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Rotten Spokes of the Unlawful Wheel

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Rotten Spokes of the Unlawful Wheel

The Uzbek Mafia

The Uzbek Mafia - AKA The Gardeners

Being an umbrella term, the Uzbek Mafia means a lot of different things in different parts of India and the world; but in Sopahn, it is the name for the conglomerate of semi-legal operations centered around Muhammad Babur, the Uzbekistani businessman. For this context, the name is actually a misnomer, considering that few people in the Uzbek Mafia are actually Uzbeks, and that it's not much of an ethnic gang, but the name has stuck, and for Muhammad Babur's outfit the generalization is somewhat of a blessing, considering how it makes crimes harder to pin down and hides the outfit underneath the stream of generic ethnic crime.

Structure, Outlook and Resources

While its main source of income is being a blackmarket source for prescription drugs, hormones and augmentations, the core of the organization is mostly hidden behind an unrelated front of a somewhat famous restaurant, the Bagh-e Babur (the Garden of Babur). Handy enforcers of the outfit are often also its employees. Muhammad Babur himself is not only just the owner of the restaurant, but also its manager. Occasionally, he also acts as a cook when he's bored and not busy with work, but given how illegal operations are, this is somewhat of a rare occurence.

What defines and separates the Uzbek Mafia from other criminal organizations is its heavy reliance on blackmail and its secrecy. The organization's head seems to have a good understanding of politics and tries to couple profiting from crime with being a 'preferable alternative' to constant gang violence - as a result, the Mafia has close ties with many government officials and has plenty of insiders and cooperators in law enforcement. In return, the Uzbek Mafia makes its operations covert and discreet whenever possible, and tries to stay as a monopoly, absorbing and dismantling gangs as to prevent obvious crimes that could attract negative public attention, and feeds the police with information whenever it is mutually beneficial.

This is not to say that the Uzbek Mafia does not have its troubles, however. Its early expansive and aggressive policy has actually caused other, smarter mafia outfits to ally themselves with political and/or ideological fronts as to get empathy from parts of the populace and thus turn themselves into less acceptable targets. Also, it is composed of mostly foreign, if not Muslim enforcers, and thus has earned the ire of Hindu extremists, while its strictly business-oriented approach and lack of funding for Muslim organizations has caused it to attract their negative attention as well. Things have since been calmer and even more covert, but the sentiment is there regardless.

Associations and Partnerships

Aside from the restaurant, Muhammad Babur is also the owner of a high-end floralist chain named the Charbagh (the Four-Gardens), where genetically modified mutant flowers and designer fruits are common sales items. It is thought amongst some criminal circles that this floralist chain is no more than a front to get close with the pharmaceutical and possibly the genetics industry, although no criminal activity has been able to be traced to this company, and thus is considered by most to be not much more than an extra source of legal income.

The Parks and Recreation Department of the City of Sopahn works closely with the Charbagh, as well as the and part of the Charbagh's income goes to make colorful parks and vibrant gardens for the poorer districts of the city such as Dhaar. It is unknown if these gardens have any other purpose, with some conspiracy theorists claiming that the flowers in the gardens are actually latent chemical weapons. More political and reasonable opponents cite the company's tendency to thematize its products and gardens after Mughal aesthetics and figures, and 'internalization of foreign oppression' is a common crticism by Hindu and Sikh extremists.

The company has since made it an objective to gain the favor of these ethnic groups to better its image, and has answered these criticisms by claiming that they seek to embrace 'all of the history of the Indian Nation to create a firmly rooted understanding of culture'. To this aim, the company has named its latest park in Bholi after Akbar, and is working on a 'Guru Nanak Complex' on Langar Island.

Rotten Spokes of the Unlawful Wheel

The Uzbek Mafia

The Uzbek Mafia - AKA The Gardeners

Being an umbrella term, the Uzbek Mafia means a lot of different things in different parts of India and the world; but in Sopahn, it is the name for the conglomerate of semi-legal operations centered around Muhammad Babur, the Uzbekistani businessman. For this context, the name is actually a misnomer, considering that few people in the Uzbek Mafia are actually Uzbeks, and that it's not much of an ethnic gang, but the name has stuck, and for Muhammad Babur's outfit the generalization is somewhat of a blessing, considering how it makes crimes harder to pin down and hides the outfit underneath the stream of generic ethnic crime.

Structure, Outlook and Resources

While its main source of income is being a blackmarket source for prescription drugs, hormones and augmentations, the core of the organization is mostly hidden behind an unrelated front of a somewhat famous restaurant, the Bagh-e Babur (the Garden of Babur). Handy enforcers of the outfit are often also its employees. Muhammad Babur himself is not only just the owner of the restaurant, but also its manager. Occasionally, he also acts as a cook when he's bored and not busy with work, but given how illegal operations are, this is somewhat of a rare occurence.

What defines and separates the Uzbek Mafia from other criminal organizations is its heavy reliance on blackmail and its secrecy. The organization's head seems to have a good understanding of politics and tries to couple profiting from crime with being a 'preferable alternative' to constant gang violence - as a result, the Mafia has close ties with many government officials and has plenty of insiders and cooperators in law enforcement. In return, the Uzbek Mafia makes its operations covert and discreet whenever possible, and tries to stay as a monopoly, absorbing and dismantling gangs as to prevent obvious crimes that could attract negative public attention, and feeds the police with information whenever it is mutually beneficial.

This is not to say that the Uzbek Mafia does not have its troubles, however. Its early expansive and aggressive policy has actually caused other, smarter mafia outfits to ally themselves with political and/or ideological fronts as to get empathy from parts of the populace and thus turn themselves into less acceptable targets. Also, it is composed of mostly foreign, if not Muslim enforcers, and thus has earned the ire of Hindu extremists, while its strictly business-oriented approach and lack of funding for Muslim organizations has caused it to attract their negative attention as well. Things have since been calmer and even more covert, but the sentiment is there regardless.

Associations and Partnerships

Aside from the restaurant, Muhammad Babur is also the owner of a high-end floralist chain named the Charbagh (the Four-Gardens), where genetically modified mutant flowers and designer fruits are common sales items. It is thought amongst some criminal circles that this floralist chain is no more than a front to get close with the pharmaceutical and possibly the genetics industry, although no criminal activity has been able to be traced to this company, and thus is considered by most to be not much more than an extra source of legal income.

The Parks and Recreation Department of the City of Sopahn works closely with the Charbagh, as well as the and part of the Charbagh's income goes to make colorful parks and vibrant gardens for the poorer districts of the city such as Dhaar. It is unknown if these gardens have any other purpose, with some conspiracy theorists claiming that the flowers in the gardens are actually latent chemical weapons. More political and reasonable opponents cite the company's tendency to thematize its products and gardens after Mughal aesthetics and figures, and 'internalization of foreign oppression' is a common crticism by Hindu and Sikh extremists.

The company has since made it an objective to gain the favor of these ethnic groups to better its image, and has answered these criticisms by claiming that they seek to embrace 'all of the history of the Indian Nation to create a firmly rooted understanding of culture'. To this aim, the company has named its latest park in Bholi after Akbar, and is working on a 'Guru Nanak Complex' on Langar Island.

Rotten Spokes of the Unlawful Wheel

Peter Hannegy

5'11'' 170 lbs.	Peter Hannegy Age: 32 Gender: Male Citizenship(s): United Kingdom, Taiwan (Work Visa-Expired), China (Work Visa), India (Work Visa) Date and place of birth: 07 April 2028, London, United Kingdom Official occupation: Procurement Specialist for Anderson-Ford Pharmaceutical

Profile

Residence: Lions Residences, Apartment D-3, Room 373, Bholi

Affiliation: Anderson-Ford Pharmaceutical, the Uzbek Mafia

Appearance: Peter looks dreadfully average. His oval head is home to an awfully bland looking face, with a thin nose that flares wide and thick by the nostrils, an inconspicuous, round jaw with a slightly protruding chin, large, sunken eyes with dark circles underneath and a small mouth. His hair color is a shade of brown, although his bushy eyebrows seem to be lighter. His only facial trait worthy of attention is the color of his eyes – a fairly light blue. His skin, while not smooth and perfect, is still fairly light – something that attracts attention in India.

His hair is often disheveled despite its regular length, thanks to his tendency of waking up late, his ‘overheating’ at work (which ends up with him holding his head underneath the sink in the bathroom), and his tendency to not use any sort of hair styling products, having had a rather embarrassing incident during his teenage years, which has since shaped his opinion against all of them. While he’d almost always been clean shaven, shaving every morning because of his rather fast beard growth, lately he’s been unable to keep up because of rather unfortunate events and occasionally sports a stubble.

