A Shodowrun utopia, becoming true? No...

In the world of the shadowrun pen and paper RPG a Virus trasforms mankind and the next generations mutates during puperty into Orks, Trolls or Elves.

I just read that there is evidence that about 20.000 years ago a Corona epedemic already struck this world. Well, the eastern part of this planet.

Viruses somehow interact with the proteins our body is made of and that ancient epedemic left some trace in human DNA.

So, did that epedemic back than create another human?

The numbers don't match up realy. We are homo sapiens and before us there was the Homo Neandertalensis. We coexisted for some time.

The oldest finds of modern Homo sapiens skeletons are about 200.000 years old and were discovered in Africa, while in Southwest Asia 100.000 and elsewere 60.000 to 40.000 years ago. The Neandertalensis was destinct about 40.000 years ago Dr. Google taught me.

We were created by mutations, too. That's the way biologic organisms adopt to changing environments. They learn. Our parents, the Neandertalensis, was ... different. Most likely less intelligent throughout the whole spectrum of intelligence.

We can destinguish us from our ancient parents easily, because we have a very different skeleton. I wonder if modern science can based on ancient skeletons check if there are DNA differences, really. DNA is called in the net "a fragile molecule that decays over time" and I am in no position to judge how much of scientific work is actually just pure speculation. 

One thing is for sure, so. There is no brain to be found that old. 

I am also quite sure that changes of the brain leading to more intelligence are of major importance to enable us to create better social structures and developing new technologies from the wheel meeting an axis to modern super computers that do more than running massive online games, while our skeleton structure might be not that important for the overall progress of our species.

This epedemic will have an impact on us as humans. May be not genetecally but unfortuntally, other parallels of major epedemics match. Those that created major violant conflicts in our society.

Hopefully, this time we will fix the problems of our system and prepare for the next Virus striking. Hopefully...

Dark Future short stories - Second - A Tight Pussies Perspective

 

A Tight Pussies Perspective

 

Squeezy had her name for a reason. A mean one. She was making her way in the anarchic parts of the sprawl right in the shadow of a few high risers and pretty much next to the old rail way station that lost its original use and turned into a slum with a constantly changing chaos of barracks, tents and boxes that gave shelter to those that failed with coping with the constant drug levels of the society after the downfall.

The name came from her implant that combined with elite force level training turned her into an assassin of very special kind. She had her vagina upgraded to another level beyond believe. She was part of the blood squad to the prostitutes that got independent from men by making use of a Sten Gun version and cheap ammo that flooded the streets during the downfall.

The construction was simple and based on a very old design, but upgraded with a 3D printed pistol grip, loaded from the bottom instead of sideways and came with or without a laser pointer or basic optic. That was some time ago and the guns were still around, but she made her way further up. She was born when these guns had their peak in use and the women of the trade took independence by force against their old pimps and especially the police forces everyone ripped into pieces anyway, in these years known as the downfall when society crashed hard.

They owned a few streets in between the secured high risers and the old railway station. It was also the party centre for the anarchic parts of the sprawl full of synth drug dealers that had to give them their share and bars, clubs and restaurants serving the shadows.

She was not part of the ladies security squad that still used the Sten Gun version, but had a rooftop appartement with her wife and another couple of the same status and trade.

They dealed in information and secured those few streets against the ConMen that too often were tempted to pay their bills brute force instead of as agreed.

Someone managed to do the impossible and ripped the shooting star of financial entrepreneurs that just recently made it onto the most important manager magazine front page into minced meat creating a few dozen clients for the psychologic and mental health doctors of about a dozen companies. Someone got way too loud for his own good. Someone that was already shit scary known as the Black Striker. Someone that no one would have believed to be capable of such an sophisticated operation. Someone nobody knew more about than that he was riding a black prehistoric fuel based motorcycle, in an all black bullet proof combat suit on military level that never spoke, but indicated yes or no with his head only and would always create a mess, a real mess when terminating a target charging the highest rates and collecting them.

Someone that killed some years ago an entire slave owner village deeper in the woods north west and left a message for the ConMen that took advantage of the slaves on pretty ugly synth drugs. He crucified the three leaders and burned the crosses live streaming all of it onto the video screens of the bars down in Squeezies streets on a Saturday night peak when the ConMen freaked out in the VIP lounges of these few streets and those with cash from the anarchic parts blew it all over the place freaking out even more.

There was no more freaking out any more this evening. It costed them a little fortune.

