Another Excerpt from "A Clown's Life: The Authorized Biography of Bingo the Cyberclown"

Story by Dave Neal. Formatting by Dave Neal and Solace.

The Characters:

Bingo The Cyberclown: A heavily-augmented former soldier. His skin is bleached and he has green hair. His appearance and manner can best be described as "freakish."

<<28:09:05>>

INTERVIEWER: So, could you talk about some of the people you've run with?

BINGO: *fffaaaaaaap* Mmmmm, I've run with a lotta people, sport. Run from a few, too.

I: Tell me about them.

B: (takes a long pull from a silver flask he pulls from his suit pocket) Okay, lessee who you'd give a hang about, and who wouldn't mind me talking about 'em. I've got a number of war buddies, but given how fucked up things got with that, I think they probably don't want me yappin' about 'em just yet, lest some damned review boards and tribunals come after their asses.

I: War crimes?

B: Kid, that's all a matter of perspective. One country's police action is another country's war crime, you shiv? I mean it all depends on who's the little guy and who's the big guy. If the big guy does a war crime, then it's a police action, cuz they can get away with it. But if anybody else gets cheeky, then the big guy lays into 'em -- it's all yer perspective.

So, like I was with the UCAS, right? Going at it with those CAS squirts -- the Rebs. There's still some cocks down there want a piece of my tail….fuckers.

I: You're saying you'd fought when the CAS seceded? That was back in --

B: 2034. Yeah, kid. I know what yer thinking -- I AM that old.

I: I'd read that the Secession was uneventful -- that folks pretty much split up peacefully, that there was no Second Civil War.

B: That's bullshit, kid. I was there. Yeah, it didn't last long, sure enough. Wars run on fast forward these days, anyway. We just mussed each other's hair up a bit to let each other know who wasn't boss. Hell, the UCAS was tweaked, even though they had the government -- I mean all your major industrial combines were south, right? So basically the CAS communicated that pretty clearly -- you slag us and your Rust Belt Yankee asses go down, too. Or you play ball and everybody wins.

But that don't mean both sides didn't do their wetwork, just outta pride. That's where I came in. Me and my pals.

I: So after that, what happened?

B: Well, more like, *before* that what happened is a little European job I did, strictly independent. Back then, the US troops were gun-toting whores…

I: Excuse me?

B: Mercs, kid. Whores with guns. I mean how do you think we afforded our fancy toys? The economy was shit, and all we had was a big-ass army and not much else to show for it, so with Uncle Scam as our pimp, we were the rent-a-thugs the world over. The best army money could buy.

I: You sound bitter.

B: *phhhhhhhhhhp* It's a living.

I: So, what were you doing in Europe?

B: Peacemaking, basically. Can't talk too much about that one; let's just say I was real busy in '33.

I: Okay, so you were going to tell me about some of the folks you've worked with…

B: Pushy lil' cock, ain'tcha? Okay, well you got all types in this business, see? There's like yer rivals, and yer peers, and yer pals, and yer buddies. Sorta breaks down like that. *phhhhhhhp*

I: Let's start with buddies…

B: Well, me 'n Soulless go way back. That's one fella who knows his shit. Funny, but he was CAS, if memory serves. We always laugh about that, you know, comparin' notes and all. We actually went at it during one of the actions, although we didn't know it. I mean I was platoon leader and he was out there somewhere with an artillery unit. Sometimes I wonder if he was the cock who cracked my damned assault armor -- wouldn't put it past him.

[A note from Solace: Bingo's memory seems to be failing in his old age -- FIFF headware memory is one augmentation he skimped on. The CAS was never my scene, and my superiors would have considered it a waste of "their" invested tax dollars for my hoop to be on an artillery line. I pulled nothing but special ops. Also, in case it hasn't been obvious from Bingo's previous postings, he refers to me as "Soulless."]

Anyhow, we run across each other many a time, and we're sorta kindred spirits, mostly. I mean he's kind of a fruitcake at times -- the kid's had himself worked up and down so many times, I figure even his damn spleen has a serial number on it, but he's kept it all together. Most crack by the time they get to his age, but he's still frosty, which is nice to see. I mean I got some pals who need a drool cup and a bib, they got so fucked up, but Soulless keeps on trucking. *phhhhhhp*

I: Anybody else?

