Obey the prime objective! Live!
What does living mean to you? Everything.
Eat. Sleep. Procreate. That might be the simplest formula available for sentient species (and some species are also able to avoid sleep altogether). It’s also equivalent to the life some of us lead. The worker-drones in the great factory-cities of southeast Asia, apart from the occasional uprising and, of course, any entertainment a slaves wage can buy, suffer such a burden. Still they live! To enjoy the pleasure of sniffing a bag of glue, or fucking a cheap street whore and then trying to run. To at least feel the pain of a nightly mugging than feel nothing at all.
There is no afterlife. In case it’s news to you, the easter bunny reportedly isn‘t real either. And back then, Mary had the bright idea of calling it a virgin birth – most creative excuse for fucking around with demigods that I‘ve ever heard. No, we only have one life. This one. And why should we obey the ones that are telling us how to live it? Down with the percenters! We‘re the ones doing all the work, we, the low and middle strata! If we unite, they shall fall! If it isn‘t worth it for you, then think about your kids! Think about the future we could give them. Think about the one that awaits them now.
Why should we tolerate hostile takeovers of personal integrity on the open streets by the ones that can claim the liquidity? When was the last time you saw a girl on the street being fucked in every hole imaginable by percenters while one of their lackeys transferred the funds? Not all of them fight it, you know. Getting a few extra creds that way has been the custom for quite some time now. We have become used to our women being used indiscriminately by the upper strata, just like the serfs of the middle ages.The bankers, the mole-men of our century, allied with the political and the aristocratic strata way back, in 2012, after the great devaluation. And we‘ve been trapped in this hell ever since, and the only way we can get free is by setting ourselves free!
Long live the masses! Long live the 6th International, Anarchist-Maoist-Trotzyite Union of Aserbaidschan! Fuck those who fuck you!
It was typical propaganda. Stuff he‘d read a thousand times, as it was spread throughout the lower strata like hell on peanutbutter. Nothing you could do down there didn‘t bring you into some kind of contact with the criminal and semi-criminal business sectors, and the RPG was just one of the players in the game. Mattt didn‘t subscribe to any burb – he lived on the fringe, in a ransacked shack that a few of his companions had squatted for the time being. The security firm in question had a local feud over protection money with a branch of the neosicilians, and so most of their personnel were either dead or running. But the neosicilians were civilised – they enjoyed company, and fostered friendships, and built their own network of trust farther and farther. Their feuds with different players, such as the Han or the Nipponese, were often settled on a diplomatic basis, and marriages or gift-women often resulted from the deals. And they often needed something delivered, be it pizza or a ton of coke. If there’s one thing the inhabitants of that shack were good in, that was moving a lot of stuff quickly without anyone noticing. Theirs was the moveweb.