Nobody knew where the dozen slaves went to and why this guy even left a pretty nasty puzzle of effective booby traps.

Actually, nobody knew for real that it was Black Striker, but Squeezy was in the information business and the Con Squad leader that was sent to check if any of their managers survived loosing almost all of his men was a reliable customer addicted to her pussy and that very special performance enhancing cocktail they would offer along with her special services to shoot them away from this earth and reality into a space of sexual high only gods were able to enter. That’s what the flyer said. 

He also did not directly mention it, but all of this happened after Black Striker was hired for a job to take out a ConMen that started to miss the appropriate doses of a very different synth drug than the ladies cocktail and considered his secretary an appropriate object to turn his sadistic desires into reality right within the HR office he was head of.

She died a painful death. He than went on the run and managed to get out of the safe zone into the old railway station. Black Striker was hired to make a point and to restore confidence within the lower ranks of the office staff. Those that did the actual work. 

The thing with Black Striker was that he always kept waving his hand in the pub he entered if a direct meeting with the client was needed and the dark net conference room did not suite him for any reason to get more information. The ConMen hiring Striker gave Striker a full picture and even mentioned the village, which he actually should not have done, especially he was a regular their, too. 

First, Striker killed the ConMen on the run who was hiding in the upper floors of the old railway station in a former fast food restaurant and along with him the gang that until then run the railway stations synth drug supply using military grade hand grenades, a few rockets and finally, as always, about a thousand rounds in a heavy rain of bullets to wipe out the gang he actually had a meeting with to talk about the ConMens head price. They should have known that Striker was not the chatty type of person upfront. Unfortunately, they also used their own product, like everyone. 

Striker rose prices afterwards, quite successfully. 

He than caused, but also finished the most violent and shortest, but a rather small gang war in the sprawl. After the second synth drug gang he took out using a flame thrower before emptying the full auto gun the others decided to stop hiring him and sorted their disputes out in person directly from now on. 

So, he was back being a ConMen exclusive again for everyone in and outside the safe zone afterwards, while inititally actually a ConMen had hired him to take out one of the gangs and this beast of a crazy freak also had their biggest rivals pay him, beside stripping the gang from all their valuable assets. Gold and Silver coins where the preferred pay for their cooks and a hacker stripped their dark net accounts while the flame thrower burned down their place. 

The second gang was that biggest rival that thought they could ambush Striker on payday. They lost their pub underestimating his combat suit that easily withstand their 9mills. A suite that was developed for elite military units shortly before the downfall, that was not available anywhere and Squeezy was looking for - for ever, ever. He just reloaded two drums and walked out five minutes after he had beaten the president dead by breaking his skull under his combat boot. 

It must be him. Another time pushing his price up and with this impressive showcase of his extraordinary capabilities someone to save some digital and gold coins for to acquire his services in the near future. 

If he dared to take out an entire board of a Con. A board known for opposing sexual pleasures being a constant pain in the arse to the ladies, yet powerful and influential.

Mmh. Let’s wait and see if he managed to survive the councils retaliation attempts. And what his price would be afterwards....

The beginnings of Dark Futures

Throughout history dysantrop societies existed, but fortunately not everywhere. The Roman empire was based on slavery and exploiting other people, but limited to Europe and the Mediterranean coast lines.

In the Mid-Ages, before the Renaissance, feudalism and an aristocracy considering its people their property instead of their legacy created what is today known as the dark mid ages.

In modern times the creation of nations and failing to stop their tendency towards fashism along with capitalism and communism swinging to their extremes make ground for the todays beginnings.

These times all have in common that their system that defined them turned against the humans it was supposed to serve.

Off civilized and organised nations it is clan or tribe structures that either serve its humans with a mixture of a communist style of sharing goods, socialist responsibility towards others and a capitalist way of honouring individual efficiency or they turn into Mafia or Taliban like abusive structures suppressing by valuing one family over others.

Like a pendulum our societies kept swinging from one side to another and will most likely continue for some time.

To me it appears that we reached a plateau in our development as humans and nature does not like it. Corona might be more than just another epidemic after HIV or Cholera and a warning shot that the way we use our technological advances to move and connect, to build and create, to have joy and fun became hostile to the overall ecologic system we live in: Planet Earth.

Venice got down onto its knees having an overload of tourism, yet more and more came instead of heading somewhere else and only a Virus turned the lagunes clean again.