B: Ah, there's old John Biafra; platoon mate a' mine. Great guy, Ork. Got himself one helluva big family; sometimes I think they're trying to start their own tribe. John found religion after the 30's -- I mean he ditched his ware and went on the fizzy adept thing, became pretty darned good, too. Passed it on to his kids -- lots of 'em got the knack. They got a damn big family. His wife, Eve, she's a great woman. Wrote this book, "1,001 Ways to Cook with Pot"' damn thing became a bestseller.

I: You know Evelyn Biafra?

B: Oh, yeah. You gotta watch it when you go to their place, I tellya -- I mean when she says they're having pot roast and hash browns, you can bet yer ass you'll be buzzing for a few days after. *phhhhhhhhp* Yeah, Eve's a helluva woman.

I: How about pals?

B: Oh, I got lotsa pals. Gimme some of that scotch ya got there, "pal." *glug glug glug* ahhhh. Sorry, whuzza question?

I: *sigh* I said, 'what about pals?'

B: Oh, I got lotsa pals.

I: So you said. Any names?

B: *fffffffffp* Hmmm, well, there's SMERF, for one thing.

I: (goes through notes) Let's see, the Socialist Metahuman Ecumenical Resistance Front? They're terrorists, aren't they?

B: Oh, they're flippin' nuts, yeah, if that's what you mean. But they know their biz, have to say. And they pay good money. They hired me awhile back, basic contract stuff, you know (aims finger at interviewer) -- click BANG click BANG thud thud thud.

I: Who's in SMERF?

B: Like I'll tell you that, squirt? Lone Star would love it if they got their greasy mitts on those loonies. *ffffffp* Okay, I'll tell you a bit about'em, just cuz it won't make any difference, cuz they all use codenames n' shit, and you'll never catch'em. *burp*

You got Brooke Clearwater -- freaky elven hippy chick; she's hotter than hell, but is always stoned, kidya not. Wears bell bottoms and macrame halter tops and is about the best explosives whiz you can run across, although I tellya it's scary watching her work. You know she blew up Hoover Dam? Yeah, that was them. They got pissed about the Colorado River drying up so they went in and took it out. She has this pink plastique she uses for it -- calls it "Bubblicious" or something like that. The shit makes C4 look like a friggin firecracker. *fffffffp* yeah, she's a trip.

You got Jordan, who's another elf; she's the saboteur; real jackrabbit -- she's got this short spiky hair, and she only wears black, white, or grey -- no colors, ever. It's a weird thing with her, specially when you stand her up next to Brooke, who's Miss Technicolor Terrorist, you know? Anyway, Jordan is first-rate. I always tell her she's wasting her talents, cuz she could make a mint working for the corps as a runner. She chain smokes and always carries machine pistols. *glug glug*

Okay, you got Raven, who thinks he's the boss. He's an Ork fizzy adept, and has this long black hair. He's sorta the broody, moody type, you shiv? Always the worrier. Remember that hijacking of that old Navy ship off the Cally coast? Yeah, well Raven nearly bought it on that one when they opened up with a .50 caliber. Took him out for awhile, while he got himself back together with like aromatherapy and power crystals n' shit. That sorta freaked him, I think.

I: Anybody else?

B: Hey, I'm getting there, shitbird. Hold yer horses.

There's Lilith, who's human.

I: A human? In the Metahuman terrorist group?

B: Yeah, she's there. It's a solidarity thing, right? Lilith is a real killing machine. Ex-Lone Star Special Ops. Black hair, always back in a ponytail, always wears black, fond of those tank tops. That girl can kill, let me tell you. She's way intense, but there's nobody I'd rather have on the point or on rearguard than old Lil. Lil can kill, heh heh heh *fffffffffffffffffp* She's an adept, too, I think, although you never really know with her, cuz she's so quiet. Tellya, if Lil's after yer ass, kiss it goodbye!

