[center][img]https://i.postimg.cc/sXBXWSnT/The-Question-logo-600x257.png[/img][/center] [h3]Hub City, Michigan[/h3] Hub City was once the axle that American industry turned upon. It pumped out more cars than there were people alive. In the 40’s, the jeeps, cars, and tanks that rolled off the Hub assembly lines fueled the American war effort and helped stomp the Nazis and Imperial Japan into submission. For decades the city stood as a triumph of the blue collar American dream. A steady job, two car garage, a chicken in every pot, etc. etc. And then the retreat began to happen. It happened slowly, at first. Business found other countries with looser labor laws and lower standards of pay. The old double edge sword of capitalism, the one that made American manufacturing so much cheaper than European manufacturing, sliced Hub City open. As industry fled so too did the upper and middle class. What got left behind were the poor and disadvantaged. Crime and murder spiked just in time for the advent of crack cocaine. Places like Hub became political talking points for both sides of the aisle, an example to they trotted out to prove whatever point they needed to. Industrial rot was the norm for almost two decades until the great corporate rebuild. Ten years ago Mayor Myra Fermin rode into office with the plan to revitalize the city by splaying her wide open for corporations to take over the failing city services through public bids. After the dust settled, three private companies emerged with broad mandates: Hephaestus: Building, infrastructure, and road construction Wolverine Power & Water: Utilities Michigan Transportation Trust: Mass transit It was a libertarian's wet dream, a city where private companies provided the lion's share of services with minimal oversight by the municipal government. In theory the government would get the best services for the cheapest cost. Ten years on and the corporate rebuild left something to be desired. The three initial companies who ran services in Hub stayed that way because they were the only ones who ever placed bids. Public records show that any other company that did place a bid would always end up pulling out suddenly, leaving one of the main three to get the job. The stranglehold of monopoly set in. Continued requests for Mayor Fermin’s updated financial campaign contributions continue to be ignored. More so, the overlap between the three companies make it a tangled mess. MTT supplies Hephaestus with the heavy machinery it needs, Wolverine gets the power trucks. Hephaestus maintains the roads and rails MTT's buses and trains operate on. And now, there are rumors of a fourth company entering the mix. Thornguard, with its track record of questionable actions in the name of American Imperialism, is bidding to take over emergency services for both Hub City and O’Neil County. I’m sure its bid for emergency service will be low, as low as anything possible for a privatized police, fire, and paramedic force. How much do you want to bet the cars will come from MTT and their facilities maintained by Hephaestus? With Thornguard as the fourth corner, private interest and profit are being used to govern a city of almost a million people. Citizens seen as commodities -- ones and zeros -- riding MTT trains, working in Hephaestus buildings, arrested by Thornguard cops. But I can’t help but wonder… this combination of interest, as murky as it seems to be, if something darker and more sinister lies beneath the surface? My name is Vic Sage, and I’m asking you to question authority, question your reality, [i]Question Everything.[/i] [hr] Myra Fermin looked across the limousine at Calvin Zabo and, like always, found herself skeptical that this man was the monster people said he actually was. There was no doubt he was the criminal kingpin of Hub City, of course. Myra had been in politics too long to know ruthless and dangerous people came in all shapes and sizes. But she had seen in crime scene photos the damage Zabo left in his wake. The man was a walking abattoir of physical violence and destruction… and his gaunt face and thin frame hinted at none of that raw power. “So, how are things, Madam Mayor?” asked Zabo. Myra shot Zabo a dirty look as she lit up a cigarette. As a city owned vehicle there was technically no smoking in the limo. But who in the hell would tell her no? “Just look at the news,” she said, blowing smoke. “The city is broke, our fucking water is brown, our murder count is expected to pass 250 at year’s end, and on top of everything else I got a blister on my foot that might be infected.” A crooked smile appeared on Zabo’s face. “Save