He is fairly regularly built – he has broad shoulders, but he lacks any important muscle growth, and has a naturally thin figure. He does not work out or have any sporting tendencies, but he’s used the contacts he’s earned from his position as Procurement Specialist to keep some of the ‘wonder drugs’ that he supplies through Anderson-Ford to himself. This, combined with his naturally healthy lifestyle, has left him with a figure which, while lacking in muscle strength, can at the very least pull its own weight around with ease, and run for fairly long distances.

Peter has a fairly conventional, if not old-fashioned, sense of fashion; despite its fashion being in the decline, he still wears conventional suits to work, although the patterns of his suits and shirts seem to be somewhat protest – his ‘power ties’ are often laughably out of place, and he seems to forget to iron his clothes.

Background: Peter’s life has often been that of a dilettante; he’s never been fit for, nor has he found the opportunity to, work hard – yet, he has not been able to find a way to get out of this lifestyle and live a leisurely life either. Ever since his childhood he’s lived on a threshold, and as with most people living there, he hasn’t been able to fully appreciate either part. Thus, he has spent most of his life in a dreadful purgatory.

While born in London, he and his family moved to Sussex not long after – nonetheless, Peter proudly describes himself as a Londoner in small talk, despite having spent most of his life elsewhere.

His parents were fairly rich (his mother was a self-help author, and his father was a shareholder in a company supplying electrical appliances), although they weren’t rich enough to let him live the life of a spoiled brat. However, being sent to the better off schools of the country because of this wealth caused him to live with a gap between his friends. Most of them were folks who were getting groomed to become the heirs of family holdings and sitting on piles of wealth, while Peter himself was likely going to get no more than enough money to buy himself a house and a car. Too poor to peacefully exist amongst this elite portion of society, and too rich to not be immediately held in contempt by the lower class, Peter spent most of his childhood and adolescence trying to ‘fit in’.

This is not to say that he wasn’t getting along, however; Peter’s personality had the perfect mix of cheeky impudence and shy naiveté, which led to rather active, if not shallow, teenage years (something that he often brags about to his close friends is the fact that he once got laid with the current President of the LaVoye Conglomerate, and a celebrity in her own right, Clarissa Townshend-LaVoye). Nonetheless, his desire to fit in still got curbed by sheer economical gaps between him and his classmates – he simply did not have enough cash to spend as vacuously as they did. This led to him being brasher in terms of appearance and personality, in an attempt to compensate for the economical difference.

Then one day, his hair gel got set aflame when he stood under a lamp for far too long in the middle of a lesson.

It wasn’t anything crucial; it wasn’t even dangerous or wounding (one of his friends had immediately poured a water bottle down his head, saving him, and ruining his hairdo further), and being the smooth talker he is, Peter managed to make fun of it before anyone else could beat him to it and turn him into a butt monkey. While the incident actually boosted his popularity, deep down it broke something in his heart. Perhaps he realized that trying to fit in so was not doing him all that good. He grew more and more insecure, and slowly faded out of his youthful brashness as time went on (something that may have saved his life, given some of his friends would later die in an elevator accident in a nightclub that he'd also once frequented).

However, Peter wasn’t all that bright (he never has been, admittedly), and without his social drive, he immediately drooped down to mediocrity, getting admitted to a program that he practically had no interest in. After graduating with a degree in Business Management and coming face to face with adult life, Peter realized something – he was rather dissatisfied in life, but had no passions to follow, nor, it seemed, any talent to actually cultivate. He went on a tour of Europe to forget this existential dread of realizing, but having no way to overcome, one’s own mediocrity, and found that he didn’t have much of an interest in art or technology either. If anything, his time in Europe further reinforced the idea that he was a failure, an infertile, drone-like mind in a constantly advancing and changing age.

Thus, Peter did what every person faced with oneself did, and found a lifeless, droll job, one that would keep him busy and tired enough to make sure he wouldn’t have to face himself when he went to bed. Earning a position in NuPharma as Manager of Logistics, partially thanks to his father’s influence, Peter moved to Brighton, although after rumors of involvement in an embezzlement scandal, the company sent him to Taiwan for his ‘excellent behavior’, citing that ‘his outgoing, tenacious personality was sure to help the company expand abroad’.

Peter did not take to his exile kindly. After a year in Taiwan, he quit his position in NuPharma, and after spending about three months doing nothing but fooling around in VR (his contract prevented him from joining any rival company for the duration), he took up a lesser position at Anderson-Ford Pharmaceutical. This new company relocated him to China, where he spent the most desolate six months of his life, moving from one industrial nightmare to another to follow up on his duties, inspecting shipments and trying to make sure that every shipment held true to the ledgers.

China was horrible; a country that had lost its culture and flavor to advancement – to Peter, felt more like an overextended, bloated dystopian movie set than an actual nation with a past. He thought of quitting the job, but, believing it wouldn’t look excellent on his resume and doom him to similar places such as China, he decided against it, and opted to extend his skill set instead, to have a chance of saving himself from this line of work in the future.

He’d already gotten some VR experience in Taiwan, however carnal and unproductive it may have been; after hearing of how some airline companies let people with no formal piloting training take their exams, provided they showed competence in certain VR programs, Peter decided to make this his focus, and immediately upgraded his headset to standard, throwing himself into the world of virtual cockpits.

Soaring through the digital, clear skies was a much more enjoyable experience compared to the unending grey smog of Chinese cities for Peter, and it gave him something to look forward to when returning home from port, after a long day of double-checking container cargo. Not to mention that it turned out he wasn’t half bad at the whole flying business; he’d managed to go through about 25 combat missions without getting shot down in a military simulator, and also could handle VTOL flights in more commercial and utility oriented games.

He was reassigned to Sopahn after six months in China, as part of Common Development Asia’s gradual expansion program. Sopahn, said the employee orientation consultant, was an Eastern gem in the making. As with everything that his superiors lauded and sugarcoated, Peter expected a huge letdown, and found it a pleasant surprise when his expectations were proven wrong. Sopahn wasn’t half bad, compared to his time in China. Plus, Common Development Asia’s overwhelming presence in the city meant that he was a privileged individual anywhere.

Well, almost anywhere.

After a car accident in Dhaar, the bad part of town, Peter found himself responsible for the death of two gangsters. It wasn’t the fact that they were gangsters that made this a problem, for they were the survivors of a small gang with no power (which, Peter would later learn, was practically destroyed that day after their leader got a Molotov to the face). It was just that one of them was the son of a local, politically controversial figure, which got Peter knee-deep in shit when the press jumped on the incident like sharks, claiming how Peter’s callous behavior was not unlike that of the British invaders of long past. Allusions to colonialism, foreign oppression, and similar buzzwords flew everywhere.

Miraculously, he was not fired from Anderson-Ford, but he had to pay a good amount of money to the public prosecutor to drop the case. Things thus once again got in the clear, although Peter made a mental note as to never go through Dhaar again and try to use public transport more. It wouldn’t take much longer anyway, he thought to himself – with some more VR experience, he’d be qualified for a couple of airliner exams, and he could just leave this shithole and get away. He’d heard that Air Taxis were becoming a thing in Munich.

Then one day, he got mail. In it were photos of him handing a snazzy watch and a card to the public prosecutor. Either he was to do as they complied, the mail warned, or these photos would reach plenty of news sites and activist groups. There was no doubt that Anderson-Ford wouldn’t be as forgiving this time, and neither would the law.

What they asked for in return was not much, the letter said – some changes in the shipment ledgers when necessary, and some occasional extra trips to different parts of town. Plus, there was compensation in the business for him. It was a no-risk kind of deal, or so said the letter.

Peter himself thought that he just couldn’t catch a break.

And thus, he found himself shackled to this ‘side business’ of letting Uzbeks nibble away at his ledgers and shipments, and occasionally letting them pay him for compensation. Peter himself suspects with good reason that this is just another way to give him more of a stake to comply, and to get more dirt on him if he ever fucks up. Nonetheless, it seems, he has to play along to get along. God knows what else.

Outlook and Motivations: Peter has a pretty pessimistic outlook on life and practically no motivation to continue further. What could have been a suicidal figure has been repressed by antidepressant usage, a shallow social life that he tries his best to immerse himself in, and personal lack of acceptance. To a more literary and scholarly onlooker, Peter would come across as petty and shallow, even meaningless – to close friends, he comes across as quite similar, but that only means he’s amongst fellow company. His circle of friends is borne of a practically Darwinist necessity; they need each other as to not bear their own company.