There's Trixie; she's the decker. Another human, fond of overalls and baseball caps. She's sort of the treasurer for the group, giving them bogus cred and also doubles as counterfeiter for the group. She's a good kid, sort of a cheerleader, you know? Like she thinks it's all a game.

Crystal -- oh, what can I say about her? She's an elven mage, real spiritual type. Total New Age. She's strictly magical support and healing. Don't let her get you in a corner, cuz she'll talk your ear off with this syrupy New Age shit about how your essence is misaligned and you should dump your chrome. She wears these long gowns and seems like she floats around the place.

Lessee, there's Turk, a Troll bruiser, but he retired from the group. Turk's a good guy, although he took a lot of things to heart. He left the group after they had some trouble with an infiltrator. He got spooked, you could say! Heh heh *burp*

There was a rigger in their group, name of Dusty. Dusty's dead, though -- fucker drove a Winnebago! Thing was all hotwired and armored up. He got nailed by Sylvia, come to think of it. *pfffffffp* You seen that "Lone Star Live" show with the real cop footage with the Winnebago driving through the desert, chased by the cops? That's ole Dusty buying the farm. Freaky shit. Total setup.

Finally, there's Viper.

I: Viper? You mean Luis Sandoval? The assassin?

B: Yep, that's him. They broke him out of a fed storage tank a few weeks ago --

I: A storage tank? What's that?

B: Ah, kid, you should'a paid more attention in Civics class. Okay, a storage tank is an isolation facility—the government keeps dangerous radicals locked away there, where they fuck with their heads. The do all kinds of stuff with and to them, trying to get'em to break. You know, torture, deprivation, brainwashing, neglect -- in the interests of freedom, justice, and democracy, of course. (rolls eyes)

Trouble was, Viper didn't break; see, he's a real hardcase. He's a damned Fed trigger man who found religion, you could say. He's a first-rate assassin and disguise man. Viper got nailed when that Sylvia chick moled her way into SMERF. Viper got wise to her and he got bagged during the Clearwater Revival --

I: --When SMERF killed several hundred Humanis Policlub members during one of their conventions?

B: Bravo, sporto! *glug glug glug glug* Yeah, Viper got the word out to the other members about Sylvia but not before she sicced UCAS legbreakers on him. He's been in the tank for three years.

I: What happened to Sylvia? Who is she?

B: Sylvia Kincaid. Oh, that bitch is a piece of work; I'm not entirely convinced she's a she, tellya the truth. I've done a bit of research on that, and I think she was a he, believe it or not. Real first-rate rat, shiv? Now I could be wrong, but this Sylvia chick hasn't been seen since that job, right?

Either SMERF got her, which I know ain't so, cuz they told me. Or she got away and is still underground, or she just ditched that ID when it was no longer useful. You know, mission accomplished, sort of. Viper's the deadliest member of the team, anyway, ounce for ounce. I think the only reason she didn't bag all of SMERF is cuz Viper was on the scene, and fucked things up. I mean he makes me look bad, and I'm good, you shiv? I gotta go take a squirt, kid. We'll continue this in a bit…

<<28:09:37/10-07-97>>

<<28:10:00/10-07-97>>

I: All better?

B: Smashing. Okay, where were we?

I: Sylvia Kincaid.

B: (lights a fresh cigar, which he smokes at leisure) *ffffffffffffffffp* Mmm hmmm. Yeah, what I found is that Sylvia wasn't Sylvia at all. I'm not sure about that; not 100%, I mean, but I think Sylvia was actually

[TAPE DELETED TAPE DELETED TAPE DELETED TAPE DELETED]

<<29:01:14>>

I: --people you know.

B: Hmmm, well there's Eightball.

I: Eightball?

B: Did I stutter, kid? Hell yeah, Eight's a youngster, a real high roller. Cocky-ass rigger. *fffffffp* hell, all rigger's are cocky, come to think of it. Kid's a smuggler, with a fondness for gems, although he's not choosy -- he'll move anything if the pay is right. He grew up in Vegas, and it's left its mark on him, right? I mean the whole nine yards -- martinis, nightclubs, leather peacoats, blue shades -- the kid's a total lounge lizard. He knows he's good, see, and it's gone straight to his head. Eight is a whiz at self-promotion, too -- one of these days I expect there to be Eightball breakfast soycakes and Eightball action figures and T-shirts. He throws his damn Crazy Eight logo all over the place. It's funny, cuz on the scene, you want to play it cool, right -- I mean you build a rep, but it's a shadow rep. Eight, well, he's pure showbiz. He's a good kid; a helluva smooth-talker, which'll maybe get his ass outta dodge when his high living catches up with him.

