Azure: Gunner

“My friends! Y’all loved Two-step, so we’re gonna keep bringing you exclusive fucking interviews with the elite of Lost Angels! Today I’ve got one of the few men who can claim to step foot into the same clubs as the Guildmaster! He may not be Tier 6, but he’s Tier 6 loaded! The head of one of LA’s most successful Families, here is Mr. Konrád Kalmár!

“Konrád, tell my listeners what life is like at the top!”

“Demophon, it’s a pleasure to be here. Well, let me say that life on the top is good! It had better be, considering the battle it takes to stay there! My father and grandfather built the Kalmár family into the powerhouse it is today with hard work, and everything I do is to carry on their legacy and leave it for my children.”

“Well, that’s very fucking noble, Mr. Kalmár! Surely there’s more to it than that! I mean, don’t tell anyone, but I have snuck into your parties before! Shit is going down when you’re having a good time!”

“Oh, we know, Mr. Kerner, we know. It’s always a pleasure to have you, of course. I’m told that a few of my men are particularly fond of throwing you out. How is it that it never seems to stick?”

(prolonged silence)

“Secret DJ Skillz, baby! You can’t expect to get rid of me just by throwing me out once or twice! Now, next question…”

- DJ Demophon Kerner, with guest Konrád Kalmár on K-RAD LA, April 5th, System Year 453

The landscape we were passing through wasn’t that different from the area closer to Sunland. Rocky, hard dirt in places, with some sandier areas. We were still bracketed by the huge Angel’s Spine mountains further to the north, and the smaller but closer Shadow Hills to the south. Though it seemed the Shadow Hills were getting less imposing the further east we went. There were occasional shrub brushes, and many varieties of cactus.

Traces of the ancient cities still littered the area, mounds scattered here and there. Some of them had bits and pieces of obviously man-made objects sticking out – sharp corners of stone, usually. Others just looked like piles of dirt, though I was sure if I went digging through them I’d find more debris. I tried to ignore them, because thinking too much about what things had been like before the Wasted War was fucking depressing.

At one point, Hassan dropped by to guide the four of us a hundred yards or so to the north of the road, where he stopped and pointed out one particularly lush, green cactus about the size of a small barrel. It had thick, broad leaves with only a few dull-looking spines, spread out over an area maybe six feet across.

“Identify this plant,” he instructed us, and we all complied.