He is marked by a lack of passion and lack of interest. His only personal skill being his keen edge when it comes to observation, Peter often comes face to face with the fact that he’s practically living for money, and has gradually accepted his condition as a slave to wages. His money is often spent on hedonistic purposes and adrenaline rushes to make it easier for him to forget about the situation that he’s in.

Capabilities

Language(s): English, Hindi (fluent), Mandarin Chinese (moderate)

Skills:

Pilot: Peter’s got plenty of experience in virtual cockpits, be it flying 120 year old propeller planes in combat, or flying VTOL Air Taxis and helicopters through aerial traffic and skyscrapers in city life simulators. He actually likes it too; one of the few things he’s enthusiastic about, and he’s not half bad at it.

Pitcher: Peter’s broad shoulders and some sort of innate skill have allowed him to become a fairly skilled person at throwing things. He can pitch objects over long distances with considerable accuracy, and pitch them hard. He is simply an unfair fight at darts.

People Person: Peter, with years of white collar life and shallow friendship experience under his belt, finds a way to have ultimately meaningless but still substantial conversations with practically everybody. He’s no orator, but still, he manages to find just the right topics to talk about with everyone, and is smooth enough to keep people listening.

Flaws:

Balls in a Vice: If the Uzbek mafia wished so, Peter would probably get defaced in a corruption scandal, get lynched by Indians, and then get fired, in that order. He doesn’t have much choice but to help them in their businesses when they ask him to, and he constantly has to change his ledgers.

Hey, it’s That Guy: Indians HATE him! Find out how he earned the ire of an entire ethnicity with one simple trick – become a scapegoat for the media! Peter has somewhat of a bad reputation amongst Indians, for good reason, and the poorer classes don’t treat him all too well. God forbid if he’s recognized in a crowd.

Job on the Line: If Peter’s not trying to please the Uzbek Mafia, he’s trying to please Anderson-Ford. He’s got a lot of bad publicity in the job after that car accident business, and he rightfully feels that the company isn’t all that enthusiastic about keeping him around. Without the job, he’s got nothing.

Connections:

• Pudoo Vijay Pratap, Public Prosecutor, Corrupt Government Official
• Aubrey Millwood, Logistics Manager of Anderson-Ford Pharmaceutical
• Mirza Muhammad Babur, Owner of the ‘Bagh-e Babur’ Restaurant, prominent figure in the Uzbek Mafia

Accomplishments:

• Diploma in Business Management, University of Sussex
• NuPharma Manager of Logistics, 2053-2058
• Winner of the NuPharma Managers’ Board Annual Dart Competition, 2058

Crimes:

• Manslaughter x2 (case dropped)
• Bribery x1 (not prosecuted)

Inventory

Cash, saving and debts:

• R3500 in Cash
• R60.000 in Savings at Khariboli Bank International
• R80.000 Overseas

Tools and weapons:

• Pepper Spray
• HandOut Multipurpose Monopod

Electronic devices:

• Haze Gaming VR Headset (at home)
• MicroSoft Folding Holographic Pad
• Samsung SmarTime Electronic Watch
• Samsung SmartEar Headpiece-Translator
• Huawei Holographic Smart Phone

Apparels:

• Classic suit with ‘power ties’ for work
• Casual/relaxed apparel for free time

Credentials and ID cards: Passport (at home), Anderson-Ford ID Card, Driver’s License, VR Flight License

Jewelry and valuables: None

Consumables: Packs of ReBreeze! Non Melting Ice Cream, Strawberry, Kiwi and Mango Flavors (kept in poly cooler)

Load bearing equipment: Wallet, Poly Cooler (kept in the automobile)

Illicit goods: None

Vehicle: Hyundai Coils Hybrid Automobile, Four-Door

Pet and animals: None

Other: Notebook, pen

Rotten Spokes of the Unlawful Wheel

Bahadur Farrukhsiyar Shiri

5'8'' 140 lbs.	Bahadur Farrukhsiyar Shiri Age: 37 Gender: Male Citizenship(s): Indian Date and place of birth: 28 February 2023, Ghazipur, India Official occupation: Food Delivery Driver

Profile

Residence: Greater India Apartments, Dhaar

Affiliation: The Uzbek Mafia

Appearance: Bahadur looks like a figure out of some cyberpunk parody setting, with just how awfully contrasting his appearance is. His face, settled upon an oblong head, is gaunt and sunken, like a date left under the sun for far too long. His nose bends inwards in a curve with a protruding tip that’s canted slightly to the right; his eyes are large, intimidating and expressive, and he often uses eyeliner to further enhance them. His skin is that of a sickly olive color, and his eye color is also similarly a very dark green. His hair color is black, although parts of it have begun to lose color, sending grey streaks throughout.

Having to adhere to the common rules of the poor society, Bahadur’s hair is long (shoulder length) and completely unkempt, although this is also partially to hide the fact that he is balding heavily. He has a short, thick beard that curls inwards, yet to begin graying as heavily as his hair, and he twirls his mustaches to give himself a more intimidating look. When in ‘business’, Bahadur gathers his hair in a ponytail and tucks the ‘tail’ under the back of his jacket to keep his hair from distracting him or give any opening to would-be foes.

Despite his military service, Bahadur definitely is not a physically intimidating figure – he’s not tall, at about 5 foot 8, sickly thin and narrow shouldered. While his muscles are familiar with excruciating labor and exercise, malnourishment, bad living conditions and an overall unhealthy lifestyle have kept them from developing.

Being a criminal from the slums, Bahadur’s clothing manages to be gaudy and extravagant, yet cheap and makeshift at the same time. If he isn’t wearing baggy, loose tracksuits underneath a leather vest, you can often find him in ill-fitting, discount suits from sweatshops, whose owners are happy to let go of their almost hundred year old surplus. Zoot suits, coats, bell bottom pants, Cuban heels and disco shirts colorful enough to induce epileptic fits make up the backbone of Bahadur’s ‘fashion’.

Background: Like most people hailing from India, Bahadur was also doomed to poverty at birth. Born to parents of Pakistani descent, his father Hafez was a barber, while his mother Gulnoor worked in a textile factory. Bahadur was the second child of the family, which meant that, while he wasn’t as busy as his brother Massoud, he still had to do work to take care of his three younger siblings. Living a double life of school at day and work at night until high school (upon finishing high school he would end his education and begin working full time), Bahadur worked alongside his mother, although the factory was closed when he was 18, at which point he found work as a street food vendor, selling samosas and biryani prepared by her mother.

After the youngest child of the family died of dysentery, Bahadur’s mother Gulnoor had a stroke which left her paralyzed from the waist down. His mother no longer able to produce food for him to sell, Bahadur went back into the textile business, although after an argument with one of his bosses that ended in a fight, he drifted unemployed for some weeks. One day, during a family meeting, he overheard one of his uncles brag about how his son had joined the military and was making lots of money as an officer. His pride hurt by the comment, Bahadur himself joined the military soon after for the monetary benefits.

Feeling a degree of impotence because of his small stature in the Army, Bahadur applied to become part of the Ghatak Commandos to prove his worth and get further economical benefits (rumors about how those in the Ghatak were given muscle enhancing drugs may have also played a part). He succeeded – just barely, and in the Ghatak the contrast between him and his fellow soldiers more apparent. This would not last long, however; the brutal and constant training regime quickly bonded everyone closely, despite the uncountable amount of differences between each and every one of them.

Bahadur would serve in the military for almost fifteen years, and get deployed in a Pakistani border skirmish in 2048 and the Assamite Insurgency of 2050-2053, never seeing live combat. Despite the rather monotonous and tiring life, the feeling of providing well for his family helped, there was the prestige of being in the military, and life in the barracks certainly gave him much more orderly life standards. However, he was also estranged from his family, and left far away from his life as a civilian. He would learn of his sisters’ marriages and his father’s death through phone calls, and his brother Massoud getting promoted and moving to Delhi with his younger brother from a letter.

After getting discharged because of a fractured arm at the age of 34 (yet another source of frustration and resentment), Bahadur left for Delhi to find Massoud. Now an assistant manager in a technology store, Massoud was doing quite well for himself. Caring for their mother and funding their younger brother Ahmad’s engineering degree, Massoud received his brother somewhat distantly – while he himself was glad to have him around and appreciative of what Bahadur had done for them, he had to house his wife’s family, his mother and his brother in the same house, and his wife’s mother Humaira certainly did not want Bahadur around her other children. He offered to find housing and maybe a job, but Bahadur refused.

