FYI - Year 3

[23skidoo]

Having transmuted over 80% of the molecules in my body to scotch, coffee and hair spray it's no exaggeration to say that I pour myself out of bed and into my suit each day.

And each day I find myself thinking the same old things...

'I'm getting too old for this shit' and 'these pants are getting smaller'

Today, my aging, tight pant wearing ass finds itself in a well lit PD down in Old Arkham. I'm traveling with my old friends, The Rangers, who are trying to bring a little relief in the devastating wake of the Big Bash 3.

I remember Bash 1 and 2 hazily, I know I was there but who I was with and what side I was fighting on is a god damn mystery to me. However, this one doesn't seem to have quite the head of steam that it's predecessors did.

I know the Rangers are working hard and fighting the good fight but the suburb is recovering faster than I would have imagined. The only way to get to the truth of this situ is to get up on the front lines. So, not for the first time, I'm going to dirty down and crawl into the decayed jaws of the beast to pull the truth right out of its incisors.

And I'm taking all of you with me!

Stay tuned for more halitosis tinged horror and gruesome tales of gingivitis.

This is the Information Minister, eying up the arse of the beast in Old Arkham.

[Marcel Swann]

God damn, now that's a news report. All hail Information Minister.

[23skidoo]

Well, I'm here, in the belly of the beast, dodging the carrion that is raining down from it's ever hungry mouth. The journey has been long, mostly in part due to the fact that I didn't know where I was going when I started out. After a pleasant stroll through an unsullied suburb it occured to me that the wake of the Bash should look a little more desolate than this.

I asked the locals "have you seen the hordes?", "where is the Bash?", "how old is your daughter?"

They seemed both ignorant and, in one case, hostile. Something was rotten in the state of Denmark. So, using my newsmans skills and nous I pulled in a couple of favors, shook down a couple of mooks and discovered I was way off the mark.

Scarletwood is where I needed to be, the home of the Malton Angels and Dr Killdare of the Garniss Border Control - a woman who can gatecrash the pants party any time she wants!!

So I traveled East, through Dartside and Kinch Heights, proud towns that have seen better days, then into the Graysides, always running, ignoring the screams and groans of the damned, and finally into Scarletwood. Not a building is standing, not a soul to be seen. The dead are everywhere and my time may well be limited. As I write this I am hiding in a filing cabinet with a zombie shuffling around outside. If he wasn't some kind of clerk in his previous existence I may well survive the night.

Tomorrow I look for familiar faces and scotch. Until then I'm F thru K!

[Marcel Swann]

Scarletwood sounds like a lot of fun, the Rangers will have to check it out.

[winka]

....Another classy Report as only you can do,IM

[23skidoo]

If I was getting paid by the word I'd have to choose which 5 of my 6 ex's wasn't going to be getting alimony. Assuming I paid any alimony of course....

I was following the Bash, but I kept getting killed. I even covered my self in dead shit and shuffled about groaning for a while but to no avail. Those dumb bastards always sniffed me out.

Death shouldn't be a barrier to the truth, unless you're a catholic of course, but it does make it tricky to get an interview. Everyone I approached ran away screaming or turned their guns on me. And trying to get a revive in a freshly ravaged suburb is a nightmare. I've had more luck getting laid in a convent!

So I gave up the chase and decided to follow my nose instead. And that story will be coming to you a lot sooner than this one did.

Stay safe, stay tuned and stay drunk!

[Marcel Swann]

Looking forward to it, IM.

[23skidoo]

I was dead, and brains were becoming more important than looks in women for me.

This was a bad state of affairs and had to be rectified.

So where do you go when the city's gone to shit and you need to get a needle? Where other than Maltons most famous RP - St Swithuns Churvh in Yagoton, operational hub of the YRC.

They did not disappoint, even with a mini horde rampaging at Bale Mall the service was swift and painless. Once human again I decided to show my appreciation by lending a hand and working the line.

Then, after about a week of injections and chit chat I popped into the church to find none other than Nickolay, my drink sodden friend and fellow newsman sleeping one off in the confessional.

I gave him a kick and a slap, tried pouring holy water on his head, even blew a conch right into his ear, but nothing. I've seen him like this before, shortly after the Russians retook Stalingrad, and short of Hitler sticking a trident up his ass nothing was going to bring him round!

Pulling a blanket around his shoulders I left him to his coma and popped back into Whatmore NT. I asked if the good people there could keep an eye on my classy colleague and patch him up if any of their clients got bitey. Most were on board with this but the doom mongers were having none of it.

'He'll draw in the wrong sort of zombie!', 'It'll be the end of us all', Kill the bastard!!!'

Every day their venomous voices were coming through louder and louder, wailing about their need to cleanse the church of the living by any means necessary. I did what I could. If I saw them shaving I'd replace their mirrors with my naked arse and ask if they could tell the difference. I bent their needles and stole their booze. I argued with the logic of Socrates and the passion of Plato but it was futile. Like demented zealots they were determined to kill Nickolay for the crime of sleeping one off in a church.

What happened next was grim, but there was no way these fuck wits were getting to shoot their load over this C4NT. I mixed a little vodka with my buckshot and emptied both barrels into Nick's still sozzled head. The deed was done, the blight removed and forever more will the News Team view certain members of the YRC with a sense of scathing generally reserved for Mantooth and his Channel 2 ilk.

I know that the majority of them are a classy bunch, but when you have an open door membership policy that doesn't vet applicants on looks and style then what can you expect.

Me and Nickolay have chatted since, and he knew why I did what I did and was glad it was me rather than one of them.

2 days later Whatmore was overrun by the dead, but I was there and saw Zeus riding a horse called Justice at their head.

Stay Classy Malton....or else!

[Marcel Swann]

Beautiful....just beautiful.