Gorilla Geurilla Journalist: The New Urban Wilderness

[Announcer]: "Live on Chip! It's Video Pirates of Seattle, Jacking your Trid and Expanding your Minds! Listen to the only TRUE voice of Seattle's Masses! And now your host... Trid-Pirate-1138"

[Trid-Pirate-1138]: "HELLO TRUE BELIEVERS! It is I, Trid-Pirate-1138, bringing you THE TRUTH! The most TRUTH you can hope for in these dark days! Today we're expanding your mind in ways that even designer drugs can't! We're doing it by the TRUTH OF EDUCATION! Brought to you by Mutual of Washington, and the Gorilla Geurilla Journalist!"

//play GGJ_131.3DV :: Text Transcript with Graphic Description = On//

The sound of a large vehicle coming to a stop and a motor being turned off can be heard in the background. The screen flickered through several bursts of static before being filled by the rubbery face of a gorilla. The blue eyes blink a few times as the angle is adjusted and it backs away revealing the interior of a classic GMC Bulldog van.

"There we go. I think it’s secure."

The short figure had a broad physique, hairy arms and powerful hands. In addition to his trademark Gorilla mask he wore a pair of Grey slacks and T-shirt with the words "I (Heart) NY" But the NY are crossed out and replaced by the word SEATTLE. Behind him was a taller figure in beige clothing and wearing a Crocodile mask.

"And welcome once again to another exciting instalment of the Gorilla Guerilla Journalist. I am of course the Gorilla your dreams and this is my associate..."

"Crikey! Oi’m, Ripley the Croc."

"Yes. And today we are starting a new segment in my reports called...."

Suddenly an electronic fanfare filled the air and large dynamic virtual letters stating "The New Urban Wilderness" filled the screen for a moment with the sounds of animals screeching and roaring along with traffic and gunshots.

"...The New Urban Wilderness! Yes. We shall occasionally observe the wildlife we have right here in the Metropolis that we know as Seattle... and even more occasionally other cities. Tonight we start by examining a true survivor in our concrete jungle. Right Ripley?"

"Too Roit. T’day we take a hard look at underdweller known as the common Halloweener. "

"That’s right, Ripley. These gangers can be easily recognized by their Orange and black plumage which includes smearing these colours on their faces with a variety of clays, paints and even make-up from the female cosmetic section of your local department store."

"Heh. No wondah these wozzers have adopted the image of a FLAMING skull as their Gang Symbol." Ripley added a effeminate flourish to the way he said ‘flaming’ and chuckled at his own joke before continuing, "Now these bonzer locals put on a good show of force when in large groups but more than often will back down from a show of superior numbers... or anything that even looks like a fair fight."

"Indeed. These are not your friendliest of Gangers and they prefer to resort to long-range attacks with their weapon of choice... Fire. As seen in this clip."

The screen suddenly hit another moment of datastatic before a view of a normal night time Seattle street was seen. It panned over to an alleyway where a small group of make-up smeared Halloweeners huddled together taking furtive glances over to where the camera was before they were illuminated by the freshly burning rags in two bottles. The skinny one wheeled back on one leg and let his fly though the air.

The bottle was kept in mid frame as it passed far overhead of the camera operator and tumbled in a graceful arc across the street to where is smashed into a Lone Star cruiser in front of a small donut shop, setting it ablaze... much to the surprised expression of the two uniformed officers sitting in the booth by the window enjoying their soycaf.

A moment later a second bottle struck a man in a trench coat and his motorcycle causing him to thrash about in a fiery dance.

The screen flickered back to the Gorilla and Ripley as then shook their heads.

"Sad."

"Oi... Very sad."

"It’s a sad state of affairs when a gang has to resort to setting cop cars to feel better about their current position on the Gangland food chain. Isn’t that right Ripley?"

"Oi couldn’t agree with you more Gorilla. And too bad about that guy they set on fire too. But about these Weenies... Y’see a while ago these blighters really ticked off someone in the Renraku... can’t say who but had t’be a downroight important Kowalla or they wouldn’t have sent a Stroik team in to wipe them out. After the survivors crawled out from down undah their rocks they went back to their old tricks again... but with a boomerang to grind with Renraku. Too bad it wasn’t them they had to be watching out for, eh mate?"