Bahadur did not hold his brother in contempt for his situation in Delhi, and moved back to Ghazipur where he had spent most his life, but found it much different – their house had been long sold and a mall had been built where their neighborhood had once been. Finding his past demolished and his memories long buried under concrete was much more depressing for Bahadur than being unable to live with his family. After meeting an amicable lad named Jahan, who claimed to be an old neighbor of his, Bahadur quickly found in him a business partner, and reentered the biryani business with a food cart attached to a three wheeler.

Jahan was a smart boy, if not somewhat naïve. Despite Bahadur not remembering him at all and thinking of him as nothing but a lonely young figure in a bad position that needed someone to do business with, and saw Bahadur as no more than a suitable candidate, he appreciated having someone around. Jahan was good with numbers, good with people too; thanks to him striking a few deals, the two could buy rice for biryani cheap, and Bahadur used what he remembered of his mother’s recipe to entice customers.

After six months, however, Jahan approached Bahadur with a proposition. He claimed that one of his uncles had set up an actual shop in Sopahn, and that he had contacted Jahan, saying that they could work with him. If Bahadur were to agree, then the two wouldn’t have to work in the streets anymore. Not wishing to keep Jahan in the gutter with his unwillingness to move on, Bahadur accepted, and the two left Ghazipur for Sopahn in pursuit of the Indian Dream.

Sopahn was really no better. Bahadur and Jahan found themselves working in a shitty food joint, with Jahan’s uncle using his family ties and the fact that ‘he brought them here’ as an excuse to emotionally blackmail them whenever they would try to complain about anything. Bahadur was annoyed, but they really had begun making more money, so he kept quiet and waited for better days. But their improving condition didn’t last long; Jahan was electrocuted to death trying to fix the joint’s air conditioner, and Bahadur, blaming the uncle, broke a chair on the man’s back before leaving.

Unable to pay for their old apartment, Bahadur moved to an even shittier housing project in Dhaar called the Greater India Apartments, a place which was, like most things made for the poor, replete with nationalist themes. Bahadur began looking for sweatshops to work in again, but with just how quickly Sopahn developed, it was impossible to find any that could compete against automated factories. Believing that he was doomed to wither here in Sopahn, Bahadur quietly resigned to his fate in the housing project, living off cheap food and waiting for his money to run out.

In one day not unlike the others, Bahadur found one of his neighbors getting beat up by some shady looking types, and in a moment of shining conscience, he asked them to stop, at which point the three thugs turned on him. What would have been a merciless beatdown for Bahadur was cut short when he smashed a bottle on one thug’s head and stabbed another with the broken bottle. Caught unaware, they ran away, screaming bloody murder, demanding revenge. Bahadur wasn’t exactly sure what to think of, but the fellow he saved from a beating quickly beckoned him to come.

He would learn that the fellow getting beat up, named Patel, was not exactly innocent, that he was one of the ‘Wheelers’ – practically an underfed slum gang based in the Greater India Apartments, named such because of the symbol of the housing project, and that the fellows that he’d had chased off were affiliated with a rival gang called the Aprons. Apparently, Patel had been peddling illicit goods and drugs in Apron territory, and that they’d caught him red-handed. Going to the police was out of the option for Bahadur, since that would mean that he’d have to leave again, and he practically had nowhere else to go. He decided to stay his ground.

The entirety of the Aprons came barging in pick-ups a few days later, about a dozen of them with cleavers in hand, looking for Bahadur and Patel. Wheeler presence that day was practically nonexistent aside from a panicking Patel hiding in his balcony. Bahadur deduced that the gang had written him and Patel off as acceptable losses – which was obviously not acceptable for him. Preparing a Molotov cocktail and grabbing a bread knife, Bahadur ambushed three of them when they finally broke into the adjacent room, and after stabbing two and throwing the other down the window, he threw the Molotov cocktail downstairs at the most well-off looking target, setting him aflame.

Having killed the Aprons’ leader and having dispersed their assault, Bahadur immediately grabbed Patel, and after finding a car key on one of the bodies, shoved him into the sole remaining car, saying that either Patel would find a way to get him out of this mess, or that he would beat the shit out of him and throw him off in front of the police station. Patel decided to help, or at least throw Bahadur into the territory of bigger fish and get away, and led him to an Uzbek mafia leader who ran a tandoori store, a man named Babur.

Babur was unwilling to listen to them at first, but after receiving news of the commotion in the Greater India Apartments and learning that it was Bahadur that caused it all, he decided to offer them a meal and hear their story. Impressed with his competence, Babur decided to help Bahadur by letting him lay low in a safe house for a while, although, he warned that, in exchange for Babur’s protection, he would have to ‘handle some business himself’. Bahadur accepted.

The two years that followed were good for Bahadur. He found a job as a food delivery driver, moved back into where he used to live in the Greater India Apartments (with the Wheelers either gone or too afraid to show their faces), and also made earned somewhat of a reputation for himself in the criminal underworld of Sopahn, being at the centre of rumors tied to the Shootout in San’s Disco alongside other things. He’s not sure if the Indian Dream was meant to be this, but nonetheless, violence has done nothing but bring him closer to heaven.

Outlook and Motivations: Bahadur could be called a confused individual – for him, life has progressed in such ways that he has been unable to form a mindset or any sort of ideological outlook, believing that he was too busy working to ever have a chance to think about things or form any sort of opinion. This has led to a very spontaneous, although in the end obedient personality, often acting in the heat of the moment unless asked not to. Having lived in rags for most of his life, Bahadur appreciates the comfort that power has brought to him, and lacking any understanding of human rights, cannot see the ‘illegal’ in illegal activity. He is a decent man, but this does not mean that he obeys the law – his only moral compass is an understanding of ‘decency’. For Bahadur, shooting a man is not something indecent, nor would he hold a grudge against someone who’d shoot him – but in comparison, insulting someone’s family, lecherousness, or a lack of charity are not decent things. Other things he just sees as part of the cycle of life, which is brutal due to its very nature.

Having spent his entire life to provide something for either himself or family, Bahadur is motivated only by comfort or luxury. His political opinions form only when politics seep into his life. If the building that he lives in was to be demolished, he would immediately side with the opposition, no matter what the reasons could be for it. He does not care for the world, the future, or other cultures. If anything, he’s somewhat xenophobic and afraid of the constant change that all these foreigners seem to bring.

Capabilities

Language(s): Urdu, Hindi

Skills:

Cook: Bahadur has memorized his mother’s recipe and knows how to cook a mean biryani, and he’s also pretty good at making lamb korma. Thanks to his sensitive mouth and good taste, he can easily add flavor to his limited knowledge in cuisine.

Quick: Bahadur is known for the speed at which he handles things. He thinks fast, acts fast, and is also very quick on his feet. He prides himself on this, and is not unwilling to get unconventional, dirty and 'out of the box' to solve problems even faster and make up for his small stature when necessary.

Commando: Bahadur has served with the Ghatak Force for fifteen years, having gone through tons of grueling training and constant drill. He has basic wilderness survival skills and knows how to operate and maintain certain firearms, has a good conceptual grasp of close combat, climbing and stealth, and is also a quite good shot and a quick draw.

Flaws:

Not Left Handed: Bahadur, having almost crippled his left arm, cannot extend it wholly for long amounts of time, and doing anything quick means it’s going to hurt like hell. Holding onto things with his left arm or throwing punches are bound to leave him sore in the morning.

Scrawny: Bahadur does not bend easy under pressure, and he recuperates quickly, but he’s easy to uproot. With his unfit stature, bad arm and short height, he can get thrown around quick, and cannot lift heavy objects off the ground easily.

Small World: Bahadur has a small world and has no opinion of what’s going on outside it, and in fact actually avoids it. Any sign of important change unnerves him – the sight of skyscrapers, tilt-rotors and the upper classes can be downright terrifying, and he has an innate dislike for Westerners and the higher classes.

