[open freq] To the thief that robbed my camp.

[PCher]

Dale hobbles into his hunting camp with his sack weighed down but his spirits lifted high as a result of a successful boar hunt. His mouth waters at the thought of the pork chops he will soon enjoy, but first he sets to tanning the hide. His demeanor is shaken when he sees that the lid of his barrel is not secured tight as he always leaves it. He peers inside and his content turns to frustration as his fear are confirmed. He pulls out his radio in anger.

"This is Dale Sutton speaking, if the individual that took the ammunition and FAL from my stores is listening then hear this. You no doubt recognize my name, because not only did you take the aforementioned supplies, but you even took the note I left with them. The note clearly stated that I have no qualms with anyone acquiring these supplies, and that I only asked that you leave wares of reasonably equal value..."

Thoughts of all the men and women that Dale had been friendly to, but also invited to his camp for a warm fire and hot steak, flashed through his mind.

"I hope that you only chanced upon my camp, and you are not somebody who I have extended a hand of good intent to. Either way you should know that I have no use for my weapons. Times of violence had been put away long before I ended up here, and I prefer to keep it that way if possible. This is a matter of principle. Taking that rifle and all of that ammunition without leaving so much as a battery in return is one thing, but you even took the note that stated my good-will towards you. It is not my rifle on the back of a dubious individual, but my name in your pocket that upsets me."

Dale catches his anger, and reminds himself that desperate times do lead to desperate and paranoid individuals. An image plays out in Dale's head of the thief nervously grabbing the rifle and, not wanting to spend too much time in the vicinity in case the owner returned, stuffing the note in his pocket to read where it may be safer.

"Should you hear this message, and wish to make right with me, I'll be listening to this radio. Let me know that you will return with my note at least, and perhaps we may enjoy some fresh pork together. Otherwise, I will not seek revenge, but know that revenge will find you, for it is in the hands of the creator..."

Dale turns the volume up on his radio and sets it to the side as he returns to the chore of preparing his hide.

[Natje]

Hearing the broadcast, Ender thinks to himself. Could this have been one of the camps he ran into on his trip? Wanting to avoid recognition, Ender picks up a plastic cup and holds it over his mouth before pushing the PTT.

A muffled slightly morphed voice can be heard.

A hunting camp, you say... I've run into several camps today, and I won't lie, things were stolen. However, an FAL does not ring any bells. Could you give a more detailed list of the stolen things, so I can be certain of whether or not I might've been involved in the theft?

If I am indeed one of the responsible thieves, I apologize, and will do my best to make up for it.

Releasing the PTT, Ender hopes that he wasn't involved in the theft.

[PCher]

Dale, belly full of pork, picks up his radio and keys the mic.

"Ok mystery man, besides the FAL, a shit ton of 9mm and 7.62x39mm, some of the latter having been stripped off of two clips, there was also the note that offered up my wares under the conditions of fair replacement. If you ain't holding a note signed by myself, then my camp wasn't one of the ones you and your partners sacked. As for the loot you did abscond with from these various other camps, I'll just assume that it belonged to some of these less than desirable folks roaming these lands. Whether or not that is the case is up to your concern and conscious, makes little difference to me."

Figuring that, after 2 hours of monitoring his radio, his initial transmission did not reach the ear of the responsible party, Dale Sutton ventures back off into the forest, fortified and rested, to proceed with his seemingly hopeless existence.

[PCher]

After returning to his hunting camp, Dale reasoned that, due to the events of earlier, the low light signature of a dakota fire hole would be a better option then an open fire. With the dim glow next to him, and a few swigs from his "special" canteen, he remembers the muffled voice that actually had the substance to offer up that just-in-case apology. He's slightly motivated at the reminder that not everyone out there is a complete shit sandwich. As he crawls into his fart sack to catch some shut eye, he reaches again for his radio.

"Dale Sutton speaking. Earlier this evening I made a transmission to address whoever had their dick beaters in my barrel. There was only one response... Mystery Man, if you're still listening, I have a proposition for you. You said you uh... tactically acquired... some supplies from other camps. Well I'm always looking for certain essentials; snare wire, 550 cord, 100 mph tape, batteries, propane, disinfectant, netting, crossbow bolts, just to name a few. I have more arms, magazines, ammunition, and the like that I can offer. These things don't excite this old-timer like they used to though. Stashing them away just gives me opportunities to trade and... I suppose there's some insurance in knowing I can put a bullet in someone's 4th point of contact if they really need..."

Dale hears a gunshot about 300 meters away, so he guesses. He reaches for his boots and stuffs his feet in them without bothering to lace them. One hand feels around in the dark for his combat knife and moves it closer to his side, while his other hand pulls his, now warm, "special" canteen from his sleeping bag. He takes a swig, and another, and then another. He listens quietly for a few moments, but hears nothing more. After a particularly large, satisfied gulp, he stuffs the canteen back in his bag. 

"gak. argh.. ahhh... Uh. Where was I? Oh right... if yurr interested in trading, give me a freq to reach you at. If you got tha time, I can navigate you ta my AO... or you can navigate me ta yurrs. Oh yea... I also got way too damn much of these meats and these damn vetegables... vegebatles... fuck it."

Suddenly Dale has to piss. He throws the radio to the corner of the tent, and stumbles out to the tree line in his boots and skivvies. 

[PCher]

Dale picks up his radio and yells across the airwaves.

"OK, WHO WAS IT THIS TIME? YOU TOOK HALF MY TOMATOES, MY STEAKS, AND MY ONLY FOX PELT AND LEFT NOTHING IN RETURN!!!"

Dale throws his radio against a nearby tree and curses himself. After picking up the radio and putting the battery back in, he's relieved to see the LCD display light back up.

"It's clear to me now that relying on common decency of others was a mistake. I hope you got your fill, cause I'm packing up. I have no choice but to move my camp. All you honest folks that actually made use of my honor system can thank these blue falcons for ruining a good thing."

[Yimo]

*Skye lets out a sigh before pushing down the PTT*

"Hey, it's Skye. I'm not too sure if you remember me or not, but I met you at that military base with the large radio tower. I am sorry for what has happened to you, and I understand where your anger is coming from due to having my camp being robbed too."

*He pauses as he rummages around his backpack, mentally counting his supplies*

"I have a bit of supplies I am able to spare, it may not be as much as you had but I can give some ammunition, and a couple cans of beans."

*He lets go of the PTT, and waits for a reply*

[Thoss]

*Simon hears the broadcast*

*picks up his radio*

*click*

Dobry Den, or hello you there. I listened to just a little bit, of what you said. So you are missing an FAL right?

Luckely I have one, and I don't need it. So if you want, my name is Simon, Simon Vendalts. If you want to, you can have mine.

Just tell me, if you want it, and it's yours. Do not worry, I'm from the ZBor movement. 

Come to the capital of ZBor, it's called Zelenogorsk. Just contact me as said. I will repeat and give you my position in the town.

Then we can trade. I could even give it to you for nill.

Glory to ZBor, the movement of ZBor and it's leaders. 

We are helping where we can.

As said, contact me.

Zbohom my firend!

*click*

*Simon is now waiting for the response of the guy that is missing a FAL*

*Simon now get's the FAL out to cleans it*

Simon says: Hopefully this guy will answer.

[PCher]

Dale pause his moving preparations as he hears the responses over the net.

"While I do appreciate the offers fellows, at this time any further supplies would only slow my efforts to move. I tell you what though, since you have offered a helping hand in my plight, I don't mind lightening my load of some of these arms and associated ammunition and magazines. I'll be moving to a more secure frequency to give you my whereabouts. Just set your radios to scan until you hear my voice."