Katt is a real cocky-ass kid; a sammy wannabe. She's freakin nuts, and she's barely chromed. I'd hate to see her in a few years with some serious ware. Bitch wanted to "audition" by trying to take me out -- can you believe that? She tried to cack me! So I had to give her credit for having guts. *pffffffffffffp* Although she's got a stupid kinda guts, you know? I let her live cuz I thought it was kinda cute, you know? This punk kid trying to whack me out to show how tough she is and build her rep. What impressed me about her is how fucked up she is -- like crazy, I mean. She got the drop on me cuz she did stuff a professional would never think of doing, cuz it's nuts. I think that's marketable, in a weird sorta way.

Hmmm, who else? Speaking of newbies, there's some new kids making a flash on the scene -- Nix, and Lobo. They're total youngsters, green as can be, but they've done well for themselves so far. Nix is this speed freak sammy, right? She pops yellowjackets like candy, and stutters cuz she's so fired up. But she's quick and is good for small jobs that are big on action. You don't want Nixie on stakeouts, shiv? Her name should be Twitchy! Lobo's a new fizzy on the block; don't know much about her 'cept she always works with Nix. They're good kids, although they're still young as hell. Seems like kids are getting into the biz earlier and earlier, but I don't blame'em, right? *pfffffffffp* I mean, what's the alternative? At least this pays well!

I: Mr. Bingo, that's just terrible -- you're advocating your lifestyle to young people? I mean, look at you!

B: *burp* Hey, pissant, I make more in a day than you make all year. Kids are smart, right? Like they can add it all up and see which way's the way to go. Fuck'em, and fuck you, while you're at it. (takes a swig from his flask) ahhhhhh…

I: Are you happy, Mr. Bingo? I mean, deep inside?

B: HAHA What a stupid question! Hell yeah, I'm happy! I'm alive, aren't I? I'm rich! I get to shoot people for a living and get away with it; I blow stuff up, I go gambling -- I mean, what's not to like? I've seen a lotta shit, freaky shit, kid, and I've lived to tell about it. I'm living the life putzes like you dream about. Hell, I was on "Lifestyles of the Infamous" a couple years back, with that simsense cock interviewing me. That was a trip. Got great ratings, 'specially when I whacked him while the show was being broadcast! I'll have to tell you about that one later -- see, he was a job. That's the joke of it all. Someone hired me to take him out, and we did it public like that. Sweet, flashy biz.

I: And yet you chide Eightball for being a self-promoter. You've got your own product line, don't you, Mr. Clown?

B: Oh, I see, a man of principle. *ffffffffp* Yeah, I got all sorts of residuals by way of my past work on trideo. Fuck it. Consider it my insurance policy, you know? I'm an oldster in this profession, right? I can pick and choose the jobs I want, but why shouldn't I cash in on my image?

The thing I say about Eight is he's trying to cash in before he's got the rep to slot it, which is dicey -- maybe he can pull it off, and if he can, that's cool. If he can't, he'll be dead. Me, I've been there, done that, you shiv? So I'm looking back on things -- I don't need to self-promote, because I've already got the rep, and people to promote for me. S'like that, what -- propaganda of the deed -- I've done shit and it speaks volumes, right? Sheesh. *glug glug* Fucker.

I: Death comes to us all, Mr. Clown.

B: Yeah, well bring it on, pissface. When Death comes, I'll give her a big tongue smooch and a pat on the ass and tell her, 'Hey, where ya been all my life, baby?'

<<34:04:50>>

I: You're responsible for how many deaths, Mr. Bingo?

B: *yawn* Oh, hell, I don't keep count.

I: Can't you give me an estimate?

B: What's the point? I mean, is this some kind of pissing contest?