World wide pollution due to mobility based on fossil fuels is a known and scientificaly proofen threat to this planet's ecosystem since the 80ies, yet we keep going for war to ensure our mineral oil and gas supply and only an epidemic grounded planes and cut down daily traffic to and for work that is so much not required in the digital age.

Most of our markets turned into oligopolies and the customer cannot choose anymore except between sub-brands of a few enterprises.

Ignoring all of that is the easiest way to make your day in peace, while speaking out loud will turn you ultimately into a target of the media, politics and possible worse - your privacy will be gone for sure. "How dare you?"

Short term profit and goals are too tempting to resist and rewarding in our financal sytem while long term saving and investment is good and excepted only on these sweet, nice social media posts called memes.

Everybody says, but does different.

Face over soul.

So face your soul ...  and be a Cyberpunk

Dark Future short stories - First - The Garden of Hells Kitchen Welcomes You

Dark Future short stories - First - The Garden of Hells Kitchen Welcomes You

The Garden of Hells Kitchen Welcomes You

The night came after a strong red sunset. Red. Red like blood. This little town was his safe place and a trap. The world had gone to shit quicker than everyone expected and now it was all against all.

Contract wet work was bad money, but there was no better around. The super city had plenty of jobs to offer and was just about an hour away. Most of the jobs were done inside that sprawl, so.

He was known as the Black Striker, because of his black motorcycle cloath and his attack tactics striking like a crazy suicide killer down onto his target.

This time it was the first time someone came seriously after him with a proper head money. Usually, a job was revenged to the targeted party, sometimes even by buying over the hit man. Who pays most gets the loyalty.

This little town was taken over by a local sect of religous fanatics during the downfall and they drove out the old church, took over their positions and buildings. They were dysantrop and who did not turn junky or committed suicide by the age of about 20 was send to the former capital to enforce their interests. This was their breeding and training ground. A little town way past its glory with no reason to stop by for anyone travelling, especially since all motorways were interrupted by blowing up the bridges and no trains came anymore for a long tinme for the very same reason. 

There was an unspoken deal between Striker and the sectarians, they would not enter the even more little valley bothering all his collected stray dogs and he would go for no more rampages through a town his family ruled centuries ago.

The last job was taking out a banker with a known track record for charging flexible interest rates using his small but powerful investment company. That was not too unusual, but he had pushed his synthetic drug consumption to most stupid levels and tried to go for war against his major big brother by hiring the most feared contractor. 

Unfortunately, for him that contractor did somehow mind dying and got double from that big brother while keeping his down-payment to hit stupid instead. Black Striker was in buisness long time for a reason. 

So he did. They all leave the safe zone of the sprawl some time, but this time it should be a bolt statement of power, strength and position and it needed to happen straight in the very safe zone, the holy grounds of the post downfall financial industry, a job based on an interesting bonus. One could not say no to them anyway, yet they always pay big money.

The night had come and the electronics of his camera system on the surrounding mountains were on high alert and would send out recon drones to check out approaching vehicals of a possible second wave. 

It appeared that his violent death was supposed to be part of the bolt statement and a tactic to cover up the dispute of their most profitable little brother financing all kind of projects in the shadows of a society that had rather limited sunshine and hardly any growth in the spotlight while “the streets” promised constant high profit. 

He’d try to find out what the actual plan was sometime soon and wondered, if they thought that a hit in the safe zone was actually possible.

The safe zone had three parts and was connected by high security fast ways and a subway system.

First was the airport with high class hotels and as high class office buildings. This area exploded in importance after the downfall, because it guaranteed safety and an international gate to the rest of the tumbling world in which the always and new poor could be easily ignored and all the shiny neon light turned the complex structure into something like a space station.

Second were the high risers that got some more company and had been connected by additional tunnels connecting them and a few nice open air spots at the river and former market squares that were surrounded by walls without gates to keep the striding poor out and in the old street system and its dirty, anarchic buildings. They just digged into the existing streets deep and closed them again, they build up massive steel enforced concrete walls to block view and access and, if necessary pulled down an old building to not give any sniper position against the rich and powerful of the new society after the downfall creating a world within the world.

