Mafundi
April 20, 1974 | Saturday
Michael
Roger, after just having used the pay phone to talk with Mitch, is watching Cinque work the crowd of a couple dozen representatives from the Crip-affiliated sets from the West Side, Inglewood, and Watts, along with the Piru Street Bloods from Compton. With the pretty certain knowledge that there's an active signal being fed to Cinque's chip and that it's affecting his behavior, Roger sees and hears Cinque get into the finer details of street politics, shit that is well outside his knowledge and ability.
(Roger did fail a Hidden Lore (History B) check last night, but there's more to plumb here, starting with a straight-up Psychology-12 roll, and then continuing with a Streetwise-15 roll.)
Bill
Psychology.
>> SUCCESS by 1
Streetwise.
>> SUCCESS by 8
Bill
Roger is also, based on his own experiences and interactions with the boffos at GP, trying to figure if this is some kind of chip-saved Renching of info? Any legends of such in the whispers in the halls of GP?
Michael
(Yeah, absolutely can give me a Hidden Lore (Project SANDMAN Legends)-14 roll here. Once I have those results I'll give you a grand unified summary.)
Bill
>> SUCCESS by 1
Michael
Okay, cool. Roger's been through Renshaw programming, of course—just one slot in his brain, unlike Charley who got a rather more intense regime during her time in the crêche. The training basically takes the form of esoteric techniques designed to adjust the mind to ultra-high-speed information processing. It's akin to the NLP that Marshall uses to inspire or to quiet individuals, except turned inward; the Project's Renshaw training utilizes cheats and backdoors in the human brain originating from Their meddling millennia ago. Likewise, there's also a healthy amount of memetics-adjacent, let's say, techniques in the delivery system for the information, the ultra-fast tachistoscope slides—the precise juxtaposition of words, instructions, "practice" sessions and images laid onto the microfiche slide shows is a tightly guarded secret at the Peak and constantly iteratively being improved. You couldn't just use a regular-order Renshaw tachistoscope on a microfiche copy of an encyclopedia, say, and get expertise in everything in there. You might get memorization but not internalization.
What Cinque is getting fed live from the antenna right now isn't the equivalent of Roger sitting down in front of the tachistoscope for four hours and learning "Rabblerousing 301." This is not a suite of Persuasion techniques packaged and delivered to Cinque's chip in radio-data form. On the contrary, the delivery only seems compelling, Roger realizes, after the fact. When Roger really concentrates on Cinque's words and analyzes how they're paced, what Cinque's saying, and how he's saying it, Roger is able to tell that Cinque is being fed memetics. Roger is no expert in memetic design of course; he can't sit here and analyze the precise balance of verbal rap and source code in Cinque's speech and what it's trying to instill in the Crips and Bloods. But given the subject matter it's being delivered wrapped up within—in a rap to rally these gangs for a march parallel to next weekend's Impeach Nixon march—Roger has a pretty good idea it's got to do with political/street action of some kind.
Now, of course, the funky thing here is that if Roger wants to allow himself to be infected by the meme, he could conceivably listen intently to Cinque and let his will and consciousness drop out and hope that his SANDMAN training and resistance to memetics prevent him from, say, having to struggle against a compulsion to hassle the good white liberals at that march next week if that is indeed what the meme is programmed to do. But Roger won't know until he gets out of analytical mode and allows himself to get carried away by Cinque's chip-fed memetic infection.
Bill
Roger keeps smiling, nodding,, and tries to think. Yeah, infection is one way to get the meme back to Archie for a counter, but way too risky. Screw that. We can pick up a Crip off the street. Roger will concentrate on his training and keep analyzing.
He’ll look around for a TV or radio. He’ll keep a demeanor of a watchful bodyguard, scoping the place out.
A portable transistor one would be boss.
And he’ll keep looking over at Cinque, and nodding, the true believer. When he glances over, he’ll try to read a thing about Cinque as best he can: does he know consciously that this isn’t just his own jive?
Michael
(Made a secret Body Language roll defaulting to Psychology minus 4, plus bonuses for Roger knowing what the deal is with Cinque's rap)
So of course Roger is familiar with the religious idea of speaking in tongues: not even something as extreme as the glossolalia thing that the Pentecostals do down South, but the idea that a greater power can lend someone inhuman eloquence under duress. What Roger's read is from Cinque's body language is that he knows something is feeding him his lines and he doesn't care. It's not necessarily a religious impulse to consider this a gift with Cinque, of course: Cinque didn't seem especially taken with Father Dan or the church trappings up in Bakersfield. But there is a core of sincere belief in the revolution there inside Cinque that is making him feel like he's merely a microphone for something bigger. Roger all of a sudden wonders if the CIA cats at Vacaville picked the subjects for their surgeries based on who the biggest, most sincere believers were. It might make the alienness of the chip remote-control experience seem more natural.