Connections:

• Mirza Muhammad Babur, Owner of the ‘Bagh-e Babur’ Restaurant, prominent figure in the Uzbek Mafia

Accomplishments:

• Service in Indian Army, 2043-2057, Honorable Discharge as Naik (Corporal)

Crimes:

• Murder x12 (suspect for two)
• Breaking and Entering x2 (not prosecuted)
• Bodily Injury x3 (not prosecuted)

Inventory

Cash, saving and debts:

• R2000 in Cash, hidden in apartment

Tools and weapons:

• Ishapore .410 Enfield Shotgun Conversion (not on person)
• Hi-Power Centennial 9x19mm Pistol, unlicensed (gift from the Uzbeks)
• Bear Spray
• Switchblade
• Windproof Lighter

Electronic devices:

• Portable Signal Jammer
• LG Cellphone

Apparels:

• Leather Vest
• Tracksuits and Polos at home and on business
• Cheap suits when on ‘business’

Credentials and ID cards: Citizenship ID, Delivery Service Card, Firearms License

Jewelry and valuables: Mechanical Watch

Consumables: Miswak Chew Stick

Load bearing equipment: None

Illicit goods: None

Vehicle: Auto Rickshaw

Pet and animals: Caged Budgie (At Home)

Other: A Phonebook

Rotten Spokes of the Unlawful Wheel

@Peik Hey-hey-hey, same age as my character!

@Virgil

Nothing quite like the horror of nearing middle age.

Rotten Spokes of the Unlawful Wheel

The ''Getaway''

5'11 170 lbs.	Peter Hannegy Age: 32 Gender: Male Citizenship(s): United Kingdom, Taiwan (Work Visa-Expired), China (Work Visa), India (Work Visa) Date and place of birth: 07 April 2028, London, United Kingdom Official occupation: Procurement Specialist for Anderson-Ford Pharmaceutical

Profile

Residence: Lions Residences, Apartment D-3, Room 373, Bholi

Affiliation: Anderson-Ford Pharmaceutical, the Uzbek Mafia

Appearance: Peter looks dreadfully average. His oval head is home to an awfully bland looking face, with a thin nose that flares wide and thick by the nostrils, an inconspicuous, round jaw with a slightly protruding chin, large, sunken eyes with dark circles underneath and a small mouth. His hair color is a shade of brown, although his bushy eyebrows seem to be lighter. His only facial trait worthy of attention is the color of his eyes – a fairly light blue. His skin, while not smooth and perfect, is still fairly light – something that attracts attention in India.

His hair is often disheveled despite its regular length, thanks to his tendency of waking up late, his ‘overheating’ at work (which ends up with him holding his head underneath the sink in the bathroom), and his tendency to not use any sort of hair styling products, having had a rather embarrassing incident during his teenage years, which has since shaped his opinion against all of them. While he’d almost always been clean shaven, shaving every morning because of his rather fast beard growth, lately he’s been unable to keep up because of rather unfortunate events and occasionally sports a stubble.

He is fairly regularly built – he has broad shoulders, but he lacks any important muscle growth, and has a naturally thin figure. He does not work out or have any sporting tendencies, but he’s used the contacts he’s earned from his position as Procurement Specialist to keep some of the ‘wonder drugs’ that he supplies through Anderson-Ford to himself. This, combined with his naturally healthy lifestyle, has left him with a figure which, while lacking in muscle strength, can at the very least pull its own weight around with ease, and run for fairly long distances.

Peter has a fairly conventional, if not old-fashioned, sense of fashion; despite its fashion being in the decline, he still wears conventional suits to work, although the patterns of his suits and shirts seem to be somewhat protest – his ‘power ties’ are often laughably out of place, and he seems to forget to iron his clothes.

Background: Peter’s life has often been that of a dilettante; he’s never been fit for, nor has he found the opportunity to, work hard – yet, he has not been able to find a way to get out of this lifestyle and live a leisurely life either. Ever since his childhood he’s lived on a threshold, and as with most people living there, he hasn’t been able to fully appreciate either part. Thus, he has spent most of his life in a dreadful purgatory.

While born in London, he and his family moved to Sussex not long after – nonetheless, Peter proudly describes himself as a Londoner in small talk, despite having spent most of his life elsewhere.

His parents were fairly rich (his mother was a self-help author, and his father was a shareholder in a company supplying electrical appliances), although they weren’t rich enough to let him live the life of a spoiled brat. However, being sent to the better off schools of the country because of this wealth caused him to live with a gap between his friends. Most of them were folks who were getting groomed to become the heirs of family holdings and sitting on piles of wealth, while Peter himself was likely going to get no more than enough money to buy himself a house and a car. Too poor to peacefully exist amongst this elite portion of society, and too rich to not be immediately held in contempt by the lower class, Peter spent most of his childhood and adolescence trying to ‘fit in’.

This is not to say that he wasn’t getting along, however; Peter’s personality had the perfect mix of cheeky impudence and shy naiveté, which led to rather active, if not shallow, teenage years (something that he often brags about to his close friends is the fact that he once got laid with the current President of the LaVoye Conglomerate, and a celebrity in her own right, Clarissa Townshend-LaVoye). Nonetheless, his desire to fit in still got curbed by sheer economical gaps between him and his classmates – he simply did not have enough cash to spend as vacuously as they did. This led to him being brasher in terms of appearance and personality, in an attempt to compensate for the economical difference.

Then one day, his hair gel got set aflame when he stood under a lamp for far too long in the middle of a lesson.

It wasn’t anything crucial; it wasn’t even dangerous or wounding (one of his friends had immediately poured a water bottle down his head, saving him, and ruining his hairdo further), and being the smooth talker he is, Peter managed to make fun of it before anyone else could beat him to it and turn him into a butt monkey. While the incident actually boosted his popularity, deep down it broke something in his heart. Perhaps he realized that trying to fit in so was not doing him all that good. He grew more and more insecure, and slowly faded out of his youthful brashness as time went on (something that may have saved his life, given some of his friends would later die in an elevator accident in a nightclub that he'd also once frequented).

However, Peter wasn’t all that bright (he never has been, admittedly), and without his social drive, he immediately drooped down to mediocrity, getting admitted to a program that he practically had no interest in. After graduating with a degree in Business Management and coming face to face with adult life, Peter realized something – he was rather dissatisfied in life, but had no passions to follow, nor, it seemed, any talent to actually cultivate. He went on a tour of Europe to forget this existential dread of realizing, but having no way to overcome, one’s own mediocrity, and found that he didn’t have much of an interest in art or technology either. If anything, his time in Europe further reinforced the idea that he was a failure, an infertile, drone-like mind in a constantly advancing and changing age.

Thus, Peter did what every person faced with oneself did, and found a lifeless, droll job, one that would keep him busy and tired enough to make sure he wouldn’t have to face himself when he went to bed. Earning a position in NuPharma as Manager of Logistics, partially thanks to his father’s influence, Peter moved to Brighton, although after rumors of involvement in an embezzlement scandal, the company sent him to Taiwan for his ‘excellent behavior’, citing that ‘his outgoing, tenacious personality was sure to help the company expand abroad’.

Peter did not take to his exile kindly. After a year in Taiwan, he quit his position in NuPharma, and after spending about three months doing nothing but fooling around in VR (his contract prevented him from joining any rival company for the duration), he took up a lesser position at Anderson-Ford Pharmaceutical. This new company relocated him to China, where he spent the most desolate six months of his life, moving from one industrial nightmare to another to follow up on his duties, inspecting shipments and trying to make sure that every shipment held true to the ledgers.

China was horrible; a country that had lost its culture and flavor to advancement – to Peter, felt more like an overextended, bloated dystopian movie set than an actual nation with a past. He thought of quitting the job, but, believing it wouldn’t look excellent on his resume and doom him to similar places such as China, he decided against it, and opted to extend his skill set instead, to have a chance of saving himself from this line of work in the future.

He’d already gotten some VR experience in Taiwan, however carnal and unproductive it may have been; after hearing of how some airline companies let people with no formal piloting training take their exams, provided they showed competence in certain VR programs, Peter decided to make this his focus, and immediately upgraded his headset to standard, throwing himself into the world of virtual cockpits.

Soaring through the digital, clear skies was a much more enjoyable experience compared to the unending grey smog of Chinese cities for Peter, and it gave him something to look forward to when returning home from port, after a long day of double-checking container cargo. Not to mention that it turned out he wasn’t half bad at the whole flying business; he’d managed to go through about 25 combat missions without getting shot down in a military simulator, and also could handle VTOL flights in more commercial and utility oriented games.