The third part was an office quarter, turning the airport - city center - office quarter safe zone system into a the bling bling triangle ruling by money and guns what was left from the old Republic. They just build a concrete and fence system around the existing foot print of the quarter and refurbished the old railway to the city center with guiding walls and security towers along with a new build fast-way road that cut straight through actually not so abandoned old quarters from a past, but then stable world. This was the world of the lower ConMen, the suits, the office slaves glad to have not dropped down into poverty, but constantly threatened with downfall, if not compliant. They usually had little houses in guarded communities further outside the sprawl that got regularly under attack by violant hordes of armed stupids on drugs. They had every morning a some few hours of fear on less high secured roads to make their way into the safe zone that constantly reminded them of the consequences of not compliance. They were binded down into the system by a credit line to pay of the house and next vacation flight and, if the hordes tried to break through the fences and walls of their guarded community in which they gave birth to their born a ConSlave kids they heard the gun fire stakato of the security forces fighting them back. Another company force going after a manager or department usually was better organised and triggered heavier noise from intercepting jets or helicopters. The airport ensured highest levels of security and they had to be glad to be within the chosen grounds of power. 

The target had its office in the second zone on a mid level floor of a high riser and his two floor apartment in another one next by. The air port zone was off limits anyway, officially to tightly secured but a leathel attack even in the second zone would have caused major debates at the council and therefore the attack was most likely not ordered by the council head and possibly not annouced neither.

The third was out of question, just because the target never went there and so it must be the high risers zone. Considering a missing rest and bonus payment, but a company security commando dead and ripped apart by Strikers dogs food they had underestimated him. But where and how did they figure out this place he considered to have to give up now for ever?

Most contractors worked with sniper weapons from a safe distance or bombs, but the Strikers special signature was an infantry attack using a drum fed Tec-9 sub machine gun from close distance and a fast motorcycle somewhere close by to get away. This was a new level of contract. An opportunity. High pay, high level of difficulty. There was no way to get out of the safe zone due to the massive presence of full auto armed security forces, check points and the weight of RPGs and high velocity ammo needed to shoot his way out into the anarchy of the sprawl that would secure him, but kill the ConSecurity in their fancy uniforms. 

They had understimated his creativity and connections. The anti aircraft guns of the safe zone were not able to shoot down a tiny mid range rocket fired from 20km away and pretty much everyone had enemies. More than one. After taking the counter-contract, which he was able to do without entering a saloon in the lost quarters of the sprawl as the first one he had countered, which would have forced him again to pay his respect and tribute to a club or organization of some kind in arms dividing the anarchy of theses streets and buildings in a chaotic system of over population he found a hacker that was an enemy. Just a few text messages later after leaving the dark net confernce room Striker had found that hacker that for a reasonable amount of cash would provide him with a live stream from the safe zone security cameras and gave him a shout as soon as the face recognition would ring indicating a match. A week after the first ring Striker had a profile. Their biggest source of strength was also the ConMens sweet weak spot: Dedication to routine.

Collateral damage was no option as the client pointed out and it also could have caused unpredicted actions of revenge. The rocket was tiny and guided and the time window of 30 minutes at his most favourite Cafe on Saturday in the open sky, always at the very same place, was perfect. 

The strike went down as planned. The target was killed with a cup in his hand shortly before leaving to the gym by a self build tiny rocket that hardly was bigger that a .50 projectile launched from a forest 19.5km away from the hit point and did its job without any collateral damage. Well, physical collateral damage. The rocket had so much kinetic energy that it ripped the torso apart and spread a few litres of blood and meat all over the other guests. It struck from above straight down through head, chest and stomach exited through his ass and must have further driven itself into the concert below his chair. A perfect hit. 

Striker checked the hit following the live pictures provided by a hacker that liked to see his target dead, too, from using his VR glasses sitting on his motorcycle after er launched the tiny rocket and just waited until he could slowly drive away back into his valley making sure he had not to cancel the hit by a long range emergency signal, if anything unsuspected would come across, to destruct the rocket. He was in business for a long time and be able to take the highest contract cash for that reason: He was in cold blood on a job. 

Back in his valley it was all as normal. He fed the dogs with some more additional food than the constant rat stream that tried to also conquer his valley coming from the little town could provide, where they considered these rats holy like the Hindus cows and their deseases just helped to divide the weak from their strong, when about 12 hours after the strike no money was in yet, but he started to sense along with his dogs, a threat approaching. 

That has not happened ever. Not that strong. No way the townies had a bad patch of synthetic drug that made them try funny and stupid against their unspoken agreement.

He had turned the valley and its two mountain tops into his safe place to store his equipment and from time to time hide an exit person or family until further passage was safe to a place far far away inhabited by runaways called Punks that lived with, instead against each other.