Bill
Well, he thinks, time for the brother to wake up.
Roger will walk out for a breath of fresh air and a smoke break. There is absolutely bound to be a group of dawgs hangin’ with a radio outside. He‘ll step to one side, lean against the wall, and light up. He’ll bring out a vever with his pack, and close his eyes and enjoy his “break”. And he’ll reach out to Agent 00 for his aid.
Michael
(Oops, forgot the radio business...) Yes, indeed, the brothers on the corner have given up on trying to get the transistor radio to work—motherfuckin' thing has been bringing in nothing but static—and have instead popped in an 8-track into one of their car stereos:
Walk around, why wear a frown?
Say little people, try to put you down
What you need, a helpin' hand
All the strength, at your command
How's ya faith?
'Cause ya faith is you
Who you kiddin'?
To yourself be true
Spread ya love, for a brighter day
For what ya search, you'll find a way
One of the West Side Crips on the corner, leaning against the wall of the Mafundi Building, jokes around with his friend whose 8-track it is after listening to the first couple of verses. "Shit, these brothers are just a rip-off of Mansa."
Bill
Auto-Hypnosis.
>> SUCCESS by 4
As he feels the Agent’s now familiar (and more trusted) presence, Roger blows out his breath with relief. The contract here is more settled now, unlike the wildness of that new loa. The formula of their negotiations is simpler. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to disrupt what Cinque and the hidden cabal behind him are doing here, without breaking cover. He brings to mind certain memories, and lets the presence settle into him.
The Agent straightens Roger’s leather jacket, and takes a long drag on his cigarette. The cover needs a little work, but popping the balloon of the plans of shadowy conspiracies brings a cocky smirk to Roger’s face. He shakes his head, and saunters up to the Crips. “Good groove, brother. But what’s up with the radio? I got Benjamins on the game. Can I try to get it in?” Before they really acknowledge him, he’s already smoothly taking in his hands, trying to dial it. “What is this?” He makes Roger’s face drop into concern. “This sounds like G-man shit! Somebody’s is listening in— some snitch is on a wire!”
(He’ll Fast-talk the radio into his possession, run inside with it.)
Jeff
(Shame his backup is pretty distracted at the moment. But Mitch does have a Serendipity I can fire to get him moving fast if needed)
Michael
(Last move before I go smoke myself out... the Agent's Fast-Talk is 14 and we'll give you an in-group social bonus of +2, +1 more for the RP and make this roll a Fast-Talk-17. Will get you back inside the club tomorrow.)
Bill
>> SUCCESS by 6
Michael
The Crips outside look a little puzzled at this sudden outburst, especially at the exclamation that the interference they'd heard is because someone's wearing a wire, and a couple of the elder figures who were hanging outside sort of saunter coolly into the foyer of the Mafundi Building in Roger's footsteps, towards the social club area, where Cinque is still holding court. No one's angry with Roger or chasing him, but they're definitely concerned at the idea that someone from the myriad near-dozen of sets here tonight could be a pig snitch. There have been so many of those over the past six or seven years, and justice, Roger can feel, would be swift for such a traitor.
(btw, by 10:30 Pacific tonight the game has long-since ended out in Milwaukee: Kareem Abdul-Jabbar's Bucks have annihilated the Chicago Bulls 113-90. Guessing Roger is pretending to have had money on former UCLA man Abdul-Jabbar, who had 32 points and 14 boards.)
(Bill, just let me know what the Agent is up to once he gets back in the room where Cinque is holding court, if that is indeed where he is headed with the radio.)
Bill
Trailing the curious behind him, the Agent approaches the bull session around Cinque, a serious look on his face. “Jefe, we got a problem. The radios are all crackling.” He demonstrates. “The Feds are listening in.” He keeps his face worried, no trace of accusation, as he says “Some brother here gotta be on a wire. A snitch.” He speeds right past the triggering word, but watches Cinque’s face. “We gotta go. They know we’re onto them— they may bust this joint any second. I ain’t going to jail so some puta gets a plea deal.” The Agent looks around, catches the eye of any gang member that looks nervous. He counts the reds and blues. Whichever side is currently outnumbered in the room, he finds the most nervous, defensive looking one, and suddenly turns his head towards him. “What makin’ you sweat?” He puts his hand on Cinque’s shoulder. “Go!”
