THIRD FRIDAY: 06.19.20
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Thanks for visiting Rogue Gallery! Enjoy your stay!
Steven Lee Matz
The Orange Zone was just as it's name suggested. Orange fog, humid, and a place where trouble was
never too far off. Most of the inhabitants here have a shady background in some form or another. If you
even so much as entertained the thought of stepping foot on the rocky soil here, chances are, your
hands ain't exactly clean.
Zylo was familiar with the man in charge here, guy goes by the name of Rax. He typically imports
cybernetic implants from other quadrants for a rather hefty sum of money. Not exactly the honest type,
but business is business. Even if it was of the shady variety, you couldn't find a better place for top of the
line gear. And it wasn't just cybernetics either, even though that was where most of Rax's business had
found success. He also dealt in arms dealing and weapons development, as well as high stakes boxing-
The parts Zylo took from the youngsters at the club would fetch a nice discount for what he's looking
for. Of course, some of the components were a little wet.But the change in temperture should help dry it
off. Even if it will get a little dusty instead. Rax most likely won't care though. Just bring him the parts and
he'll make them practically brand new, for a price, of course.
The girl kept following him even in this barren landscape, with no sign of her leaving anytime soon.
He'll ask Rax about that while he's in there, maybe he can fix it this time.
"You can keep trying as many times as you like, i'm not going anywhere." She said with a smile on her
face. Zylo was getting so annoyed by her that he wants to tear out his opticle implants if it means getting
rid of her.
He looked up the walkway and saw some guys pushing a rather large bin, probably containing tons of
scrap and other items as well. The way work is done here is, you put most of the "materials" in the
bottom of a bin. Then you fill it up with lots of scrap and any other useless junk. That way, if any cops
show up, you can hide the stuff in plain sight. And they can't do anything about it, because they need a
warrant to dig through the bins.
A man in a blue jacket walked up to Zylo, another scan and check, no doubt. This has always been a
tedious process, but it was the only way for him to see Rax.
"Spread your arms out." Right down to business as usual, never one for small talk, perfect for the both
of them. The guy in blue pulled an old metal detector out of his jacket. A loud beep rings out as it is
switched on, with a yellow light blinking on the handle.
At first glance it seemed a little banged up for the job, but the motto in this place was simple, "make it
a masterpiece on the inside, and a peice of shit on the outside." Inside would be a true work of technical
art, circuits and other gizmos making a fine string of criss-crossing craftsmenship.
A minute of scanning, and the light turned green.
"This way Zy." If Zylo could talk right now, he'd tell this guy to watch his mouth. Something about the
way he says it just comes off as disrespectful. Rax should really discipline his men more often.
Over the catwalk and about ten flights of stairs later, into the the office of the man called Rax. His
office looked more like a garage then anything else. Blueprints and parts of varying machinary,
organized in numerical value.
A younger man walks up to Zylo with an automatic pistol in his hand, smirking like some kind of clown.
"You got business here, pal?" Rax looked over at the youth with a steel gaze, anger just barely visible
in his eyes. "Nick, i've told about that tough guy act before. Now knock it off."
So Nick was his name. Zylo seemed to keep forgetting about that, along with a few other details, he
"Give us a little space, boy. The place isn't gonna run itself." Rax motioned for the guy in blue to leave
with the kid. Both of them bumping past Zylo as they shut the door, an electronic lock clicking into place.
"I apologize for my nephew's behavor. He's been acting that way since i brought him in a couple
months ago." That was his nephew? Oh yeah, Zylo had forgotten about that too.
"Now, what'd ya bring me this time?" Zylo dumped a bag full of parts on the table. Rax smiled like it
was his birthday. He rummaged through the pile with the occasional grin and raised eyebrow. "Ha,ha.
You always bring back some good stuff, friend."
The girl looked at him curiously, almost confused as to just what she was seeing. He tapped his finger
on his optical implant. Rax looked at him with a face that said "i'm not surprised."
"You having that Ghost problem again?" Zylo shook his head in a yes motion. "Well, if it's not a
hardware problem, then it's a software problem." He grabbed a tiny screwdriver off the rack by the table.
"It might be a Ghost-Virus you got there. Meaning, if you want to have it taken carer of, you need new
implants." Zylo motioned no, he wasn't about to spend the next week or two adjusting to new hardware
"Well, alright then. Your problem." The girl giggled, he really wised he could just get the new implants.
"Offer's on the table." She could be a real smart ass sometimes.
"Alright, just the tune-ups i guess." Good, this shouldn't take too terribly long. It'll give him a chance to
take it easy till he has to head out again. He looked over at the monitor on the wall, and saw what looked
to be a cruiser very VERY similar to the one he saw at the club.
Damnit...not now. Not yet.
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A great specter is looming over the art world: the specter of Inter|Sekt. For far too long we have watched the artists of our generation turned into a disposable commodity, bought and sold by the galleries, stifled in their expression by the tastes of the art consultants who purchase pieces on behalf of financially minded clients who want a "solid investment".
They have been amalgamated into schools, said schools are a device of gallerists and art historians to divide and conquer the creatives and free thinkers.
For we live in a nation which thinks itself to be free yet is not, they expect the same of their artists.
Our culture has been raped and plundered by the upper echelon, picked apart and sold by the same greed mongers who claim to be it's patrons. The tool which has most effectively stunted the growth of modern American art in particular is the clever indoctrination of this idea of schools to not only the art student but anyone whom even reads a brief survey of the history of art sees that it is broken up into these categorized schools; the philosophies of these various sects creates conflict, division, and ultimately destruction of the morale and submission to the established order. Thus rendering the creative spirit confused and useless.
This helps curb the rebellious spirit of the average citizen outside of the art world in other spheres of society.
Art history is a lie and galleries are dens of thieves!
Inter|Sekt is not destroying the schools or the galleries, we are simply showing you they were never real, at least not in a world outside of that constructed by academics to sell text books to art students.
The reign of the gallerists and art consultants is over when you want it to be.
From the ashes of the indoctrinated schools of every form of art shall arise The New World Creative.
-Steven Lee Matz-
The inter|sekt manifesto