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The Kibitzer Files

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Daryl Drudge walked slowly along the docks, his hat pulled low and the collar to his long trench coat popped up. It wasn't cold, but he did not wish the gangsters or the Crey security officers notice that he was walking along their turf. He wasn't scared of them, he could easily talk his way out of any problem, and he was not incapable of fighting if he had to. No, he had an appointment with a possible new client soon. Not so soon that he had to rush, but soon enough that he did not wish any confrontation. The docks smelled of fish and diesel, but he did not find that unpleasant. In fact, it was a familiar smell to him. Daryl Dredge had lived in Independence Port for some time now, carving out his life in this small part of Paragon City. 

"You know the price, and you know you want it, so just settle down and let's do business," the half metal Freakshow gang member said. The woman he was talking to was shaking, but it wasn't from fear. It was from need. She needed something that the low level drug pusher had. Judging from her attire she probably worked these docks herself. Her trade was big after hours. 

Daryl did not get involved. It wasn't his business. In his younger days he would run them off, but the pusher would still push his chemicals, and the user would still score elsewhere. 

Besides, if Crey officers saw the gang member, he may not make it out of this part of the city. They fired first and asked questions later. It had nothing to do with law and order, they weren't much better than the gangs. 


Daryl was in his early 50's, but he did not feel his age. Despite his looks, he was in pretty good shape still. He learned to handle himself in the military, then as a PPD officer. While both proved useful, he did not like how tied his hands were. He then tried reporting, thinking that would loosen his hands to report the truth about, well, anything. That turned out not to be truth, and many of his attempts to help out the city and it's people turned into a tongue lashing from the Editor in Chief, and a lesson on how the city worked. He needed to just fall in line. 

Daryl Drudge did not fall in line. 

Instead, he became a private detective, a gum shoe. He became a voice for the lower city dwellers, and as the Kibitzer, he became their justice. 


This is not his story. This is their story. A story some will never be able to tell. 

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