Michael
This feels a little more involved than a Fast-Talk so let's go with Acting, which the Agent is innately familiar with—pack together your base 15 with +2 for the cultural in-group and +2 for Charisma, another +1 for the radio as evidence of the "wire," and hidden bonuses on an individual basis based on IQ differentials between Roger and his audience—so you'll roll Acting-20 and we'll see how you do.
(Sadly, Acting does not fall under Corruption skills which seems kind of weird but okay.)
Bill
>> SUCCESS by 11
Michael
The Piru Street Bloods are definitely the most outnumbered group, so when the Agent's performance turns the attention of the Crips who are already kinda hopped up on memetics towards the dozen or so in the Piru Street crew, it creates a good amount of loud back-and-forth between both the blues and reds and amongst some of the crews in the Crips who have old beef. Nothing violent, just enough to give Cinque and Roger a window to move out of the club and towards the parking lot.
Cinque was caught mid-memetic harangue and it takes him a moment to shift his attention to survival: Roger can see his eyes and face downshift from political/intellectual jive back to his chip-enhanced "fight/flight/fawn/flee" reactions, as he follows Roger's lead to get the hell out of there and scan the streets for the blue-and-whites of the LAPD (who are, of course, not actually forthcoming).
(Bill, I'd said the other night that Willie Wolfe was gonna be your driver, which means the white boy has been sitting tight in the parking lot with one of the "hot" cars SANDMAN sourced for the SLA, so if Roger wants to take Cinque out a different exit of the community center, I'm all ears for your next set of moves after you two hightail it out of there, just let me know what your plan is; you two can getaway clean after that Acting check.)
Whatever the case, back in the social club after Cinque, Roger, and about half of the gangbangers saunter out of/flee the premises, the portable radio Roger had brought in ceases making the godawful data transmission racket and goes back to the soulful sounds of KJLH 102.3 FM.
Bill
The Agent will lead Cinque straight to the “hot” car, before he comes to enough to protest. He’ll wave Willie to switch seats— I believe in those times they called it a Chinese Fire Drill. He’ll look around quickly for Mitch, but I don’t think he’ll get eyes on him. Even if he did, it’d only to be to give him a “scramble” sign.
Either way, Cinque is slammed in the back, and the Agent peels off. He’ll then do a bunch of driving like he’s shaking tails, not speaking much as he “concretrates.” Finally, he’ll do the trick turning into an alley and parking, shutting off the engine, and getting everyone to get low in their seats.
Michael
You can give me an Observation-14 roll for sussing out the sitrep on 103rd Street, to see what and who you might see near the school and the laundromat (and maybe the surveillance van with Arn at the wheel on 102nd).
Bill
>> SUCCESS by 0
Michael
Roger, as he speeds away from the proverbial scene of the crime, sees Mitch through the big front windows of the nearby laundromat sitting with...
(Will-25 that cheval Anunnaki resistance is fire)
>> SUCCESS by 15
...two older white men, one stout, one gaunt (who is moving towards the door). The gaunt man is wearing a hand-drawn SANGUSH glyph, and there's another on the countertop of the window seats of the laundromat that's providing an umbrella of "I belong here" for Mitch and Stout.
Bill
Roger, coming back into his own hunched down in the car, sees the memory of Mitch and the two men in the laundromat right before his eyes, granted him as the Agent departs, mission accomplished. “Aiyee, shit! Shit!” He realizes he’s talking out loud. “Wait here— I gotta make a call. Uh, gotta put a warning to the safe house. Lay low here— gotta wait out the G-men.”
He slinks back to the nearest major corner, looking for a pay phone.
Michael
(Let me let Mitch catch up a little bit temporally.)
Okay, I think Roger can get that phone booth now.
Bill
Roger shuts the door. He winces and avoids looking at the Bell logo— a recent nervous tick. As soon as he can peck the emergency call-in number in, he spits out his bona fides like a machine gun, and before they’re even acknowledged, he’s yelling: “Just shut up and listen! Radio a message to the goons tracking us to get to the Mafundi parking lot NOW. I’ve got my hands full, but Mitch needs backup, maybe extraction from hostiles. Go full G-man: badge flashes, sirens,, the works. There’s a Goddamned gangster convention next door, but they should be scurrying like roaches back into the walls. Get whoever Mitch is chasing, and then get him out of there!”
Roger gets back to the car as quickly as he can without drawing attention. He’s got the keys with him, but he wouldn’t put it past the SLA to know how to hotwire a car, so he’s praying they didn’t freak out and bail on him. Gotta get eyes back on them.
