The more shit I have to do for you compound gigabastards, the more brownstock rolls out. I shouldn't say that, this didn't start out as a firewall op. Anyfockinghow, we was crossing the Noctis bridge, and my partner X is confronted by some indent randomite woman. There was like, fifteen of these cats. This ruster woman blocks Mr. X--who is a terafucking Ultimate gigabastard--and confronts him for scraps. Now she don't look good, she claims to be sick from industrial pollutants, heavy metals, rems 'n grays, carcinogens, all this malignant joy we used to get sick from like a hundred goddamn years ago. She says all this basically verbatim like it's been fed to her by her indent holder. Classic, but Mr. X is a ladder doctor. This poor hodack asks me what to do because this girl is persistent, she sits on his shoe and threatens to piss, now, our Candybar Suits are waterproof, and have eelware, but I pointed out that mobs do transhumanitarian dogshit all the time to improve their public image. So he examines her. Turns out, wouldn't you know, classic GRM-itis. I called this in, but F-dub quickly discounted this as not an X-threat but just some more shitty stuff thoomans do to each other for profit. This is microcorps doing this. Names include OTI, TransCydonian and Genero Tu. X hates corps more than I do so we decide to anger our enemies and gain some @rep while we're at it and spend some favors to get a healing tank reserved for the I-think-it-was-like-36 hours to treat these poor red monkeys three at a time. And thank the karma gods we did...