Almost all houses from that abandoned village were empty, some had his spartanic private rooms, there was a garage and workshop, a few were turned into grow houses to provide with food and the only high he was ever interested in, places for the dogs and their breed, storage of food and stuff he took from the Con world that was useful such as all kind of electronic equipment, clothes for undercover operations and gold and silver coins to pay of the old school organizations still active in that chaos that was the new reality after the downfall and that so much missed their lost powers and positions.

He had taken good care that both access ends of the valley were blocked with difficult to recognise but movable gates and even had removed parts of the old road to keep anything that was not off-road, like racers or go fast smugglers out. The houses had a system of booby traps and autonomous guns that would, if the hidden security cams and moving sensors connected to a military grade artificial intelligence defence system suggested, go live and be able to take out an entire division, but an old school division from way before the downfall. They could came in with a platoon of those tanks that he had collected shortly after the downfall when the soldiers gone somewhere, leaving even the light equipment behind, and that were incorporated into the valley’s defence system, without a chance.

On both mountain tops the long and mid range camera systems kept an eye on the little town and its  surrounding villages while to the other mountain sides a system of traps, barb-wire overgrown by dense spiky berries ensured that getting up the steep terrain through a wood full of rats was no option. He was surrounded by an enemy that he would not hesitate to play against any sprawl force. Usually they looked for him down there in their town after a contract gone bad which hardly ever happened, but most there did not even remember that he existed or his valley so close, as it was just another abandoned part and not even the most spooky one of these religious freaks ever really left their usual paths and certainly not their own company constantly on drugs.

So, it was a pitty that he could have to give up this place soon.

They came in bright day light on a Sunday and therefore were not forces from the old church still having their foot in the wider region trying to enforce an old sentence for being a heretic that came after a few of their sisters decided to leave church prison with some help from the outside. 

All dogs felt it and looked with him in the same direction. Darkness was about to come too close. He went into the bunker next to the garage and his private rooms to get into his combat suit and linked his VR to the camera system controlled by the AI. He usually could feel danger before the AI rang to indicate a threat.

The bunker would also be his last line of defence and was able to take artillery shells not in use any more carrying mini nukes.

There they came. A convoy of street cars, armoured, darkend windows showing the signs of the security forces of the clients company. Big brother of a greedy finance specialist trying to take out the contractor that had sold out the little man.

They did not pass by further into town, but stopped at the southern gate system. So, they were up for him and had pretty good information. For them the outside area only showed the ruins of what once was an industrial complex, but quite tiny compared to those they protected. All was overgrown with fast growing plants. The former road deeper into the valley was blocked by a krator from a 10kg TNT explosion, scrapped trash buses and trucks that were supposed to create the impression of being remainings from a military grade attack on a brigade taking base there some time ago. Rats were all around and a mine warning sign should keep of everyone that still could think straight and had chances to survive a certain attack by the rat population.

This was as far as their cars could take them. A drone lifted off their convoy and flew into the valley in good sight by Strikers defence system. There was still hope that they would turn around. The valley had too many densely planted small trees to give a standard recon drone like this one any chance to do its job and figure out what was hiding there.

Instead it looked like an old battte field of the nearby military base against a militia as they regularly happened during the downfall.

They had no spider recon robot and therefore leaked patience or were up for a quick and dirty job.

The drone started hovering and they stepped out of their cars. Two platoons, 12 wet targets in light body armour carrying standard high end security weapons ideal for house to house combat.

The problem was who told them where to die?

They slowly entered the valley and made their way deeper into the compound. 

They did not know what they were facing. They were a reconecance team, only. Hopefully. Black Striker was always exaggerating a bit and stayed alive by expecting the worst. 

They got further and the first one was attacked by a rat a few meters in. These rats got bigger after the downfall and gave the dogs quite a fight brining up to 5 kilos into the death match. The road into the valley was a motorcycle road only, he had no use for cars and used an old Huey helicopter to get human load or supplies out and into his valley.

So the space the little path gave was maximum two meters wide and high, hidden always below trees, winding like a snake deeper into the valley, using the remainings of the old road while being interrupted by movable blocks controlled by the AI.

The leading ConSec Commando climbed over a car wreck and got to close to a waiting rat hunting. Country side rats were bigger and these under the constant threat of the dog pack in the center of valley also way more aggressive than those somewhere in the underground of the sprawl they came from. 

He freaked out and lost. Screaming his lungs and soul out as soon as the animal had its first bite into his uncovered flesh below his helmet he tumbled and pulled the trigger pushing full auto fire into two of his following soldiers close behind him. Three others flanking the advance started firing killing the rat and the man with targeted bursts as Dysantrop Soldiers usually did instead of trying to survive they punished who was weak.

