For more information on Dredd-verse, please visit the Wiki Page.

For a list of sectors and the geography of Mega City One, please see this page. If you're playing a gang, it would be helpful in your first couple of posts to identify your turf.

I personally do not like character sheets, so I’m going to request that instead of a character sheet, just tell us which role you are playing. I would rather that your character sheet be your introduction post. Players playing Judges should introduce the Judge both as a law enforcement officer and also as a person, some description of the character and a segway into the actual story. Players playing a gang should describe the birth of the gang, the leader, the history of the gang and again, a segway into the current story. Think of this as your first IC post but posted in the OOC section.

I’m aware that I’m asking you to do this without a first post from the GM, however there should be enough information on the state of things from the OOC introduction for you to get your creative juices flowing. Your character will be accepted based on your post, once accepted your character introduction posts can be copied over to the IC as your first round of posts.

Judges
Judge Classes
Street Judge Echo Johnson - EXMEDIC
Wally Squad Judge Josephine Stone - cunfuzzler
Street Judge Eran Tybor - Kangaroo

Gangs/Clangs
The Legion - Fallen Muse and sobamushi (Co-GM)
The Family - singmesweetly
Pie Rats - wonderlandali
Ultimate's gang(name coming) - ultimate523

As was per her usual morning ritual, Echo Johnson gave the thick, plated uniform before her a long, hard stare from its place in her locker before she reached to pull it out.
How long had it been now? That question was easy enough to answer. Someone had mentioned in passing that it had been her fifth year as a street judge several weeks ago.
It felt like longer. Much, much longer.

She’d barely taken the time to reminisce – what was there to reminisce about? She’d joined the academy at five, just like everyone else. Managed to scrape by for 15 years, and then became a Cadet. Once again, she’d barely managed to pull it in, becoming a full-fledged street judge.
Still horribly average now at age 25 as she ever was, but none the less, she continued to persist.,

Judge Echo Johnson. She’d always felt detached from that name, although that was to be expected. For the most part, she’d grown up in some non-descript area. Been picked up, tested, and sent away to the academy. The name was assigned to her, just like everything else was really. Just a bunch of letters that formed words coherent enough to be used as an identifier - But then again, that’s all names really boil down to, isn’t it?

With a slight jerk, she yanked the uniform free from the metal confines of the locker, stripping down to her standard issue underclothes before donning the rest of her uniform.
Johnson couldn’t deny that there was always something about a Judge’s uniform – the effect it had, on her and everyone else around her. It commanded respect – fear; there was rarely a person that didn’t react in the same, paranoid way that most would when they spotted the helmet and dark clothes. Echo wasn’t a large girl – stock standard really; 5 foot 6 inches, 130 pounds. Rounded face, pale skin, light blue eyes – though her hair, in an effort to give the illusion of being an individual, had been dyed a sloppy mix of blue and black. Not that it mattered, really – she wasn’t vain enough to forgo her helmet just to people could take notice of her hair.
The uniform set her apart from normal people – although if you were comparing a judge to a group of civilians, you may as well be comparing an apple to a bunch of grapes.

Her helmet…she shifted slightly, and pulled it onto her lap.
While the rest of her uniform had been replaced several times over the years, she’d kept a hold of the same helmet. It was scratched and dirty with nicks dotting the carbon black and crimson. Towards the back, her fingers found a deeper crevice.
She remembered where that one was from, of course. Her mouth curled downwards in a frown.
Unlike a lot of Judges, she’d managed to keep the same partner from when she shifted ranks from cadet.

Well, until about 14 months ago.
She swallowed hard, flipping the helmet around and pushing it down roughly onto her head.
Her locker door was slammed shut, and her footsteps thudded heavily against the ground as she headed out.

