It is no secret that cash is the lifeblood of every business, without it materials cannot be purchased, labour cannot be compensated for its services and no investments can be made. This is true of every industry in existence, even those dealing in chaos will, at times, require some form of funding to continue their anarchistic operations. For their comes a point where you simply have to have that sniper rifle/cannon/mortar/tank/[insert weapon of choice here] capable of screwing over not only that one poor soul on the horizon but everyone near him as well.
However, there a certain difficulties imposed on such acquisitions when one's business happens to fall under the classification of terrorism. For one it tends to limit you to suppliers who will only accept payment in cash, secondly obtaining income is rather difficult when you tend to blow up, disintegrate or otherwise destroy the majority of the assets in your possession. The standard solution to these two prominent obstacles is to engage in a side business of some sort with high, inelastic demand and relatively low production costs.
Drugs were generally a good choice however in a city like New York the market was somewhat oversaturated at the moment. Weapons were also an option, violence and hatred are as good an addiction as any other after all, yet such a business was rarely a one man operation and tended to require a considerate amount of logistical skill and an infrastructure to base them on. Sex however, well that could be exploited in a number of ways and it possessed a market with near infinite potential for growth and, with today's technology, minimum operational costs which permitted more than reasonable pricing.
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Secluded in one of Sanctuary's many unoccupied residential rooms Hull's features glowed dimly in the light reflected from the monitor of a computer he'd recently appropriated from one of his supposed neighbors. A digital camera lay on the desk beside him, it's case unclipped and a single wire extending from the devices internal workings to one of the computers ports and as the Canadian killer watched an emerald progress bar slowly began to fill.
Originally photography required the use of gunpowder, an excellent beginning in Hull's humble opinion, then scientific advancement replaced the aforementioned powder with light bulbs and moved on to the creation of a black room, which while no longer quite as fun, proved to be an excellent location for storing cadavers. With the progression of computer technology though came not only the disposable digital camera, which eliminated all need for a black room, but also the advent of photo editing technology...
With the files successfully transferred the emerald eyed menace made a swift backup before deftly running them through the conveniently available CS photostore 6
TM. Admittedly his experience with this particular program was severely limited but with a photographic memory and the scientific method at his disposal Hull was reasonably confident he'd be able to make the adjustments necessary to change an already eye catching suggestive image of an enticing brunette into a far more provocative and overall alluring piece of work.
Whoever said home projects weren't fun?
--One Week Later--
Blinking Hull exhaled and leaned back from the computer in order to savor his sense of accomplishment, then he quietly copied the backed up files he'd made at the beginning of the week to three separate unobtrusive memory sticks and swiftly placed two of them into his own storage before rising from his seat and opening the curtain of a nearby window, allowing natural light to flood the room for the first time in days.
A minute later both the computer and monitor were hurled though the uncovered window with no small amount of force accompanied by the rather vociferous exclamation.
"F*ck this!" --Another Week Later--
The Canadian killer grinned as he eyed the display before him, he'd found that NYU hosted a surprising number of computer graphic artists and it had been a relatively simple manner to learn the name of one of the more talented designers, track down their immediate family, abduct them to a warehouse fitted with wireless explosives and then extort the services he needed for an incredibly reasonable fee.
The final product was impressive to say the least; standing with feet slightly spread and shoulders thrown back was a pale but voluptuous girl with trailing waist length auburn hair which made absolutely no effort to conceal her utter lack of dress. A touch of scarlet colored the gamines expression of shock and defiance, suggesting a level of embarrassment and vulnerability.
The blush did not cease at the brunettes face though but traveled down her ivory skin to the swell of her breasts, gradually fading as it did so until the eye was invariably drawn to the peaks, only to discover that a thin , curving strip of bone had risen to defend what little there was of the girls modesty while still revealing the undersides of her breasts. A swift glance southwards would find that a similarly scant barrier also guarded the apex of her thighs. Such was the paleness of the gamines skin however that both coverings blended almost seamlessly with her flesh.
The best part though was that the original photos had been taken at a high enough resolution to permit full, body length posters without any loss of quality, or at least none that Hull could find as he scanned the first print.
He was in business, all he needed now was a publisher.
((Continued in:
Bone Bikini Babe))