The teams stopped, looking at each other in fear not knowing what just struck upon them. The rats were not even part of the defence system now on high alert, but food for the dogs as soon as they made their way past the gate system.

They stopped and heard the squeaking high pitch sound of the other rats that did mind loosing one of them. The AI indicated that their puls levels started to get out of control and based on their eyes their adrenalin reached new levels of uncontrollable heights. “Welcome to the garden of hells kitchen” Striker thought while walking through the virtual 3D space the AI had created for him awaiting his orders. The orders were “Hold. Stay invisible” and hope came back that he might keep his place for some more days.

The two teams freaked out when the rats attacked in a pack. About six big ones attacked two in the middle of the corso from below biting into their boots and trousers that were way to soft to withstand their sharp teeth and strong chars.

That was it. Along with them screaming in pain and fear and uncontrolled fire arm use more and more rats attacked to have lunch. 

The last car waiting outside reversed with screaming tyres. That must be the commando car collecting the video footage of the body cams. That car got a tiny tracking robot that would rest in silence and after about a week use the first opportunity in open air to come back into transmission range to send a full tracking history.

Now. It was time to wait after giving the hacker a warning that the Con might be on the lookout. 

Maybe, he’d figure out who pointed them to his place....sometime...

3 Cyberpunk Albums - Final release

I just published the third and last Album of my Avant Garde Cyberpunk Music triology. Of course it's pretty much me only that listens to it for now, which is the fate of an independent artist that has no support and if, only enemies in that music industry run by coce-heads supporting only their artists promoting drug use and, I guess, theft.

The third and last one of this triology of avant garde Cyberpunk music is the most avant garde and I guess I missed the point for many. Avant Guard means to be off the crowd, where I never was part of anyway. So, why would I try to compete with Mr. Biber in the charts or Mr Cox in the clubs, please?

I never tried to become part of the big mighty music industry machine and I am already glad that I still may call these weirdo tunes based on most simple tools my ownn for an unmet timeframe instead of losing my mind on songs on the radio wondering why that premier sounds so familar, yet I cannot have heard it.

As an avant garde artist I intent to explore and check off ahead of the pack possible ways and paths and much of that won't work, especially without a proper studio and in solitude sourrounded by less than helpfull neighbours in a town I feel alienated and constantly in need to pretend to be normal. Wich is a tiny exagaration of the actual situation. Or just because it is the wrong way of composition, melody or rythm to be accepted by the pack.

I hope that this block, these tunes, the album art and all starting with my strange artist name will stay so very niche and away from the pop, posh larger than life society that I felt disrespected by, since they started to fuck with me, that this will stay mine and mine only without the past psychological and phyiscal violance, but one day it might pay the bills - my bills for things I like giving a shit about the neighbours.

This free world is for humans like me so not free, because without any solid proof no policeman, prossecuter or lawyer will help an outsider like me and I assume I am not alone listening to songs that at least in parts have been stolen from humans doomed to be loosers in this society, too.

I am sick of trying to fit in and being the nice guy a strategy that got me only more servier pain. Pain as I never felt before. Pain that changed me way more than the beating when I was about 16 and my "friends" watching in stand by as I mentioned in a post earlier.

I know you are reading this. Producer Tom or one of your gangsters. I know you are close. I will kill you if I can clearly identify you and your company, inch allah - if God wants to.

Let's get it on coward. I am waiting.

<this is art. there is no theft or Tom. no one ever listened to me. these are my very first steps in music and this block is an artistic addtion to the music. It is Cyberpunk Art>

An Old Men’s War

Cyberpunk derives from Dark Future literature and Pen and Paper games. In those the player steps using a character sheet listing its characters skills set and equipment into a dark future world such as Shadowrun or Cyberpunk or Mech Warrior to live guided by a Game Master through an adventure.

I played that way before 3D computer games were available and affordable. I loved to be a Game Master and to guide my fellow class mates and friends through an adventure starting in first class of the German High School equivalent with about 13 years old.

It needs some preparation, knowledge of the rule set and was for me the perfect place and environment to let my fantasy, my full creativity roll while school only taught me to fit in and listen no matter of my own heart and soul. 