Sixteen months, it had been sixteen months now, and it was all about to come to an end. Josephine glanced around the bar, it really was a nice place, even the ilk that it catered to felt the need to dress up before coming here. Not a single person in the place would look out of place at a gala, of course Josephine was no exception, she looked over her dress a blue sequined evening gown that would have cost her half a year's salary, and the stilettos on her feet the other half, her pink hair had been styled almost like Jessica Rabbit, going down to her back. She let a deep sigh cross her deep red stained lips, as she took a seat at the bar atop a padded stool, crossing her legs as the bartender made his way towards her. This, she was gonna miss this, the clothes, the hair, the lifestyle... The drugs, the alcohol, the people. She immediately ended that line of thought, thinking like that was a quick road to an early retirement.

She glanced up at the bartender, he was ridiculously handsome, with a smile that could disarm a rampaging war-droid. "The usual." she spoke absent-mindedly, and he was off immediately to concoct her drink. One last drink before she ended it. It was only moments before he came back with a Piña colada adorned with a mini umbrella, and inside half of a coconut. She was too lost in her contempletion about this coming to an end that she didn't hear him talking to her until she heard her 'Name' "...Alice?" She immediately brought her eyes to bear upon him, "What was that?". "I was just asking if you're alright Alice, you look out of it tonight." he replied. Josephine looked down at her drink and back to him, grabbing it and taking a sip as she did so. "I'm fine, just... Been under the weather lately. You should probably stay at a distance, I'd hate to see your pretty little ass sick." She smiled at him and took another sip of her drink before continuing. "As a matter of fact, why don't you just take the night off? No point in risking it right?" She sincerely hoped he'd leave, he didn't need to get arrested, sure he'd broken the law, but he was a nice guy. "You know my head would be on a spike if I did that, I'll just take my chances." Josephine finished her drink and rose from the stool "Welp, don't blame me then..."

Joe made her way to a booth in the corner of the bar, she pressed a button on the side of her watch, and spoke. "They're all here, I'm ready on your mark." There was a moment of silence before she heard the reply in her ear, the deep voice of Judge Monty. "Alright, ten seconds..." There was no turning back now "Nine" She grasped the pistol on her thigh, and unholstered it through the fabric of her dress. "Eight" She slid it across her skin until it was at the edge of her seat. "Seven" She took a moment to feel and make sure the safety was on, and pushed it over the edge. "Six" The sound of it hitting the wooden floor was drowned out by the band on the stage at the front of the bar. "Five" She slinked down and grabbed it from the floor with her opposite hand. "Four" Setting it on the seat to the side of her that wasn't visible to anyone she clicked the safety off. "Three" She started examining the bar for any signs that someone knew what was about to happen. "Two" There was nothing, people dancing, chatting, drinking, The same as she had done for sixteen months. "One" She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

*BOOM* The sounds of doors being crashed open roared, within a second there was already four judges in the building having come from both entrances. If things had gone as planned, there was two more backstage as well. "YOU ARE ALL UNDER ARREST, SURRENDER AT ONCE." Judge Monty's voice boomed over the now quieted din of the bar. Noone seemed to be putting up a fight, there was no point, the Hall of Justice doesn't orchestrate a bust like this without having it's bases covered. Josephine left her gun at her seat, and raised her hands to surrender, appearances were important, they wanted it to seem like she had been arrested just like anyone else, so she could go undercover again if need be, though after this, she didn't think she could handle it again. It took awhile before the arrests rolled around to her, Judge Monty had made sure to be the one to do it. "Stand up and put your hands behind your back." She did as she was told, at 6'6" he towered above her, even in four inch heels, he was still probably a foot taller than her. Of course that fact that she didn't look like a judge had been a significant part of why she was doing this. As he cuffed her, he leaned over her shoulder and whispered into her ear. "Good Job".

Fourteen months and nine days since he last served as a Judge in Metropolis City One. Fourteen months and nine days since he’d dispensed the law, pacified the violence and protected the weak. Fourteen months and nine days since he’d lived.

He’d been so disconnected from his purpose in life, it had been a crushing weight; Judge Tybor had only lived for being a servant of the law. To be raised from such a young age commanded the life of the eventual judges albeit for some the life of solitude and violence comes easier. The simple fact was when he wasn’t serving as a Judge, he was useless in life. Duty and sacrified had compiled his calling, somehow his heart still clung to the vaunted values and beliefs instilled in him during his cadetship. Fifteen years of training didn’t abandon you easily but he’d been rocked thoroughly to his core but when he’d been lost to the tides of darkness that threatened his heart, those values had been his anchor. They’d been what kept him living, kept him fighting in order to return one day as a judge albeit he may never again be the judge he once was.