"An excellent point, Ripley. You see in around 2069 they picked a fight with the Elf Gang called the Ancients. Long story short... if I’d have bet on the Ancients I’d be one rich monkey’s uncle right now. So... Being a shadow of their former selves these ‘Weenies cling to what little ground they have with all the tenacity of a cockroach. And oh look... here comes one scuttling along now."

A burst of datastatic and the camera was situated pointing across the street to an alleyway where a particularly hung-over Halloweener struggled to keep himself upright, one hand clutching a bottle of Uncle Gobby’s Gutrot and the other clutching his head. The figure leaned against a wall and went through the motions of dry heaves.

"Crickey, he’s a pathetic looking buggah. Not enough Kilos on that body to keep him from blowing away."

"Yep. Now in accordance to wilderness show tradition there is of course the typical scientific catch and release sequence. Mr Ripley... my Rifle if you will."

"Ere ye go mate."

"Thank you."

The camera pulls back to show the Gorilla with the Tranq rifle slowly tracking the wobbly figure. A long pause was between the two men as he took careful aim.

"As you can see, in it’s native habitat the Halloweener feels secure in undergoing the ritualistic abuse of it’s internal organs by way of putting more preservative grade alcohol into it than your average freshly embalmed corpse. It is debatable if the tranquillizer will have any real effect on a creature so chemically abused, but it’ll be fun finding out. Ah.. He’s now trying to purge the poisons from his system using a method known as Draining the lizard... and giving us a much better target."

The Halloweener Dropped his pants and turning his back to the camera began relieving himself against the wall. The sound of am air-compressed rifle going off was followed by the Halloweener clutching his rear and shuffling about in pain.

"I shot a dart as sharp as glass, and where it landed was his..."

"AAAH! My HOOP!"

He struggled to pull his pants up to make a proper run for it but only fell over once his modesty was assured. The Gorilla and Ripley ducked out the van to pick up the KO’ed Weenie and toss him into the van. A Burst of Datastatic later and The two masked men were standing over the freaking out gang member as he lay duct-taped to a large reclined wooden plank. A Tracking tag was clipped onto his ear while Ripley drew numbers on his chest in marker.

"So as you can see here we’ve taken samples, weighed and measured this pathetic specimen and are tagging and marking him so we may track his migration patterns for scientific information."

"And believe me, mates... Oi did not enjoy putting in the suppository tracking device... though I suspect this Weenie did."

The Halloweener tried to protest but his words were muffled by the tape over his mouth.

"Anyways this is usually the part of the show were we release the dumb beast back into the wild... but hey... this area of town is crawling with helpful people. We’re just gonna leave him here and I’m certain that some good Samaritan is bound to help him free."

Again the Weenie thrashed against his bonds trying to scream for help, before Ripley held up a knife-long jagged piece of glass. He stayed stock still as Ripley examined it.

"Then again that’d be animal cruelty, wouldn’t it Gorilla?"

"You’re right, Ripley. Let’s give him a fighting chance..."

Ripley nodded and pressed the shard into the weenie’s hand and laughed, his voice muffled by the mask.

"Oi Weenie... If yer as good with a blade as you probably tell yer chums then you can cut yerself free before some less forgiving blighters come across yer sorry hoop. Now if you pardon us we have a Matilda to Waltz."

"So that’s it for this evening’s edition of The New Urban Wilderness. I’m the Gorilla Guerilla Journalist..."

"...And Oi’m Ripley the Croc wishin’ yew all a good walkabout."

Ripley slipped a frog mask on the Halloweener and the two men left camera shot, leaving the trussed up ganger frantically cutting at his bonds with the shard. The scene continues for another minute before a deep husky voice can be heard off camera...

"Hey Bubba... Lookie here. We got us a little Froggie."

*************DATASTATIC*************

//Stop GGJ_131.3DV//

[Trid-Pirate-1138]: “THERE YOU HAVE IT! Ed-hu-mah-kay-shun for the masses that comes not from the Corporate Thieves, but from the TRUTH OF THE STREETS! Stay tuned to this station, the only place where you can get a glimpse of what's really going on in this world! LIVE! ON! CHIP!”

Intro and Outro by: CanRay
Main Body by: Able DuSable
Based on a In-Game Situation with Additional Individuals.