So, I let five friends about as old as me enter a different world in a child’s play the grown ups did not understand based only on a set of DIN A4 sheets of paper listing attributes and abilities of an imagined person born into a dark future that was either a magician, street samurai, hacker or driver, a human enhanced with implants, an Ork, Troll, Elve or Dwarf depending on the rule book. A fictional character that had skills like small fire arm handling, sniper training, building and handling explosives, hacking firewalls, social engineering, driving a car, truck or motor cycle, understanding contracts and so on. We were those persons for those few hours. We lived in a Cyberpunk world. We were kids. 

In those games the imagined persons are living in the shadows of society, they are runners, today we'd call them criminals or outlaws. We stole information stored on offline computers that needed us to breach into secured facilities. Secured by dark future companies that became dominant over states or nations and republics after the big Virus changed mankind and taht well could afford military grade personal and equipment straight up to war birds, but of course also counter hackers that would fry your crews hackers brain, Artificial Intelligence securing the intranet by running 24/7 armed security systems beside contract magicians that try to kill you in the astral space or as combat magicians using spells that would burn you by a magical fire from the inside. I fucking loved it! 

I started to learn about military strategy and tactics, about computer systems and security, about fire arm and explosive production, function and use to become the one major game master around straight after finishing the more Star Treck like Traveller rule book, because I found a Shadowrun rule book in my preferred little already back than oddly book shop along with an entire series of novels of which many had rather realistic military scenarios, yet placed in a dark future scenario. Frome about 13 on I stopped learning for school protocol completely and instead started to self teach based on the principals of A.S. Neill. I knew I needed to learn quick, because it was so much to learn that caught my interest and so first I checked on how to learn. School was boring and what they wanted to teach me was for a life I knew I did not want. I hated their disrespect and pleasure in giving me orders, in shutting down my arguments by their position instead of an answer based on logic and reason, in that not answering my questions soon any more at all, in forcing me to learn what was not of my interest, so I turned Cyberpunk. 

Years later when I was skateboarding instead of creating shadowrun adventures in this little garrison town divided into Natives, Germans and Americans it turned out that a lot of those dark future ideas where dam close to the real world. 

In shadowrun some magicians are using drugs to enhance their magical powers, in the real world some gangster use drugs to become scarier than they are, as if it was a spell of illusion supported by toxic substances.

Hackers got into the news for breaching secure company and military computers.

Gangsta recruiters looked for get away drivers on bank robberies, gun men to rip off or secure drug deals, fists to beat up gamblers in depth, distribution partners for their product from Cocaine to Ecstasy down to Cannabis just like Con Men in the shadowrun utopia looking for runners. Just, this was the real world and I was no character sheet. Street sports were outlawed back than and I was on the constant run from the police in uniform and without. So, the OGs thought we might be ready for the next step deeper into the shadows and some did not take a "No!" for an answer. 

Until I was about 16 I managed to avoid fights and got away with a bit of self-taught Judo, Boxing and skills acquired from street skating such as falling without pain, standing up again and basically running like Speedy Gonzales. I was pretty much straight edge except a joint if someone spared some for me poor native saving money for the next deck to keep skateing. Than I got my first major beating. The kick came so fast I did not see it, I was tired after a long day of skating and my hoody was not helpful to see the jumped high kick that hit my head and almost knocked me out. That German, what ever, from where ever, kept beating me up like none ever and I can't remember any more how, but I got away and home. 

I was done with Germans now, even my fella German skaters around me that evening at the very city centre's market square just watched and blamed me for having had a big mouth. 

So, I started focusing on martial arts autodidact training and studies, so I started getting in touch with the Americans. Who better could teach me fighting than a front line elite soldier? I never was in a German sports club of any kind for long and from that point on divided my days in between skating and street ball with the Americans. I focused on books on martial arts, read everything I got my hands on. I turned a street samurai if this had been a dark future world. 

The Americans treated me with respect and did not lie or bad mouthed me as the Germans naturally always did. So, the next OG that did not take a No for an answer got beaten the shit out by me having had adopted a sweet southern American accent quickly and everybody in their gang rows respected that sharp, oiled Butterfly, because that trigger they would not pull, but pose with a gun way too easy. It was 15 years max, so, if it fired a live round. 

The biggest fear of the GIs was not the local German gangstas that tried to establish a gang system with even some African origin heading a gang calling themselves Blood or Crips (I cant remember), prentending to be an American, but most they feard that those table top leaders back home would give them order to go east in arms. 