The harrowing thoughts and memories coursed through his mind as he sat at the end of his bed, set in a grey, spartan room that had a noticeable scarcity of anything portraying life or love. This room, once his fortress of serenity had been converted into his prison after his recovery and rehabilitation. Despite all the mental damage that had been done, the physical scarring remained far, far worse. Not even the most modern of medical procedures had been able to easily fix the mutilated body of the man, at least not without adapting synthetic pieces into the body. All of that seemed a little extravagant for Tybor; besides the scars were a symbol of his pride and servitude to the duty of justice.

Starburst patches of ragged, scarred skin jutted over his stomach and lower back, if one took the time to count they’d find thirteen blotches in total, all of a rather similar size and dimension. That had been when an assault rifle wielding thug had nearly cut him in two with a burst of armour-piercing bullets which shredded his Judge uniform like paper. Not content with filling his stomach with lead; the thugs had continued onward to put bullets in his legs and arms, mainly because their aims had been faltered by the bullets entering their brains. He mainly kept his scars away, society often required a modicum of privacy involving a shirt; but they’d still seen a man tortured by the whims of the world.

His head was quite noticeably scar-free, a pleasant, almost non-descript face jutted out, a moderate nose, plain ears but dead, grey eyes viewed the world with the manner of a broken soul. Standing up, he couldn’t help but look at himself in the mirror, once again tracing a finger over the contusions in his skin; he was still not used to such a damaged body. He stood at 5’9, with a close cropped patch of brown hair and a medium-set build that once again established the air of averageness about the man; at least until the helmet went on.

He slowly and laboriously donned his Judge’s armour, wincing slightly and readjusting as the once-familiar armour chafed and strained in areas where his body had been warped. Eventually he clambered into a position where he felt comfortable but never as safe as he’d once felt. All that remained was the famous judge’s helm and the golden badge, enscribed with ‘Tybor’ and still bearing the bullet hole nick in the bottom of it; he’d refused to have it repaired as it would always remind him to never go back into the tactical response division. He got caught looking in the reflective black visage of the mask and a torrent of memories came flooding out.

Before he’d been a street Judge he’d been part of the infamous tactical response division, it was mainly composed of the less stable Judges. They act like cowboys and when they went in, they went in hard. They were deployed into the real shitfights, anywhere judges had been pinned down or there were too many armed men were stationed for a normal team. They lived life dangerously and as such recorded the highest casualty-to-mission rating of all the departments, taking out that prize by some margin too. Tybor had once been a reckless member of that division some ten years ago, before he saw the damage it was doing to his life and mind. He became a Street Judge, partnered up with an inexperienced Judge Johnson they’d patrolled the streets and dispensed justice for the better part of 4 years.

It’d been relatively cosy compared to his past but it was far easier to enjoy; his team wasn’t made up of psychopaths and trigger-happy nutcases and he dispensed far more justice this way. But they’d asked him for one last favour; come back for one mission to help the assault division out. There had been something in the water and they were down a few men, they even told him to bring his partner. A few pulled strings in the hierarchy cancelled that requisition; Judge Johnson was a good street judge but a day on the assault division would have broken her. He’d never let this on, he’d always felt protective of her from their early days and she had a solid career ahead of her.

He’d gone back into that insanity and came out with thirteen slugs in his stomach and four in his arms. Five months of hospital stay, four months of rehabilitation and four months to try and get himself back into the right condition to be a Judge. This lead him to be 32 and basically starting over again as a judge; after 14 months being couped up he’d lost his senses, his instinct and quite possibly his skills as a judge. He snapped himself out of the daze, attaching his badge and carefully lowered the half-face helmet down as he slipped into being a judge once again.

“Mader Jella!” shouted a tall man, somewhere in his mid-20s. Jella looked up from the book she was reading in her reclining chair. She smacked her lips, slightly annoyed at the disturbance.

