded the ceramite floor with amphetamine-fueled fervor to the music. Knots snorted lines of crushed pills off of some giggling and nubile concubine's stomach. Sweat dripped from under throbbing navy blue bandannas as eighteen year-old street samurai imitated fruking the sweet smelling teen girls in short poly-nylon weave kimono dresses to the music.

“Welcome home.” Manny said, suddenly next to me and with an arm around my shoulder.

I stared at the scene.

“Yeah. Home.”

Manny noticed Jerri-Boy standing and gawking.

“Hey! Get your ass downstairs! You know the rules.”

Jerri groaned.

“Seriously, Manny? I mean, I wanna see-”

Manny hit him in the back of the head.

“Respect your fruking elders, Jerri! Fifth stripe! No sooner!”

Jerri rubbed the spot on the back of his head.

“I think I earned it for that...”

“What was that?” Manny snarled at him with his metal teeth.

“Nothing.” Jerri said, heading back down the steps.

I watched him walk away, shoulders drooped, wondering if the reason he'd gotten his arm eaten away by acid infused buck shot was because he'd wanted to be able to get his fifth stripe so he could welcome me home. An irrational twist of the old guilt wrenched my stomach.

“Come on.” Manny said. “Let's party.”

He walked away toward a tub packed full of glossy metal beer bottles.

Suddenly the sweet smell of perfume curled up my nostrils.

The room faded away in a hazy crush of bodies, colors, and music.

A hand brushed mine.

The smell got stronger.

I was being circled like a wounded animal.

Circled by a wolf.

“Hello handsome.”

A she-wolf.

I turned my head just a fraction of an inch and saw her face right next to mine. White powder covered her high cheekbones, underscored by blush. Blue glitter eye makeup blended near seamlessly with twinkling green eyes. Her brown hair, highlighted by green stripes, was held back in a loose bun. Her red lips brushed my ear.

“Been a while, Taina.” I said, closing my eyes to fight off the wash of pheromone-laced perfume. “Good to see you.”

She leaned in, only a sliver of barely felt air between our lips.

“Same, Jakk.”

There were only a few people in the world allowed to call me by my real name: my mom, my little brother.

And my wife.

“Shit.”

I pulled away from her, putting my hands up and fell away from the arousal inducing fog. She had just been about to lean in for the kill and was left off balance. She recovered with the trained grace of a concubine and reached into her cleavage for a pack of cigarettes and lit up with a sly grin. She blew smoke and called out to me over the music which was pounding away like like the erection that had suddenly sprung in my pants.

“You alright, sweetheart?” Taina said, walking over to me but stopping outside of the effective range for the perfume. “Or did that Klerian girl take your dick along with your pride?”

My head was still hazy and beginning to ache. I was bent over, hands on my knees, and I raised my head just enough to glare at her in a way I hadn't glared at someone in years.

“Fruk you.”

Her face twisted into a mask of disgust, her eyes glistening in a way of truth, lips suddenly pursed.

“Oi! Get out of here, Taina!” Manny shouted from behind me, pointing at her, bottles in hand. “He doesn't want you right now!”

“Oh, he wants me more than he knows, Manny.”

She turned away to walk off.

“Fruk you slut!”

She gave him the finger without looking back, her hips swaying beneath her kimono.

Manny helped me up.

“Fruk her, man. You've been through a lot. You don't need her cock-teasing you again.”

I managed a grin and took a beer as he offered it and knocked back a large gulp.

“No. No. I don't need that shit.”

It was then when a seven foot tall wall of muscle and augmentics in a leather jumpsuit walked up to the two of us. The back half of his skull was encased in a gleaming chrome cap that was sutured to his bald head. A twist of jack chords were held up into a top knot. His eyes were nothing that could be described as such. They were two mounted pinpricks of blue LED light which gave the man before us an otherworldly look and enhanced sight. A long electro-blade katana hung at his waist on his right side. On his left was a holstered 211 Megamax .50 Caliber Slug-Shot pistol loaded with incendiary rounds.

How'd I know it was loaded with incendiary rounds, you ask?

Because it's the fruking Shogun.

That's why.

Manny prostrated himself on the ground to show respect.

I stood and stared at the man to blame for my altered life.

He grinned, and an augmentically enhanced voice box boomed out over me.

“Salmon. I see you're still as disrespectful as ever.”

Manny looked up at me.

“What the fruk are you doing, Sal?” he hissed.

I ignored him and grinned back at the Shogun.

“Yeah, same old me.” I took another swig of my beer. “What's happening, Shogun?”

I punched him in the arm playfully.