He was reassigned to Sopahn after six months in China, as part of Common Development Asia’s gradual expansion program. Sopahn, said the employee orientation consultant, was an Eastern gem in the making. As with everything that his superiors lauded and sugarcoated, Peter expected a huge letdown, and found it a pleasant surprise when his expectations were proven wrong. Sopahn wasn’t half bad, compared to his time in China. Plus, Common Development Asia’s overwhelming presence in the city meant that he was a privileged individual anywhere.

Well, almost anywhere.

After a car accident in Dhaar, the bad part of town, Peter found himself responsible for the death of two gangsters. It wasn’t the fact that they were gangsters that made this a problem, for they were the survivors of a small gang with no power (which, Peter would later learn, was practically destroyed that day after their leader got a Molotov to the face). It was just that one of them was the son of a local, politically controversial figure, which got Peter knee-deep in shit when the press jumped on the incident like sharks, claiming how Peter’s callous behavior was not unlike that of the British invaders of long past. Allusions to colonialism, foreign oppression, and similar buzzwords flew everywhere.

Miraculously, he was not fired from Anderson-Ford, but he had to pay a good amount of money to the public prosecutor to drop the case. Things thus once again got in the clear, although Peter made a mental note as to never go through Dhaar again and try to use public transport more. It wouldn’t take much longer anyway, he thought to himself – with some more VR experience, he’d be qualified for a couple of airliner exams, and he could just leave this shithole and get away. He’d heard that Air Taxis were becoming a thing in Munich.

Then one day, he got mail. In it were photos of him handing a snazzy watch and a card to the public prosecutor. Either he was to do as they complied, the mail warned, or these photos would reach plenty of news sites and activist groups. There was no doubt that Anderson-Ford wouldn’t be as forgiving this time, and neither would the law.

What they asked for in return was not much, the letter said – some changes in the shipment ledgers when necessary, and some occasional extra trips to different parts of town. Plus, there was compensation in the business for him. It was a no-risk kind of deal, or so said the letter.

Peter himself thought that he just couldn’t catch a break.

And thus, he found himself shackled to this ‘side business’ of letting Uzbeks nibble away at his ledgers and shipments, and occasionally letting them pay him for compensation. Peter himself suspects with good reason that this is just another way to give him more of a stake to comply, and to get more dirt on him if he ever fucks up. Nonetheless, it seems, he has to play along to get along. God knows what else.

Outlook and Motivations: Peter has a pretty pessimistic outlook on life and practically no motivation to continue further. What could have been a suicidal figure has been repressed by antidepressant usage, a shallow social life that he tries his best to immerse himself in, and personal lack of acceptance. To a more literary and scholarly onlooker, Peter would come across as petty and shallow, even meaningless – to close friends, he comes across as quite similar, but that only means he’s amongst fellow company. His circle of friends is borne of a practically Darwinist necessity; they need each other as to not bear their own company.

He is marked by a lack of passion and lack of interest. His only personal skill being his keen edge when it comes to observation, Peter often comes face to face with the fact that he’s practically living for money, and has gradually accepted his condition as a slave to wages. His money is often spent on hedonistic purposes and adrenaline rushes to make it easier for him to forget about the situation that he’s in.

Capabilities

Language(s): English, Hindi (fluent), Mandarin Chinese (moderate)

Skills:

Pilot: Peter’s got plenty of experience in virtual cockpits, be it flying 120 year old propeller planes in combat, or flying VTOL Air Taxis and helicopters through aerial traffic and skyscrapers in city life simulators. He actually likes it too; one of the few things he’s enthusiastic about, and he’s not half bad at it.

Pitcher: Peter’s broad shoulders and some sort of innate skill have allowed him to become a fairly skilled person at throwing things. He can pitch objects over long distances with considerable accuracy, and pitch them hard. He is simply an unfair fight at darts.

People Person: Peter, with years of white collar life and shallow friendship experience under his belt, finds a way to have ultimately meaningless but still substantial conversations with practically everybody. He’s no orator, but still, he manages to find just the right topics to talk about with everyone, and is smooth enough to keep people listening.

Flaws:

Balls in a Vice: If the Uzbek mafia wished so, Peter would probably get defaced in a corruption scandal, get lynched by Indians, and then get fired, in that order. He doesn’t have much choice but to help them in their businesses when they ask him to, and he constantly has to change his ledgers.

Hey, it’s That Guy: Indians HATE him! Find out how he earned the ire of an entire ethnicity with one simple trick – become a scapegoat for the media! Peter has somewhat of a bad reputation amongst Indians, for good reason, and the poorer classes don’t treat him all too well. God forbid if he’s recognized in a crowd.

Job on the Line: If Peter’s not trying to please the Uzbek Mafia, he’s trying to please Anderson-Ford. He’s got a lot of bad publicity in the job after that car accident business, and he rightfully feels that the company isn’t all that enthusiastic about keeping him around. Without the job, he’s got nothing.

Connections:

• Pudoo Vijay Pratap, Public Prosecutor, Corrupt Government Official
• Aubrey Millwood, Logistics Manager of Anderson-Ford Pharmaceutical
• Mirza Muhammad Babur, Owner of the ‘Bagh-e Babur’ Restaurant, prominent figure in the Uzbek Mafia

Accomplishments:

• Diploma in Business Management, University of Sussex
• NuPharma Manager of Logistics, 2053-2058
• Winner of the NuPharma Managers’ Board Annual Dart Competition, 2058

Crimes:

• Manslaughter x2 (case dropped)
• Bribery x1 (not prosecuted)

Inventory

Cash, saving and debts:

• R3500 in Cash
• R60.000 in Savings at Khariboli Bank International
• R80.000 Overseas

Tools and weapons:

• Pepper Spray
• HandOut Multipurpose Monopod

Electronic devices:

• Haze Gaming VR Headset (at home)
• MicroSoft Folding Holographic Pad
• Samsung SmarTime Electronic Watch
• Samsung SmartEar Headpiece-Translator
• Huawei Holographic Smart Phone

Apparels:

• Classic suit with ‘power ties’ for work
• Casual/relaxed apparel for free time

Credentials and ID cards: Passport (at home), Anderson-Ford ID Card, Driver’s License, VR Flight License

Jewelry and valuables: None

Consumables: Packs of ReBreeze! Non Melting Ice Cream, Strawberry, Kiwi and Mango Flavors (kept in poly cooler)

Load bearing equipment: Wallet, Poly Cooler (kept in the automobile)

Illicit goods: None

Vehicle: Hyundai Coils Hybrid Automobile, Four-Door

Pet and animals: None

Other: Notebook, pen

Rotten Spokes of the Unlawful Wheel

*raises hand*

I have a question about the inventory. Do I write what my character has on her actual person at the start of the roleplay, or to things at home count as well?

@Greenie

Things of importance at home would be nice to mention I'd argue, just in case you need to take them on your person for something.

Rotten Spokes of the Unlawful Wheel

The ''Muscle''

5'8'' 140 lbs.	Bahadur Farrukhsiyar Shiri Age: 37 Gender: Male Citizenship(s): Indian Date and place of birth: 28 February 2023, Ghazipur, India Official occupation: Food Delivery Driver

Profile

Residence: Greater India Apartments, Dhaar

Affiliation: The Uzbek Mafia

Appearance: Bahadur looks like a figure out of some cyberpunk parody setting, with just how awfully contrasting his appearance is. His face, settled upon an oblong head, is gaunt and sunken, like a date left under the sun for far too long. His nose bends inwards in a curve with a protruding tip that’s canted slightly to the right; his eyes are large, intimidating and expressive, and he often uses eyeliner to further enhance them. His skin is that of a sickly olive color, and his eye color is also similarly a very dark green. His hair color is black, although parts of it have begun to lose color, sending grey streaks throughout.

Having to adhere to the common rules of the poor society, Bahadur’s hair is long (shoulder length) and completely unkempt, although this is also partially to hide the fact that he is balding heavily. He has a short, thick beard that curls inwards, yet to begin graying as heavily as his hair, and he twirls his mustaches to give himself a more intimidating look. When in ‘business’, Bahadur gathers his hair in a ponytail and tucks the ‘tail’ under the back of his jacket to keep his hair from distracting him or give any opening to would-be foes.

Despite his military service, Bahadur definitely is not a physically intimidating figure – he’s not tall, at about 5 foot 8, sickly thin and narrow shouldered. While his muscles are familiar with excruciating labor and exercise, malnourishment, bad living conditions and an overall unhealthy lifestyle have kept them from developing.