“What, Don?” she responded, her enunciation in stark contrast with the younger mans. The young man could tell her annoyance and bit his lip nervously; he didn’t have news she would exactly want to hear.

“Um…. Well… The Legion has been spotted a sector over. Three gangs have dropped off the face of Mega City One.” Don blinked nervously as Jella silently took in the news. Her tongue licked her teeth and Don couldn’t help but concentrate on the moving bulge it created. It didn’t seem like it would be a good thing. He gulped.

“Brother Don,” she stated, taking careful precaution with each syllable. “I do not think it is time yet to worry about a gang that has popped up overnight. There will be time enough when they move closer, but they would not dare pick on someone of our size yet. The sizes of the gangs they have annihilated are small, puny in comparison to our numbers. We are still too much of a…big fish for this shark.” She smiled tautly at Don and went back to her book, a silent dismissal of the man. While she read, she thought of the problem in more detail. In fact, she was more worried about this rising gang, the Legion, than she had portrayed but whatever she said to Don would get out to the entire Family, and whatever they said would eventually get back to the Legion.

The Family was a slight misdemeanor in the way of names, because none of the gang was actually blood related, but it is what they were. They started long ago as a trio of orphans, just her, Mastus, and Ordio, forced to stick together for survive or die at the hands of another gang. As the years passed, the three collected more and more numbers, seeing as a city as crime-filled as Mega City One was ripe with orphans for the picking. They claimed to be the most peaceful of the gangs, but in reality they were just as bloodthirsty and power hungry as the rest, if not more. Each member of the Family knew which gang had killed their parents, or Judge, and therefore the Family was literally enemies with everybody, which led to a good amount of bloodshed.

The original trio of course sat at the head of the gang. They were known to their youngers as Father Mastus, Mother Jella, and Father Ordio. Mastus was the oldest of the three, or at least the greyest, and held the most authority over the new recruits of the Family. Accordingly, he arranged the screening and bringing in of any new members. Mother Jella was the youngest, but also the smartest of the three and usually dealt with any interactions between other gangs or, in worse case scenarios, Judges. She had a way with words that could convince pretty much anyone to believe her. It was speculated that this was some kind of mutation, but no one was sure. Father Ordio was in charge of the actual fighting, seeing as he was the most adept at a gun (or he was once upon a time, a young recruit name Brutus was getting to his level pretty fast).

Jella smiled, this time in true amusement. Brutus was actually what she needed.

Penny leaned back in her vintage La-Z-boy recliner, a large orange tabby sprawled across her lap rather obscuring her mid torso from view. Her lip curled up on the right as she regarded the trio of tattooed toughs on the other side of her desk. It was a very spartan office, with bare walls and a green lamp hanging from the ceiling that cast an absinthe-worthy pallor to the faces of the four people in the room. There were no windows, and only two doors: one on the right, and one on the left.

"You see boys, piss poor planning makes piss poor performance, as my daddy used to say. And what gets pissed on the most among you up & comers? Logistics. You can make the drugs, you can find the drugs, you can shoot each other over turf, but do you know how to get your shit from Peach Trees to, say, Beacon Hill without catching the eye of Judges, let alone rivals who will shoot you as quickly to take your stash? Nope." She nonchalantly scratched the purring cat behind the ears.

"What you need is a third party. Smugglers. Escrow. UP fucking S, if you will. We give you that, for a percentage. We operate a sophisticated network of discrete delivery men and women, whom in turn operate on a need to know basis. We have a 90% success rate, pending the occasional Judge. How many of your operations have gone without a hitch?" She regarded the leader of the trio squarely, and noticed a twitch in the brow that suggested memory of a recent failure. One of his buddies glanced away for a moment.

"Uh-huh..." she continued, pushing a lock of blonde hair behind her ear, "Look, for a fifteen percent cut, no more than you'd pay in taxes for a legit business operation, you can greatly increase your frequency of successful deliveries of goods and of funds. Up it to an agreement for a twenty percent cut and we'll insure your transaction entirely."