The shogun took a deep protracted breath.

“Yes. Disrespectful as ever.” the giant said with his giant voice. “Tell me, Sal. Why do you think I brought you back here?”

I shrugged.

Even though I was playing the asshole, I'd never truly thought about it. I was already in such a bad way back in Kleria with the whole divorce (it stings just saying it) that I'd never questioned the Shogun's intentions for bringing me back. I'd actually hung my head in shame when I knew I'd have to be back in the game, but alas, here I was.

Again.

I had no fruking clue what I was doing.

I took a blind swing.

"Because you need a hacker?"

The Shogun grinned a grin that made corp execs piss themselves and cops cry.

“Yes. Exactly.”

He began to walk around me, and I noticed that the music had stopped and that the whole floor around us was packed with the rest of the clan samurai prostrating themselves like Manny. Even the holo vids had stopped. The party had come to a halt.

We were the main show now.

“So, what do you need me to do?” I asked, not wanting to push my luck unless I wanted my chest burnt out to a husk by one of the slugs from his pistol.

He continued to circle me.

“Remember how you got your name? Seeing that girl from uptown.” he said with a panther's growl. “I need you to see her again.”


I suddenly became aware of Taina's eyes on me from across the room.

“Yeah? What for?”

The Shogun chuckled.

“For what else? I need you to get something for me.”

My stomach dropped.

“Can I ask what it is?” I choked out.

The Shogun stopped behind me.

“No. That's a need-to-know matter for the time being. Something dealt with better,” he laid his massive hands on my shoulders, “in private.”

I took a deep breath.

Revolution was going to have to wait.

“Now!” he called out to the whole room. “I thought this was a fruking party!”

Everyone jumped to their feet and cheered. The music and dancing started again. The Shogun leaned into my ear.

“Welcome home, Sal.” He began to lead me to the stairs for his chambers. “Welcome home.”

That's it for File 0.5 of "STREET CLAN". If you liked that, check out our Anthology, "Shades of Grey" or click the donate button in the sidebar. You can also like Reaver Publishing on Facebook and follow this blog as we give you updates on the Global Revolution. The next installment of "STREET CLAN" comes out October 31st, so keep your eyes peeled and stay jacked in.

 

Living In a Country that Works from the Outside, In - FEMA and those waiting for them

Hey, everyone. I've been keeping up with the whole debacle regarding FEMA, and as someone who was in the path of the numerous tropical storms and hurricanes that infected the Eastern seaboard this summer, I feel like shedding some light on this.

As many do not know, I live in Rhode Island. Last year we dealt with a historic flood, destroying businesses and homes and leaving thousands homeless. The Rhode Islanders living in close proximity to the Pawtuxet River faced absolute devastation. When the waters finally started to lower, and the rivers returned to normal, FEMA had no issue getting their word out and making sure those that were affected got their compensation.

Recently, Hurricane Irene blew through the middle and upper east coast, affecting countless states and leaving devastation in its wake. Almost half of Rhode Island was left dark after the storm for days. Other places, Vermont being the most prominent, was left in ruin.

The news has been filled with the word that FEMA is hurting for money, like the rest of the US government. What perfect timing, considering that now the devastation is cleared. People are starting to rebuild their lives from nothing, and they are waiting on a check that may take weeks... months, to come.

In all of this, and thinking about recent international disasters such as the tsunami hitting Japan and the earthquake in Haiti, anyone with common sense can see the problem in this:

We gave millions of dollars to these countries, supplies, deployed humanitarian relief efforts... Yet, on our own soil, we can't even help our own people.

The government wonders where all of the money has gone. It has gone out, instead of in. Instead of helping the Americans affected by the treacherous weather over the summer, we seem them spending billions of billions of dollars in other places, completely forgetting the southern towns leveled by tornadoes, or the east coast states affected by Irene.

Change needs to be made; a painfully obvious statement.

Wall Street Occupation Under Police Brutality; Solidarity in Across USA

Well, I can't say I did not expect this. There are some things that are just facts of life. There are good cops. And then there are bad cops. Cops who cordon off groups of protesters on a peaceful march and then rush straight up to them and fire pepper spray point blank into their eyes.

Why? For having a voice.

The protest march on Saturday was supposed to be a peaceful one. However, by all accounts, it was the cops who began to lose their cool.

Especially the man who did this:

He is currently being targeted by Anonymous in retaliation. The man in the white shirt is Officer Bologna, the perpetrator of this attack.

But it didn't end there. Oh hell no.



See this guy? Banging his drum, keeping time for the protesters, and marching peacfully.

Apparently drums aren't allowed on Wall Street.