Michael
Roger can see Willie and Cinque jawing heavily through the windshield—they're animated and hyped, their body language is agitated—but when Roger comes back into their sight, they look to trail off quietly and wait for Roger to return to the car.
"Where are we going?" Willie Wolfe asks nervously. "Is the safehouse safe?"
Cinque looks at where they are—in an alley about six blocks north of the scene—and says, "We can chill here for a bit, figure out our next move. What did they say back home?"
(Two things, Bill, before I hit the hay for the night: one, think about which 8 points of Agent 00 Advantages/Disadvantages you want to keep for the next hour in-game. Two, that call will scramble the SANDMAN commando teams (in FBI and LAPD disguise) to Mitch's location. I will need to do a few more rounds of Mitch vs. the schoolyard van before any of that stuff will start happening, so I think we'll hold off on moving Roger along temporally too too much.)
Bill
(I’ll take the night to think about Agent 00, but the Disads are already clear from what he just risked: Gambling and Overconfidence.)
(Makes sense to keep the Spy Talent balanced by the Disads above.)
“Nothing’s happening there. Gotta guess the Man was just fishing for you— they must of got word of the event through their snitch. For right now— what you said, Cinque— we should hang here, silent. Should be outside any kind of sweep this far out, but we gotta be ready to go.” Roger settles down into the driver’s seat, listening for sirens.
Michael
"We been exposed," Cinque says. "The pigs had to know what was up. We went too big, I thought these brothers weren't infiltrated like the Panthers were."
"Nobody there is gonna sell you—us, the Army—out to the cops and the feds though, Marshal." Roger kind of does an internal double-take at Willie using Cinque's "rank."
"They are gonna show us solidarity and if they have pig snitches in there, they'll get purged."
"Nah, they may have snitches who might report us but the idea is in all of 'em now, the one I put there... see, that's the important thing. They'll be ready to take advantage of the chaos now." Cinque looks into Roger's eyes in the rear-view. "Can you call your Jocasta on that phone there, have her swing by to check on the streets around the safehouse?"
Bill
Roger nods, but he’s not leaving them alone in the car again. “Jo was already headed over. She’ll sweep before she goes in. Let’s give it ten more here, make sure the pigs are looking elsewhere, and head over. After some switch-ups, ‘natch, just in case.”
“I did see a lot of eyes on fire for the revolution there. You got a real way, Marshal. You sure living up to our hopes.”
Michael
"The proof will be if the brothers show up next Saturday. The pigs, the feds, the President... they all gotta come down." Cinque stares blankly for a second, and then says to the two men in the front seats, "I gotta be honest, comrades, I hardly remember what I said in there." An uncomfortably long chuckle; Cinque is breathing heavy. "Sometimes the words just come pouring out of me."
Bill
When the sirens come running down the nearby streets, headed in the right direction, Roger again asserts his lead with little commands: “OK sit back”, “Wait for the third car”, and “Here we go.” With that tone set, he wanders through the streets, killing a little time, supposedly losing any plainclothes tails. He drives them out of Watts, and far enough away from anywhere that the revolutionaries will really need to stay with the car. Then, fast talking Cinque, he picks back up “Cinque’s” idea to phone in. He finds a pay phone he can park next to, and calls into Marshall for a sitrep and next instructions.
Michael
Cool, I like the idea of having your Driving roll (the whole "wait for the third car" thing) aiding your Fast-Talk roll, so roll Driving-17 first, and then Fast-Talk-16 modified by the aid roll. (Reminder: that's +2 for a crit success, +1 for a success, -1 for a failure, -2 for a crit failure).
Bill
Drivin’.
>> SUCCESS by 11
Fast-Talk.
>> SUCCESS by 10
Michael
Cinque and Willie both sit tight as can be expected as Roger takes the two revolutionaries out of South Central proper, across Lynwood, and into Downey, land of aerospace and manufacturing offices and plants, mixed industrial and commercial buildings, North American Aviation/Rockwell International, NASA, lots of quiet, empty-ass neighborhoods with big buildings and warehouses to hide amidst. A payphone on a well-lit block near a gas station calls to Roger's awareness.
Bill
"We should be good here. I'll check in with the safe house, hang tight." Roger pulls up to the gas station, checking for an attendant. Self-service might be surging in L.A., but it's still too dicey for brothers — better to lower any suspicions with a full-serve cash top-off. If they're closed, all the better. Either way — just parking because they're closed, or getting a quick top-off, Roger takes the keys and heads to the phone.
He calls the contact number and asks to get right to Marshall.