it for your therapist,” said Zabo. "I was just trying to be polite. Like when someone asks how you're doing, they don't want you to really tell them how you're doing." He reached into his suit coat and pulled out a white index card. “I got a list of names on this card. These men were all detained based on flimsy evidence and the actions of a vigilante and they need a few friendly favors.” Myra took the card. Six men in total with names that weren’t American. Zabo’s words helped her connect the dots. “Those guys that the faceless weirdo roughed up,” she said. “Those were your guys.” Zabo spread his hands. “No, not really. But I speak for them in this case. And the people they work for want them released quickly and quietly.” Myra frowned and stuck the smoldering cigarette into the corner of her mouth. “Then why come to me with this? I’m the fucking mayor, Zabo. I know you have more than your fair share of cops already paid for. Give them this information.” “But I’m giving it to you,” Zabo said coolly. “Because sometimes who delivers a message is just as effective as the message itself.” She scowled and exhaled smoke. “So I’m your goddamn errand girl, is that it?” He shrugged. “Just a friendly reminder to the judges and lawyers just how far my reach extends.” Myra looked back down at the list of names before looking back up at Zabo. “These men were all arrested smuggling some serious weapons into the city. Two years ago, Zabo, I campaigned on stopping gun violence. Last year Hub was the most violent city in America per capita. If we were the size of Gotham we would clock almost three thousand murders a year. And you want me to help you set free the men who are contributing to that violence?” Zabo’s face held no hint of warmth or understanding as he spoke. “That’s what the money’s for, Madam Mayor. It’s not the fucking voters who get you into office and keep you there. It’s my money.” The car slowed to a stop near a curb. Zabo opened the door and started to get out. “Never forget, Myra,” he said softly. “Who exactly you work for. And who exactly I work for, and how much power they carry. You wouldn’t be the first elected official they’ve seen succumb to ‘tragic circumstances’ and you wouldn’t be the last either. Work on the paper I gave you, and I’ll be in touch.” [hr] [b]Rucka Park Homes[/b] Hector looked out the window on the courtyard below. He was nervous, anxious. Waiting for the other shoe to fall. Tucked into his waistband was a fully loaded Glock. It was so new Hector could smell the gun oil even now with it underneath his t-shirt. The gun was just one of almost one hundred brand new pistols, submachine guns, rifles, and fucking rocket launchers they had stashed in Clever’s mom’s house. Wherever El Beato had gotten all that fucking hardware, Hector was afraid to ask. But he was damn sure excited to use it. “Get away from the window, fool.” Hector looked over his shoulder as El Beato came in through the door. He wore grey sweatpants, a Hub City Warriors hoodie, and a red baseball cap with a flat brim. Around his neck were thick white gold chains. “What are you out there looking at, anyway?” Hector shrugged. “Just waiting… for shit to jump off.” El Beato sucked his teeth. “It’s not jumping off until I say so. BMF ain’t crazy enough to walk up into the Rucka unless they got the goddamn Army behind them. They know this whole block is Spanish.” Hector didn’t know what the initials BMF meant, exactly, but he knew that was the name of the black street gang [i]Los Discípulos[/i] fought constantly over drug corners here in Hub City’s west side. It was mostly the occasional ass whooping or stray drive-by that missed their targets, but there were still bodies that got dropped. The body count at the moment was 4-1 in favor of BMF in the few years since Hector joined LD. But this crazy ass deal El Beato had pulled was going to change that. “We gonna move on them later tonight,” said El Beato. “You know Popeye’s cousin, Tanya, with the big tits? Popeye said she's shacked up with one of them BMF fools. She knows, and now we know, where their stash house is. We raid that shit, take their stash, and scalp a few of them on the way out.” El Beato started to rummage through a closet. When he emerged, he held a brand new AK-47 in his hands. “Gonna go Jihad on those motherfuckers!” What neither El Beato or Hector realized was that their conversation was being listened to. A hidden app on El Beato’s phone had been activated, turning the device’s microphone on for whoever was on the other end to listen as the two gang members planned the details of their raid on the BMF stronghold.