There were brutal treatments of peaceful protesters.
There were mass arrests too.

You see that young man on his knees? The one staring blazingly into the lens of the camera? That card around his neck is his PBS News Correspondent ID. On Saturday, not only was there mass arrests and police brutality, but there was also supression of the freedom of press.

Lots it seems.

Remember that video at the top of the blog? This is what happened to the woman who shot it:


Arrested by two white collar officers. Anonymous is also targeting the officer in the red jacket for his role in this injustice.

The NYPD cracked down hard on Saturday. They cracked down hard, and do you know what happened? More people joined the march in defiance. More people joined the protest on Wall Street and in Liberty Park. And all across the nation, other protests are being organized in solidarity with the Wall Street Protesters.

To find a protest near you, check here. There's been one in different locations nearly every day since the US Day of Rage on September 17th.

If you can't make it to an occupation protest (such as I considering the imepending release of "Street Clan") make a point of signing this petitionto get Barack Obama to publicly recognize the Wall Street Protesters and make your voice heard.

The actions of the NYPD officers this weekend truly says something about the society we live in today in the US. It says something disturbing and revolting. It says that this social revolution is something that we truly need.

Stay strong.

Stay proud.

US Day of Rage: Wall Street Occupation

Well boys and girls, I'm going to take a break from working on Street Clan to tell you about something truly remarkable.

I'm sure that all of us remember the Arab Spring and the shockwaves it has sent across the world in the hearts of the disenfranchised in every country. Let us remember how Egypt was won back from their false leaders. Let us remember how in several weeks, they took their country back despite all efforts by the police to stop them.

Now let us know that the social revolution in the US has begun. Over the weekend, after months of planning the mass occupation of Wall Street began. Over 20,000 protesters took to the streets and parks surrounding Wall Street and the International Stock Exchange all shouting and all there for one purpose:

To make the government stop listening to the corporations and the special interest groups and to listen to the people.

Anonymous is there. We know that much.

But so are thousands of others, and if we want a real change, a real and true change (cause let's face it, Obama wimped out), then we need to send more and more people to New York, and we need them to occupy those streets and parks and not stand down in the face of the NYPD presence.

The Revolution has come to the US.

The time has come.

We Will Be Heard.

Announcement!

Why, I do believe it's story time, children!

The first installment of "Street Clan" will be released on the 31st of this month. Every installment afterwards will also be released on the 31st of each month (or 30th if we come across one of those months, y'know). It will be available on SmashWords at a very reasonable price of 99 cents.

"Street Clan" is the start of a new short story that takes place within the Shades of Grey universe. We follow the footsteps of a young street samurai who has returned home to his old gang, and his struggle to keep away from the destructive lifestyle he left behind and expose the corruption at its highest point.

Keep on the lookout, and enjoy!

The Libyan Rebellion and Gadhafi's Disappearance

Hello again, everyone. Here's a really, really late response to the Libyan rebellion movements, and the interesting, yet also convenient disappearance of Colonel Gadhafi.

Numerous news articles have stated that the Libyan rebels have encircled one of Gadhafi's last remaining strongholds, threatening tribal leaders that they will overtake the besieged town if they do not agree to a surrender. With a blockade set up around Bani Walid, southeast of Tripoli, it has given the rebels significant ground. Though they are moving forward with their plans of establishing a new government, the rebellion may hold off the calling of victory until Gadhafi and the last of his strongholds are captured. In light of these events, Gadhafi has gone missing. Some say he is hiding in secret dugouts. Others think that he left the country.

They are mere steps away from the complete end of a 42-year dictatorship. It's truly amazing. The Libyan rebels promise a great deal for the liberated people of Libya; equal rights for all, regardless of skin color, gender, religion, or nationality. Big promises, surely, but nothing is unattainable.

What's more interesting is that WikiLeaks has recently disclosed a file stating that a Guantanamo detainee, a man who had spent six years in the prison, is now a leader in the rebellion against Gadhafi. Abu Sufian Ibrahim Ahmed Hamuda Bin Qumu was identified when the article was written in 2005 as a "probable member of Al Quaida and a member of the African Extremist Movement". Qumu was previously a member of the Libyan Islamic Fighting Group, but allegedly left the group in '98 to join the Taliban. How this is likely to play out for the rebellion is unknown, however it has already raised concern about the range of fighting factions against Gadhafi in Libya, some of which have been associated with Al Quaida.


With numerous disclosures of documents pertaining to this conflict, the information brought to the outside is almost amazing, keeping us in the middle of everything and anything that happens.


Information age at it's pinnacle.