The Gorilla Journalist Goes Ballistic

[Announcer]: "Live on Chip! It's Video Pirates of Seattle, Jacking your Trid and Expanding your Minds! Listen to the only TRUE voice of Seattle's Masses! And now your host... Trid-Pirate-1138"

[Trid-Pirate-1138]: "HELLO TRUE BELIEVERS! It is I, Trid-Pirate-1138, bringing you THE TRUTH! The only TRUTH you can hope for in these dark days! No corporate shills are we! With narry a commercial to distract you from the events that shape your world, so as not to cover your eyes! And here, bringing more TRUTH into your homes, or cardboard boxes, is the Ape of the hour, The Gorilla Geurilla Journalist!"

//play GGJ_127.3DV :: Text Transcript with Graphic Description = On//

The sound of wind rushing past a microphone nearly deafens the audience and the camera shakes unsteadily for a moment before audio and video are adjusted by the crew. A huge monkey-like face fills the screen for a moment before backing away.

“Are we on? Gee... I look verrah sinistah, yes.”

The short figure stands on the top of a building, the Seattle skyline spread out behind him as he spreads his arms showing off his broad physique, hairy arms and hands and his trademark Gorilla mask. Upon the T-shirt he wears, defying the biting cold of the wind, are the words “I (Heart) NY” But the NY are crossed out and replaced by the word SEATTLE. He Laughed and dropped to all fours and paced back and forth like a true gorilla in a cage.

“Although it never hit the news to any great degree there has been a rash of unfortunate ‘firearms mishaps’ lately, all of which with the common denominator of Wingman Enterprises ammunition. Now while those of us who read the news releases as well as see the clips, know how well Wingman Enterprises’ spin doctors and PR department have placed the blame squarely on the manufacturers of ‘street-level hardware’ for producing low quality weapons. Now while we all know you get what you pay for I think perhaps it’s time to get some real answers. Don’t you? So here we are on top of Seattle’s glorious New Chrysler building ( *cough* Even more phallically compensating than before! *Cough* ) we go straight to the top for the answers.”

The Gorilla lumbered over to a man tied to a chair with a black hood over his head and whipped it off showing the dazed middle aged man blinking in the lights.

“What... Where am I? What the hell am I doing up... here?”

“Hello Mister Glen Peters. I’m Seattle’s Gorilla Journalist and I apologise to you for bringing you from your office to this spectacular view but I figured it was best to get you away from your handlers for a while so we could get some straight answers.”

“Straight answers? About what?”

“Mister Peters. As CEO of Wingman Enterprises, this candid interview is to help set the record straight about your company's faulty ammo.”

“Oh, THAT. Look. It’s not my fault that civilians feel the need to arm themselves when they have perfectly good law enforcement agencies both public and private to do that job for them. I mean we all know the guns on the street are all cheap knockoffs of proper government-enforcement-military grade firearms. We cannot be held responsible over things like warping barrels and faulty hammer timing.”

"Really. Well it’s no secret that you are a big supporter of gun control.”

“That I am. I won’t deny that.”

“You believe that only government agencies, law enforcement and the bodyguards of powerful public and private figures should own them.”

“My opinions are a matter of public record, I’ll agree.”

“You have been quoted as to actually saying... and I quote *AHEM* 'God made man... Unfortunately Colt made all men equal... And they're not. Cream floats to the top and has to be protected from whatever's on the bottom.' Unquote.”

“OK. Perhaps not the best of phrasing I’ll admit but let’s be honest... Uh... Ape-man. When anyone reaches a level of high office through politics or earning money they need to be protected from the jealous and those who want wealth without earning it. Why should the poor rob the poor when they can rob the rich? Hence the ‘short and dirty’ version of why civilians shouldn’t possess firearms.”

“That was very frank and honest answer Mister Peters. Thank you.”

“Your welcome.”

“Back to the topic at hand though... You deny that your ammunition is made of a grade of composite that is so low that the slugs often jam mid-barrel causing the weapon to explode?"

"Yes I do! That is a lie and total falsehood! Our bullets are totally safe and I stand behind my product completely!"

"I'm glad to hear that. Oh Team Moreau!"

While The Gorilla Journalist unties Mister Peters a group of animal mask wearing Shadow runners wheel out a large crate of bullets and crack it open. Then each of the Runners pulls a pistol from their holsters and emptying their chambers tossed their guns at the CEO's feet.

