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Strafflagen Underground

Elrich von Richt

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Thomas Sjöberg let the bottom of his new recliner sink into the carpet. Leaning back, he took a puff from the cigarette he'd been lighting for the past minute. The return of some kind of order to Sweden had been viewed with salvation and glory to some, but he preferred the chaos as did some other obscure Swedish youths. Over time, a 'underground' had begun to form in Sweden. Illegal parties, and illegal activities played out among those who knew the of the 'underground' and were accepted into it. The underground had no command structure, no leadership, no particularly powerful players among it. Instead, it was a fragmented and disorganized section of the Swedish youth that simply enjoyed the thrill, and the chaos of living like the old days after democracy fell.

Much of the younger generation in Sweden didn't take to the strange and lewd activities that the underground knew to be it's calling, but Sjöberg was among that minority of sorts. The cigarette he was smoking let it's special kick in, and the bit of LSD laced in began to give him the tingling sensation and hallucinations of grandeur he'd been waiting for. He didn't go into a typical convenience store for this packs of smokes, no, he went straight to his friends in the underground so that he could get the fix he got every afternoon after work. Work. He hated that word, but it was the only way to get around in the world. Without money, an individual in society simply ceased to exist as a functioning human being and was looked upon as 'trash', eventually becoming a homeless beggar doing whatever the man or the rich told him to get by and make end's meet. It disgusted him, and some of his secret friends would be inclined to agree. In his bedroom, as he was now, he felt totally at peace. Away from his parents, and the rest of the two-dimensional people he knew at school, he could be himself. If his school friends, the see-through glass characters they were, could see him now... they'd be more than freaked out, hell, they'd be shocked and began taking active like the conservative and liberal lapdogs they were. Screw them, I'm myself, why can't I do whatever the f**ck I want? That mindset was what kept him and the underground going. Fueled. Alive. Like a never-ending machine that continued operating no matter what kind of crackdown the cops instated. Where one club fell, another just popped up. When a hang-out spot was placed off-limits, another one soon seeped it's way into the know. When a 'convicted drug dealer' was arrested, one of his background apprentices just propped himself up and took his place. The underground, while disorganized, didn't see it as a weakness. It was a strength. What the police couldn't figure out was how it kept springing up, even with a minority among the population. But hey, they played to live dangerous.

Finishing the last hit off his LCD-laced cigarette, he made his way down to the local rave club 'Likvidation', where he was set to meet up with a couple of friends tonight. He snickered as he flicked the last hot coals off the cigarette, and tried to toss it away casually in the trash basket in the corner. A miss. He didn't care, his room was a mess, and he liked it. It was another form of his rebellion, so why change it?

He got up out of his slumped and relaxed position, and made his way down to his 1992 Nissan 240SX parked away in the driveway. The black decals on the side, and the red neon glow severed to make him look like a poser to the world, but he didn't care. Not even the poser-like spoiler mattered to him, he only thought that it looked cool and didn't give a damn what the rest of the world thought. He was cool with the underground? What else mattered in this broken world?

As the car sped out of the driveway, he watched the lights pass by with different colors thanks to his LSD-induced trance. Driving on drugs wasn't the easiest thing he'd ever tried to do, but after a couple of times he was used to it. Parking in one of the courtyard slots about a block way from the club, he exited the car and slammed the door on the way out. The door almost caught his baggy, ripped jeans, but missed by a quarter. Letting himself rise out of the seat still made them slip a little though. He tightened the belt a little further, but not enough to look like a conformist pig, or a order-loving piece of trash. He let his walk, with a little slide, drag him over to the club casually. A walk that would have taken a normal, working human only 5 minutes took him 7. Maybe the couple of times he stopped to enjoy the weird delusions the LSD decided to let him enjoy made the difference? Who knew. He was in-front of the club, and that's all that mattered. Tonight would be pretty freakin' crazy, but he couldn't imagine just how crazy it'd turn out to be. Putting on a half-assed smile and he spotted his real friends, his underground 'mates', he raised his hand and let out a small gesture of acknowledgement, '[i]Yo.[/i]'

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  • 1 month later...

Yuki Kurosawa, a MoG[Corp] civilian, aged 21 taking a tourist trip to Sweden woke up around 8pm in her hotel room, she had been awake until almost 11am the same day, but decided to roll out of bed, popping an Alert® pill in her mouth and gulping it down with a mouth full of stale beer from the bottle she had left on her bedside stand last morning. laying in bed waiting for the pill to kick in, her head was pounding from her hangover and not enough sleep.

On the first afternoon in Sweden, she was able to purchase 500 pills each of Soma® and Alert® off MoG[Corp] container ship crews personal supplies, the drugs being incredibly popular with the entire corporation. MoG[Corp] couldn't sell their most profitable products in stores here, but Yuki was figuring she should turn her summer vacation into a profitable venture for herself, planning on using the money to buy more of her own stock. If her plans for tonight went well she would take what she made and go to the docks the next day, flipping her money for the entire week in the country, and then catching a plane back home, she had intended to own at least 80% of her own stock, more than doubling her current ownership, and planned on not having to work as a Javelin Catcher again. (OOC: CN IRC channel poll decided this, credit to Lord Boris).

Checking herself out in the mirror one final time admiring her contacts, after getting showered, dressed and as beautiful as possible to hit the club, she stuffed the bags of pills into her large purse, walking down the hallway to the elevator, rocking back and forth in the elevator to the music, the older gentlemen riding along appeared to give her a strange look, but she just smiled at him and he looked away, so she stopped paying attention to him. The elevator dinged signaling it had reached the first floor and she walked out quickly, out the door and into a waiting cab, giving her the club she had heard about from one of her first customers. The cabby didn't speak to her much, only asking where she was from, after she told she heard him mutter something about "youth", and then he turned on the radio, probably to not have to talk further, she took the hint and plugged her earbuds into her phone, listening to some [url="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ua0KpfJsxKo"]music,[/url] while on the drive, paying the driver, giving him a 11% tip or so she estimated, just to make him not have a completely negative memory of her, but not enough to leave any memory at all. Yuki had high hopes for this business idea, but after entering the club she found herself looking at a world far closer to home, holding onto her bag slightly tighter, she realized how many people there were in here just like her with disposable income and looking to disconnect for a few hours, or even forever depending on how similar this world was to home.

[i]Yuki Kurosawa[/i]

Edited by Mogar
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