"Now, if you would like to engage in business, I will have you continue with my associate. If not, you may leave. Either way, you'll leave the same way you came in: blindfolded and transported. We'll take you back to that nice little park you started at. Peachy keen and none the worse for wear."

"We're in," the leader of the trio said gruffly. "Twenty percent. We've got slo-mo and - "

"Ah ah ah, not with me, darlin. With my sales associate. Think of me as... reception. I'll let The Captain know you're happy to work with us; he'll be terribly pleased.Through that door, to the left now. Ta ta." Penny raised her hand and gave a languid wiggle of her fingers as she looked down to the tablet she was reading on her desk. The toughs looked to one another, then shrugged and proceeded towards the door to the left as she tapped out a message on her tablet. As the door swung shut behind them in the next room, a spray of gas came from the ceiling over the toughs, knocking them out, and two of Penny's Pie Rats came to collect them and move them to another location to continue the business.

"...Just another day at the office, eh Captain?..." Penny mumbled, leaning down to snuggle her face against the cat's big head. The Captain kneaded his paws on her thigh contentedly.

"Huggy Bear: Look man. I lay it out for y'all to play it out."

William looked across the table at the large figure in front of him. Imposing, scary, yet quite friendly at times, "So can you finally tell me how it all started, Rex?" The young man asked.
"You know I don't know everything, right?" Was the response he got, only making him more curious.
"Well what do you know?" He asked again, leaning forward slightly this time.
"I don't think you realise just how little I know." The larger man added seriously before smirking slightly, "But you really want to know, don't you?"
"Do I look like I've changed my mind?" William asked as he leaned forward even more, grinning this time.
Rex looked away for a moment in thought, then back toward William, his jaw clenched slightly, and a much more serious, and sad look in his eyes, "Most people don't realise all the crazy shit Alistair has been through, but I'll tell you some of what I know." He said, then took a deep breathe before continuing, "He was pretty young when things started. He was a 'good kid' for a while, I guess you could say. Went to church, helped people, all that. He didn't really have too many friends, though, so some pricks from the old gang around this area, The Sharks, or something like that, they used to mess with him sometimes. He was kind of tall, but more lanky like you, so he didn't look very scary." He said, looking over William, and taking a sip of water before continuing, "Well they weren't very kind thanks to that, as you could imagine. I know you've seen a lot of those kinds of guys, pretending to be men when they're just assholes hiding behind guns. We've got some of them ourselves, but I try to keep them in their place." He said, and looked around the room slightly, making sure no one else was around, laughing a bit.

After a moment, Rex looked back toward William, and began to speak again, "Back to Alistair, though. He took a lot of crap just because he was an easy target, so he decided to join up. It didn't do much, but it seems like he learnt a lot from it, judging by what he told me. Those pieces of shit did fucking everything, though. Prostitution, drugs, gambling, whatever they could just for money, then rape, murder, and random shit to whoever they could find just for fun. He did a lot more of it than he likes to admit, but he's nothing like that any more. You can trust me on that. It's part of why he left, or at least he says it is. I believe him. Whether you do, or not, I don't know.

Anyway, after a few years when he did leave, he didn't go alone. A lot of other people agreed with his way of doing things. A little respect can go a long way. Nobody who wasn't involved in that stuff wanted The Sharks around, so they went down pretty fast. Alistair's new group went through a lot of different phases, but they put a lot more focus on taking care of people, especially their own. We still stick by that, as you know. They got really into drugs for a while, though. Some people think they made him crazy, but I know he's right about a lot of what he says, even if he is a bit crazy. Obviously I'm not alone there. It's why you're here, and a lot of others are too. It's why people back in the day joined him too. He took everybody, so long as they believed in working toward something with him. The group got bigger, and I got involved around that time. I know I already told you enough of my story, so you know how the rest goes, pretty much." He said, and finally began to stand up from the table, "Maybe you'll get to be a big part of the story some day too, but I have some things I need to take care of now. If you've got the balls, you can ask Alistair about everything yourself too. I think he likes you enough." Rex added with a slight smirk as he put on his jacket, and walked out the room.