Being a criminal from the slums, Bahadur’s clothing manages to be gaudy and extravagant, yet cheap and makeshift at the same time. If he isn’t wearing baggy, loose tracksuits underneath a leather vest, you can often find him in ill-fitting, discount suits from sweatshops, whose owners are happy to let go of their almost hundred year old surplus. Zoot suits, coats, bell bottom pants, Cuban heels and disco shirts colorful enough to induce epileptic fits make up the backbone of Bahadur’s ‘fashion’.

Background: Like most people hailing from India, Bahadur was also doomed to poverty at birth. Born to parents of Pakistani descent, his father Hafez was a barber, while his mother Gulnoor worked in a textile factory. Bahadur was the second child of the family, which meant that, while he wasn’t as busy as his brother Massoud, he still had to do work to take care of his three younger siblings. Living a double life of school at day and work at night until high school (upon finishing high school he would end his education and begin working full time), Bahadur worked alongside his mother, although the factory was closed when he was 18, at which point he found work as a street food vendor, selling samosas and biryani prepared by her mother.

After the youngest child of the family died of dysentery, Bahadur’s mother Gulnoor had a stroke which left her paralyzed from the waist down. His mother no longer able to produce food for him to sell, Bahadur went back into the textile business, although after an argument with one of his bosses that ended in a fight, he drifted unemployed for some weeks. One day, during a family meeting, he overheard one of his uncles brag about how his son had joined the military and was making lots of money as an officer. His pride hurt by the comment, Bahadur himself joined the military soon after for the monetary benefits.

Feeling a degree of impotence because of his small stature in the Army, Bahadur applied to become part of the Ghatak Commandos to prove his worth and get further economical benefits (rumors about how those in the Ghatak were given muscle enhancing drugs may have also played a part). He succeeded – just barely, and in the Ghatak the contrast between him and his fellow soldiers more apparent. This would not last long, however; the brutal and constant training regime quickly bonded everyone closely, despite the uncountable amount of differences between each and every one of them.

Bahadur would serve in the military for almost fifteen years, and get deployed in a Pakistani border skirmish in 2048 and the Assamite Insurgency of 2050-2053, never seeing live combat. Despite the rather monotonous and tiring life, the feeling of providing well for his family helped, there was the prestige of being in the military, and life in the barracks certainly gave him much more orderly life standards. However, he was also estranged from his family, and left far away from his life as a civilian. He would learn of his sisters’ marriages and his father’s death through phone calls, and his brother Massoud getting promoted and moving to Delhi with his younger brother from a letter.

After getting discharged because of a fractured arm at the age of 34 (yet another source of frustration and resentment), Bahadur left for Delhi to find Massoud. Now an assistant manager in a technology store, Massoud was doing quite well for himself. Caring for their mother and funding their younger brother Ahmad’s engineering degree, Massoud received his brother somewhat distantly – while he himself was glad to have him around and appreciative of what Bahadur had done for them, he had to house his wife’s family, his mother and his brother in the same house, and his wife’s mother Humaira certainly did not want Bahadur around her other children. He offered to find housing and maybe a job, but Bahadur refused.

Bahadur did not hold his brother in contempt for his situation in Delhi, and moved back to Ghazipur where he had spent most his life, but found it much different – their house had been long sold and a mall had been built where their neighborhood had once been. Finding his past demolished and his memories long buried under concrete was much more depressing for Bahadur than being unable to live with his family. After meeting an amicable lad named Jahan, who claimed to be an old neighbor of his, Bahadur quickly found in him a business partner, and reentered the biryani business with a food cart attached to a three wheeler.

Jahan was a smart boy, if not somewhat naïve. Despite Bahadur not remembering him at all and thinking of him as nothing but a lonely young figure in a bad position that needed someone to do business with, and saw Bahadur as no more than a suitable candidate, he appreciated having someone around. Jahan was good with numbers, good with people too; thanks to him striking a few deals, the two could buy rice for biryani cheap, and Bahadur used what he remembered of his mother’s recipe to entice customers.

After six months, however, Jahan approached Bahadur with a proposition. He claimed that one of his uncles had set up an actual shop in Sopahn, and that he had contacted Jahan, saying that they could work with him. If Bahadur were to agree, then the two wouldn’t have to work in the streets anymore. Not wishing to keep Jahan in the gutter with his unwillingness to move on, Bahadur accepted, and the two left Ghazipur for Sopahn in pursuit of the Indian Dream.

Sopahn was really no better. Bahadur and Jahan found themselves working in a shitty food joint, with Jahan’s uncle using his family ties and the fact that ‘he brought them here’ as an excuse to emotionally blackmail them whenever they would try to complain about anything. Bahadur was annoyed, but they really had begun making more money, so he kept quiet and waited for better days. But their improving condition didn’t last long; Jahan was electrocuted to death trying to fix the joint’s air conditioner, and Bahadur, blaming the uncle, broke a chair on the man’s back before leaving.

Unable to pay for their old apartment, Bahadur moved to an even shittier housing project in Dhaar called the Greater India Apartments, a place which was, like most things made for the poor, replete with nationalist themes. Bahadur began looking for sweatshops to work in again, but with just how quickly Sopahn developed, it was impossible to find any that could compete against automated factories. Believing that he was doomed to wither here in Sopahn, Bahadur quietly resigned to his fate in the housing project, living off cheap food and waiting for his money to run out.

In one day not unlike the others, Bahadur found one of his neighbors getting beat up by some shady looking types, and in a moment of shining conscience, he asked them to stop, at which point the three thugs turned on him. What would have been a merciless beatdown for Bahadur was cut short when he smashed a bottle on one thug’s head and stabbed another with the broken bottle. Caught unaware, they ran away, screaming bloody murder, demanding revenge. Bahadur wasn’t exactly sure what to think of, but the fellow he saved from a beating quickly beckoned him to come.

He would learn that the fellow getting beat up, named Patel, was not exactly innocent, that he was one of the ‘Wheelers’ – practically an underfed slum gang based in the Greater India Apartments, named such because of the symbol of the housing project, and that the fellows that he’d had chased off were affiliated with a rival gang called the Aprons. Apparently, Patel had been peddling illicit goods and drugs in Apron territory, and that they’d caught him red-handed. Going to the police was out of the option for Bahadur, since that would mean that he’d have to leave again, and he practically had nowhere else to go. He decided to stay his ground.

The entirety of the Aprons came barging in pick-ups a few days later, about a dozen of them with cleavers in hand, looking for Bahadur and Patel. Wheeler presence that day was practically nonexistent aside from a panicking Patel hiding in his balcony. Bahadur deduced that the gang had written him and Patel off as acceptable losses – which was obviously not acceptable for him. Preparing a Molotov cocktail and grabbing a bread knife, Bahadur ambushed three of them when they finally broke into the adjacent room, and after stabbing two and throwing the other down the window, he threw the Molotov cocktail downstairs at the most well-off looking target, setting him aflame.

Having killed the Aprons’ leader and having dispersed their assault, Bahadur immediately grabbed Patel, and after finding a car key on one of the bodies, shoved him into the sole remaining car, saying that either Patel would find a way to get him out of this mess, or that he would beat the shit out of him and throw him off in front of the police station. Patel decided to help, or at least throw Bahadur into the territory of bigger fish and get away, and led him to an Uzbek mafia leader who ran a tandoori store, a man named Babur.

Babur was unwilling to listen to them at first, but after receiving news of the commotion in the Greater India Apartments and learning that it was Bahadur that caused it all, he decided to offer them a meal and hear their story. Impressed with his competence, Babur decided to help Bahadur by letting him lay low in a safe house for a while, although, he warned that, in exchange for Babur’s protection, he would have to ‘handle some business himself’. Bahadur accepted.

The two years that followed were good for Bahadur. He found a job as a food delivery driver, moved back into where he used to live in the Greater India Apartments (with the Wheelers either gone or too afraid to show their faces), and also made earned somewhat of a reputation for himself in the criminal underworld of Sopahn, being at the centre of rumors tied to the Shootout in San’s Disco alongside other things. He’s not sure if the Indian Dream was meant to be this, but nonetheless, violence has done nothing but bring him closer to heaven.

Outlook and Motivations: Bahadur could be called a confused individual – for him, life has progressed in such ways that he has been unable to form a mindset or any sort of ideological outlook, believing that he was too busy working to ever have a chance to think about things or form any sort of opinion. This has led to a very spontaneous, although in the end obedient personality, often acting in the heat of the moment unless asked not to. Having lived in rags for most of his life, Bahadur appreciates the comfort that power has brought to him, and lacking any understanding of human rights, cannot see the ‘illegal’ in illegal activity. He is a decent man, but this does not mean that he obeys the law – his only moral compass is an understanding of ‘decency’. For Bahadur, shooting a man is not something indecent, nor would he hold a grudge against someone who’d shoot him – but in comparison, insulting someone’s family, lecherousness, or a lack of charity are not decent things. Other things he just sees as part of the cycle of life, which is brutal due to its very nature.