Now, I learned about 70.000 nuclear war heads, about large army strategies, about military tactics of the second world war and its predecessors, about 15 seconds survival time in a Vietnam drop zone for those soldiers I loved with all of my soul and heart for just respecting me. And as soon getting into the secret wars of the cold war that the CIA was a pimp on Cocaine, the BND its prime bitch and Germany full of Weapon SS families in all major positions of economy, politics, military and state. And than I understood why the Germans treated me with such disrespect. 

I titled this an old men's war, because in this real world from my Cyberpunk artist perspective, there is tragically still a realistic change that those still leading this world's globaly connected system of nations might try to stay in power, might try to stop the already so present shift from a Bi-Polar world to a Omni-Pole world by a last attempt of the cold war turning hot. By creating a violent dawn of those cold war ideoligist already considered dead. 

Despite the CIA clandestine department indicating that they single handedly won the cold war there are hundreds of reasons why no one was ever seriously interested in these two super powers going for each others blood. Everybody was on Cocaine and a war would have more likely destroyed it all than creating more bling bling for the Cocain heads in charge.... in all parties involved, at the peak of cold war.

This is different now. The Corona crisis pushed everything into panic mode and is a real threat to those in power since the 80ies, the peak of western capitalism by creating now possibly the biggest economic crisis within an already struggling interest based system, putting especially their Cocaine head leaders at the line of fire without any proper protection while losers like me having the time of their lives at home, without any boss abusing, not having to fit in by faking to be normal. 

Throughout history those in power that were about to be overcome by social and economic changes tried regularely to avoid adopting to that change by using ultimate force against everyone they considered a threat to their position, yet only managed to kill the bottom parts of the society they were supposed to lead through required change: That strategy is called "War". 

No one knows at this point how Corona will end and not even how it will go on. Too many unknowns ahead.

Cyberpunk music: This is a warning.

Becoming civilized humans

Somewhere I heard a quote on Youtube that adopting the Wolf, turning the Wolf into the Dog that way, is what truly civilized humans and I immediatelly thought that this was because we then learned to take care of another creature.

In a dysantrop Cyberpunk society that is lost. Allmost all systems and societies based on anti-social behaviour are homogenous per nature. Most Rocker and Street Gangs in the U.S. are devided based on the American race theorie, also contemporary Mafia organizations are Clan or Family based and no exeption to this are the Columbian Cartells that only excepeted fellow Columbians further up their rows.

The U.S. society is a good example for my point here. While in the army, where no one is left behind, "race" does not matter and racism is alianeted, within prison gangs, which are the most dominant dysantrop shadow organiszations of society today, "race" is the very base of memebership selection.

Modern pop culture, which is in its management and artists level, strongly connected to those shadows due to the strong and abusive drug consumption, encourages this segregration by deviding into "Black" or "Latino" coltour, by constantly show casing or promoting exceptions to their stereotypes like Rap is Black, so that that one blond Rapper is extremely exceptional, but based on his hair colour instead of his ability or this joke is racist except told by someone from the appropriate "race" and finally by taking over insults to turn them into a synonym of a compagnion, yet keeping its racist character by limiting the use exclusively to a group again based on the very "race" theory that created this word as an insult in the beginning.

While most do that to point out disadvantages of major parts of society, to fight racism and to continue the fight for empowering the most fundamental and important values of the U.S. constitution for all equaly, there is from my Cyberpunk artist perspective always the threat of missing the actual goal and shooting straight into the opposite way like throwing a Boomerang, which is an Aburginal hunting weapon designed to come back when missing the pray.

Some, and those are the dangerous persons to every human society, that missed explaining what a Boomerang will do when missing the actual target, are activly pushing to focus on the differences to blindside for the common ground. 

Those few most dangerous to our fragile freedom and security are those that profit from seperation and segregation, that need a constant hard drug supply, that devide and rule by fear, anger and hate, that dream of a society on the constant path down into a dark future, just for the constant thrill of the moment.

Taking care thousends of years ago when we took the Wolf into our caves was feeding him, partnering on the hunt with them and sharing a dry and warm place to sleep, rest and play, turning them into an important part of the group and society.

Today "taking care of a Wolf " is as much more advanced and abstract as our society evolved further. 

Just sparing bad mouthing about a freak like me to your company, having a drink in the same bar, sitting in any car the other lane next by or just walking by your favorite Café would be enough contemporary "taking care of a Wolf" for me and me alike. 

Are you a Cyberpunk? Did you come to resist?

First Sold

Someone bought the first full Album. First time ever I sold my own stuff. First time ever I got respect for my art.

Thanks, who, where ever you are....