I: Well, how should I put this? With serial killers, there's always an emphasis on body counts. I find the casual disregard you place on others' lives to be similar to that of a serial killer. I consider you a serial killer. How many have you killed?

B: *ffffffffffp* That so? Christ, kid, is this what you've been building up to? Sheesh. Okay, I think you're way off, there. I mean, I don't do it for personal reasons -- it's business. I do all kinds of jobs. Killing is just a part of the job, and not always the central part of it. It's an occupational hazard. I don't whack bystanders. Anybody I've hit, well, they've got it coming. They're either security professionals, or they're scumbags who deserved it.

I: Aren't you just rationalizing, Mr. Bingo? I mean, you and your fellow runners are deeply dysfunctional people -- misanthropes -- psychotics.

B: Heh -- you're trying to pull my trigger, aren't ya, squirt? Well, I'm not going to play! I like to think that I'm actually pretty level-headed. Like I said the other day, you should see some of the wackos out there. I mean, I'm pragmatic. I don't set out to kill a lot of people; if that's my job, well, that's my job. I usually avoid pure assassination jobs; not my style. I'm not some Yak ninja, right? I just stick to the terms of the contract, and move on.

I: I must say that I find you and the whole shadowrunning subculture offensive. It's horrible.

B: Yeah, well you and your whole megacorporate subculture profits from it, so don't go holding your breath for it to change, sporto. And don't go playing the voice of morality here, either. Sheesh, you trideo folks are scavs -- you go out and dig up bullshit stories to boost the ad revenue for your bullshit advertisers.

I: (going through notes) You worked for trideo, yes?

B: Yeah, I hosted a children's show.

I: You have got to be kidding me.

B: *fffffffffp* Fifteen years, pal. It was a pretty damn good show, too. Very educational.

I: Tell me about it. Why on earth were you on a kids' show?

B: Well, for one thing, it was a cover. See, I had a little trouble after the whole Secession thing; I can't really go into it. Anyhow, I needed to lay low, so I cashed in on some favors and got myself on this trideo kids' show, figuring that the best place to hide someone who looked like a clown was in a show with a clown!

I: Who was after you? Can you name names?

B: Well, my commanding officer, for one thing. The real ones after me were Az-

[TAPE GLITCH RUNNING TIME 30:01]

<<34:05:21>>

I: So that's why they were after you?

B: Yep. Sore losers, is all. *fffffffffp* But I'm not stupid enough to stick my neck in a friggin' noose, right? They got me back, though; hell, I'm still trying to come out from under the smear job they did on me. Bastards. You know, people come and go, but they never forget.

<<37:01:13>>

I: Tell me about Solitaire.

B: Solitaire's a sick puppy, although you gotta like her style. Going after folks with a dikoted monosword -- now that's sickness!

I: My sources say you've declined a contract on her. A lucrative contract.

B: *fffffffp* That's right.

I: Any particular reason? Not like you to turn down "business."

B: *koff koff* Yeah, well I got my reasons.

I: Are you scared of her?

B: Of Solitaire? No, I'm not. I know what she can do; I read the flimsies, I know the story.

I: Are you protecting her?

B: (leans forward) Believe me, kiddo, Solitaire doesn't need anybody's protection.

I: You speak of her as if you know her. Lone Star has been seeking her for ten years, without success. They'd be interested in knowing what you'd have to say about her.

B: Stop "scaring" me like that, squirt. *glug glug* Yeah, they can bite me.

I: According to the latest, Solitaire has killed some 134 people, right? Lone Star considers her on their Most Wanted list.

B: Look, she's a vigilante; she does her thing, I do mine. Vigilantes are a weird group. They're freaks.

I: Indeed. She wears a white face mask and a baroque costume. She hunts rapists and child molesters, and kills them when she finds them, uniformly using her sword. Her most recent exploits pitted her against the Fascist Pigs, a group who bears you considerable ill will. She left 7 members of the Pig gang dead in one of their hideouts.

B: *fffffffp* Good reporting, kid. Yeah, she's a freak. I told you that.

I: But it doesn't bother you?

B: Nah. She means well. She's just a bit off, that's all. It happens. Next subject…