Tag: espionage

#11 The Uzbek

| November 28, 2011 | 0 Comments

The services offered by the man simply known as the Uzbek, do not come cheap. But if you have the means, there isn’t a better surveillance package available on the market.  Often used to help monitor deals or snoop on targets, the Uzbek uses up to 8 flying camera drones & brain augmenting implants to operate as a walking panopticon. There’s very few places he can’t see, capable of even hacking most existing surveillance set ups on the fly. The Uzbek is capable of seeing all.

But that’s all anyone knows about the man. It’s unclear whether or not the Uzbek is even Uzbeki. All that’s known is that he started surfacing in Tashkent about fifteen years ago.

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Did this guy rather quickly on a whim. Originally, in my list of jump off ideas I had “The [Nationality] – Espionage Cyborg” & originally thought it be a nondescript man who transformed into a big mean cyborg killing machine close to what I had with the Red Hammer I posted last year at the end. But instead, I opted for a bit of a smaller scope & decided to make him a surveillance guy. I had in mind the Gargoyle characters from Snow Crash that do nothing but collect data. But with the way technology is, I wasn’t about to encumber this guy with stuff when he probably has maybe six, tiny devices on his person capable of all of that. But ultimately, I wanted a sketchy cyberpunk spy kind of vibe going on here.

Why Uzbekistan? Because I don’t think they get much love is all.

This is #11 for me. I have all the way through 20 on my photobucket & ready to slowly post. But I am at work right now & it’s a little hard. So instead of one big flood, I’ll post here & there throughout the day. I might not make all 30, but I think I might make it pretty close.

#7 Guero

| November 7, 2011 | 0 Comments

#7 Guero

 

Damned if he didn’t get a ration of shit when they heard his name.  Not like it wasn’t appropriate, what with his blond shoulder-length hair and bright blue eyes.  But it was all he could do not to spit back when they started calling him from across the street, grabbing their dicks and telling Guero what to suck.  Something about the half-legitimacy of it just lit a fire under them, the pun that came of his name being exactly what they would have called him anyway was just too much damn fun.  The corner boys were in rare form by the time he got past them.  Their token neighborhood white boy was actually called Blondie.

Guero knew from past experience that this was going to go on for quite some time.  He considered moving, but the old man in the drug store parking lot had the best tamales in town, and that was worth anything the local rowdies could dish out.  He figured he might as well enjoy the irony of the moment.  Odds are, he spoke better spanish than any of them.  Odds are he’d spent more time south of the border than any of these third generation vatos ever would.  And it was an absolute guarantee, because he knew who these guys claimed to represent on the block, that if they knew who gave him the name they would be shitting bricks.

And really, on a good day that shit was just amusing.  If they knew the circles he ran in those boys would be calling him patròn.  If they knew anything about him, those two tough little fuckers on point would stop flashing their pieces.  That right there was some rude shit.  If they weren’t in the land of the free and recorded on tv, he’d have let them know just what he thought of fools that showed off their heat without a mind to use it.  Last time he’d given lessons in etiquette, the dumbass in question had ended up shot in the foot with his own gun.  Guero hadn’t even bothered to pull the gun out of the idiot’s pants.

But that was Then and There, and this was Here and Now, and he would do well to remember the difference while on his way to a meet with his handler.  Differentiation.  Sam loved to harp on his “problem with differentiation.”  Guero would argue that it was what got him results, but Sam would just snap back that he wasn’t the only agent in the field, let alone the best, so he could stop thinking his fucking hangups were what made him special.  Guero could admit to himself that Sam might have a point, but he’d never do it loud enough that Sam could hear.  And it sure as hell didn’t mean he was going to change his name back, either.  After all, he was fucking branded and in so fucking deep he doubted he’d ever see the light of day.  The next time he wore a uniform would be when they were putting him in the ground.