Having spent his entire life to provide something for either himself or family, Bahadur is motivated only by comfort or luxury. His political opinions form only when politics seep into his life. If the building that he lives in was to be demolished, he would immediately side with the opposition, no matter what the reasons could be for it. He does not care for the world, the future, or other cultures. If anything, he’s somewhat xenophobic and afraid of the constant change that all these foreigners seem to bring.

Capabilities

Language(s): Urdu, Hindi

Skills:

Cook: Bahadur has memorized his mother’s recipe and knows how to cook a mean biryani, and he’s also pretty good at making lamb korma. Thanks to his sensitive mouth and good taste, he can easily add flavor to his limited knowledge in cuisine.

Quick: Bahadur is known for the speed at which he handles things. He thinks fast, acts fast, and is also very quick on his feet. He prides himself on this, and is not unwilling to get unconventional, dirty and 'out of the box' to solve problems even faster and make up for his small stature when necessary.

Commando: Bahadur has served with the Ghatak Force for fifteen years, having gone through tons of grueling training and constant drill. He has basic wilderness survival skills and knows how to operate and maintain certain firearms, has a good conceptual grasp of close combat, climbing and stealth, and is also a quite good shot and a quick draw.

Flaws:

Not Left Handed: Bahadur, having almost crippled his left arm, cannot extend it wholly for long amounts of time, and doing anything quick means it’s going to hurt like hell. Holding onto things with his left arm or throwing punches are bound to leave him sore in the morning.

Scrawny: Bahadur does not bend easy under pressure, and he recuperates quickly, but he’s easy to uproot. With his unfit stature, bad arm and short height, he can get thrown around quick, and cannot lift heavy objects off the ground easily.

Small World: Bahadur has a small world and has no opinion of what’s going on outside it, and in fact actually avoids it. Any sign of important change unnerves him – the sight of skyscrapers, tilt-rotors and the upper classes can be downright terrifying, and he has an innate dislike for Westerners and the higher classes.

Connections:

• Mirza Muhammad Babur, Owner of the ‘Bagh-e Babur’ Restaurant, prominent figure in the Uzbek Mafia

Accomplishments:

• Service in Indian Army, 2043-2057, Honorable Discharge as Naik (Corporal)

Crimes:

• Murder x12 (suspect for two)
• Breaking and Entering x2 (not prosecuted)
• Bodily Injury x3 (not prosecuted)

Inventory

Cash, saving and debts:

• R2000 in Cash, hidden in apartment

Tools and weapons:

• Ishapore .410 Enfield Shotgun Conversion (not on person)
• Hi-Power Centennial 9x19mm Pistol, unlicensed (gift from the Uzbeks)
• Bear Spray
• Switchblade
• Windproof Lighter

Electronic devices:

• Portable Signal Jammer
• LG Cellphone

Apparels:

• Leather Vest
• Tracksuits and Polos at home and on business
• Cheap suits when on ‘business’

Credentials and ID cards: Citizenship ID, Delivery Service Card, Firearms License

Jewelry and valuables: Mechanical Watch

Consumables: Miswak Chew Stick

Load bearing equipment: None

Illicit goods: None

Vehicle: Auto Rickshaw

Pet and animals: Caged Budgie (At Home)

Other: A Phonebook

Rotten Spokes of the Unlawful Wheel

@Peik Gcold approved this, I just need your go-ahead.

Majabut Bharat Parishad

Majabut Bharat Parishad

Majabut Bharat Parishad (Greater India Council) (MBP) is a religious nationalist extremist group operating in India since 2050, notorious for carrying out attacks against Christians, Muslims, Buddhists, non-Hindus and ethnic minority groups. It has been officially designated a terrorist group by India and most of the international community. It aims to establish a pure Hindu state uncontaminated by other faiths and nationalities.

History

The MBP was founded in Tihar Jail, one of the biggest prison complexes in India, by ex-Indian Army sergeant Taruk Ganeshi and a small circle of fellow inmates, all harboring deep resentment towards the local Muslim community. Once the initial circle of inmates had served their sentences, operations started in New Delhi. Three goals of the society were acknowledged:

1. To consolidate a stronger Indian nation-state,
2. To expel all non-Hindus from India,
3. To establish Hinduism as the supreme religion of the Indian subcontinent.

For the first three years of its existence, the MBP was one of many Hindu nationalist groups leading hate rallies, inciting riots against Muslims and Christians, and recruiting many an angry, disillusioned youth via a nationwide internet propaganda campaign. However, that all changed on December 13, 2053, where four bombs went off in DLF Emporio, one of New Delhi's most expensive malls, killing 56 and injuring 138. It was then that the MBP gained the notoriety it has today. On March 20, 2054, three gunmen opened fire with automatic weapons in Connaught Place, one of New Delhi's largest commercial centers, killing 30 and injuring 12 before being killed by police. In July of that year, a lone gunman opened fire in Indira Gandhi International Airport, killing seventeen - including an American national. In January 2055, the MBP launched its first hacking attack and consolidated its presence in Mumbai, when the city's metro railway system was shut down for twenty-eight hours. Most of the victims of these attacks were Muslims, Christians, Buddhists, and more often than not 'traitorous' Hindus.

Since then, via an aggressive propaganda campaign and sheer anonymity from government radar, the MBP has been steadily increasing its influence and infamy all throughout India. Rumors have it that a cell was recently deployed in Sopahn.

Membership

The MBP has an extremely clandestine yet strictly structured hierarchal system. The chain of command is relatively formal, with district leaders leading metropolitan region leaders leading numerous operatives within a single city. Recruitment is usually online, with recruiters often contacting potentials via instant messaging systems. However, there can be a maximum of only thirty operatives in one district - this is due to operatives being spread out and transferred to other parts of the country to avoid detection. Meetings and reports are also mostly online, physical in-person gatherings having a nasty habit of attracting police.

Resources

No one really knows how much the MBP really has at their disposal, not even most members themselves. But what is certain is that they have an incredibly strong presence in India. Everyone knows they are there, but somehow they just stay an inch from the spotlight, operating in plain sight. They do have a large bomb arsenal and are in possession of numerous illegal high-power firearms, thanks to multiple sympathetic gun factory workers providing them with firearm schematics for 3D printing. Their online presence is undisputed, and any recruiter can be contacted if one has the willpower to. They also have a literal army of hackers all across India who sustain themselves with bitcoin cyberheists, which has proved a major headache for the government's counter-cybercrime departments. Besides tangible assets, the MBP has also left an indelible emotional presence within the Indian people, mostly of fear, but some with empassioned support, leading to many rogue groups operating under MBP ideology. Some attribute the government's ineffectivity to stop the MBP threat to corruption or genuine ideological sympathy.

Relationships

The MBP has a supreme hate for Muslims, claiming to embody the Indian resentment that has been festering in the people for millennia. Mosques are shot at and have Molotovs thrown in them, and random Muslims can be beaten up on the street. Kashmiris and Bangladeshis are often the unfortunate recipients of this behavior.

The MBP also heavily dislikes Christians, Buddhists, and Jews, claiming that they tarnish the ideal Hindu state.

The MBP is actually quite divided over the Sikh community, with some saying that they should be part of the efforts for a pure India, whereas others argue they are not truly Hindu. Nevertheless, some MBP members are known Sikhs.

The MBP dislikes foreigners, aiming to push for an ethnically pure India, but due to political reasons the MBP does not carry out anti-foreigner attacks as much to not earn the ire of other states.

The MBP is also divided on the matter of government cooperation - some say the authorities are the only ones that can officially bring change, others say the establishment is degenerate and has sold out to foreigners (which is a slightly more popular opinion). Either way, the Indian government has officially labeled the MBP a hate group.

@BingTheWing

I approve (I like how they've got ideological questions of their own), although just so you know, they'll probably get backlash via similar Muslim organizations themselves, so I wouldn't consider them a take-all boogeyman.

I do wonder something, though, about Rajan - despite his love of poetry and living so close to the heartland of Diwan poetry, I've seen no opinion of his about them in the sheet. Does he not like it, or just simply have no opinion?