"OK Sir... You are well within your rights to defend yourself against the man... Or rather APE who brought you up here against your will. So let’s put your money where your mouth is... Or rather bullets. Select any of my comrades’ weapons at random and load it with any of the bullets in this crate... Also at random, and shoot me!”

“What? Are you insane?”

“I’m a short hairy guy in a gorilla mask interviewing you on top of the New Chrysler Building and asking you to fire a weapon at me. Of course I’m crazy... But you are well within your legal rights. I did force you up here. And because I’m giving you permission it would also count as assisted suicide which is still legal I believe. Prove your ammo’s worth... Shoot at me.”

The Gorilla Journalist then pulled his Colt L36 America light pistol from his hip holster and waved it in the air.

“Look... I’m even brandishing a weapon. Self defense coupled with assisted suicide. The law is on your side. If it works you’re in the clear. If not... Well you can afford a new hand and you’re still in the clear. After all a man wouldn’t shoot someone else if they KNEW it would injure them. Just remember that every bullet here literally has your name printed on it."

The CEO looked at the guns and the crate of ammo as large as he was, then loosening his tie he shucked his jacket.

“Fine. Random selection then.”

His arm thrust as deep between the boxes inside the crate as he could before pulling a package out. Then selecting one bullet from that box he picked up one gun and slipped it into the chamber before taking aim at the Gorilla Journalist.

“I’m going to try to shoot to wound. No Promises though.”

“Fair deal, Mister CEO.”

The sound of the gun going off was nearly lost in the wind but neither man flinched. Then Mr. Peters examined his pistol and frowned.

“Jammed right in the barrel like you said. Alright... Maybe there is something to this.”

With a nod the Gorilla placed his pistol on the chair and walked over to the camera.

“Well there you have it. The ammo is faulty. It’s a good thing he didn’t think to fire more than once or he might have lost a hand. I am tempted to believe his professed innocence now. It comes as no shock to me that this businessman, who was voted in place due to Corporate Politics, was totally clueless bout his own product.”

“What?”

“We can hardly blame him for this. After all, he might own a significant portion of the company but since when would that make him an expert in ballistics. What we have here is an unfortunate case of a living Rubber Stamp giving the go-ahead on a product he never could have hoped to know was bad.”

“Hey! Now wait just a minute!”

“I believe that Mister Glen Peters is nothing more than the corporate stooge of the board of directors who just needed a nice videogenic face to present the company. He probably knew even less than his handlers did as they pulled his strings and told him what words to say before the media.”

“You lousy little...”

“The real brain power clearly lies not in the CEO’s office but with the men and women who are no doubt in every way his lords and masters. I for one will do what I can to find the true masterminds behind this and not the pathetically out-of-touch, ballistically uninformed, mentally deficient example of a man who does nothing but sign what’s in front of him.”

“You sawed-off little MONKEY! I know EVERYTHING that goes on in my company! EVERYTHING!”

The red faced man snatched the gun off the chair and wheeled about pulling the trigger over and over the gun exploding in a bone-shattering burst of metal and fire.

There was silence as the CEO of Wingman Enterprises dropped to his knees in shock, cradling his bloody hand. He stared at it as if unbelieving what had happened... And the Monkey Masked man walked over to him and quickly began wrapping it in a Surgical bandage.

“Everything, Mister CEO, Glen Peters? I’m afraid you weren’t aware that I previously loaded my own pistol with a random sampling of your latest ammo. A dirty trick, but one that payed off in words. And now I’m going to be spending those words on the vid feeds. Ladies and gentlemen of all branches of metahumanity... I present to you a man humbled after being hoist upon his own petard and cut by his own sword. Mister Glen Peters, CEO of Wingman Enterprises. I’m sure we can all count on an immediate recall after this... Both of Ammo and your position at the company."

This is the Gorilla Journalist. Good night Metahumanity. Now someone find his CEOness’ fingers, please.”

//stop GGJ_127.3DV//

[Trid-Pirate-1138]: "There you have it! THE TRUTH shall set you free! Or cause you to lose a hand! It's dangerous, but the LIGHT OF THE TRUTH will shine upon the dishonest that would keep us down in the Gutter! Well, we're in the Gutter, but our eyes are upon the stars, and that is where we strive to be! Until next time, let THE TRUTH be your guide!"

Intro and Outro by CanRay. Main Body by Able DuSable.