=Carnivale= 
I’m aware that there’s been some worry regarding the creation of weapons of mass destruction or even seed AIs on Carnivale, so I went searching for a good account that we could pass on to ﬁeld sentinels regarding the place. First off, I question whatever agency in the universe thought it was a good idea to let an entire scum ﬂotilla relocate through a gate and set up shop on the other side. Second, talking to any of the actual inhabitants of Carnivale is pointless. It’s rather like having a conversation with a very drunk, very perverse random conversation generator. It’s like all the inhabitants are constantly high and in on a joke that you are not part of. Quite frustrating. Third, I am aware of standing policy to not treat anything Mr. Astrides says as a legitimate source of information, however, his account of Carnivale is by far the most coherent and contains the most potentially useful information of any I was able to collect. Finally, I heartily recommend that only agents able to deal with highly ﬂuid social situations and coming from rimward backgrounds be assigned to any missions on Carnivale. I fear those used to dealing with inner system operations may have difﬁculty adjusting if even half of what Astrides says is true.
||>   ||= **Carnivale** ||
||> **Type** ||= Terrestrial (Earth-like) ||
||> **Primary Star/Satelite of** ||= B8V (Blue-White Dwarf) ||
||> **Gravity** ||= 0.42g ||
||> **Diameter** ||= 8,900 km ||
||> **Atmospheric Pressure** ||= 0.82 atm ||
||> **Atmospheric Composition** ||= 69% Nitrogen, 23% Oxygen, 6% Carbon Dioxide ||
||> **Surface Temperature (Min/Mean/Max)** ||= -120 C/15 C/80 C ||
||> **Day Length** ||= 68 hours ||
||> **Orbital Period** ||= 16.9 years ||
||> **Satellites** ||= 4 ||
||> **Gate Access** ||= [[Fissure Gate]] ||
==A World of Scum== 
//The following is a transcription of a conversation between Sentinel Luo and Donovan Astrides at the Blasted Brinker on Huisland Station in the outer system.//
Okay, boyo, you’ve been staring me down all night. If you fancy a fuck I may be able to oblige you, but you’re likely to be disappointed since I don’t got any fancy bells and whistles in this body that make such activities more fun than just routine ﬂuid swapping. If you’re here to kill me, well bring it. This place is deadly boring and I could use a good spot of exercise. Either way I’m headed off to bed soon—yours, mine, or one in the inﬁrmary, don’t much matter to me. So what’s your pleasure?
Questions? Oh bugger off. Are you serious? Well then, make it interesting, otherwise I got ﬁfty kroners that says I can shoot you right here and toss you out the airlock without anyone here raising a ﬁnger to help you.
Carnivale. Now there’s a name to conjure by. Good memories, or at least good fragments of what may be memories—or may be dreams. Are you thinking of going? If so, I hope you’re paid up on your insurance. No, not because it’s dangerous, at least not in the way you’re probably thinking, but it will probably kill you. But that’s the fun of it. Everyone jokes that they’d like to die fucking, but on Carnivale that’s the least of the entertainments.
Carnivale is where good little scum girls, or boys, or both, or neither, get to go as a reward. It’s kinda like heaven for people who think the idea of having to wait for an afterlife is a load of shit and there’s no good reason not to kill yourself with fun, repeatedly, rather than hope there’s some reward for not doing so right damn now. If that’s your thing, then this is your Shangri-la, courtesy of a very lucky band of scum called the Monsters. That crew includes more than a few pre-Fall media stars who decided to start over with the scum and know what partying to excess looks like. Remember Angelina Germanotta? Yeah, she’s one of their more infamous members, even passing herself off as their spokesperson, grande madame, dark mistress, exalted witch-whore-priestess, or whatever she’s in the mood for that day.
Any and all delights you can imagine are to be had on Carnivale. Forget what places like [[Parvarti]] on [[Venus]] promise, they pale in comparison. The problem with the hypercorp sleaze dens is that they cater to people who have been told not to do something their entire lives, told that there’s a morality that you gotta adhere to, and if you don’t then you’re a bad, bad boy. So naturally all those fuckers want to slink off somewhere in the clouds and get off doing just that. Booooooooring.
Their idea of transgressive is to sleeve into something forbidden, like, gasp, a neo-hominid, and then get their monkey rocks off in a giant orgy with a couple dozen pleasure pods. This is what the scum of Carnivale would call “vanilla.”
Of course, being part of a giant moaning sweaty pile of fuckmeat does have an appeal all on its own, but if that’s the end-all-be-all of your ambitions then you can do that here and now. No, Carnivale is for people who realize that morality, at least when it comes to things like sex and propriety, is ﬂexible, and that true pleasure comes from running every last urge you have, carnal and otherwise, into the ground in a process of orgiastic self-discovery. This isn’t just sex for pleasure, it’s sex and violence and substance abuse taken to extremes of existential enlightenment.
You don’t go on vacation to do the shit you could do back home, and that’s the beauty of Carnivale. You may question why the autonomists gave oversight of a transhuman-habitable planet to a bunch of scum, but you’re thinking about this wrong. Imagine you’re part of that ﬁrst group to go through the gate. You ﬁnd yourself on the other side, standing on a windswept cliff overlooking an endless ocean, and your suit is telling you that, fuck yeah, there’s oxygen and the bacteria and other gunk in the air is a negligible nuisance for your medichines to adapt a solution for. The temperature is balmy, the gravity is half of Earth’s, and there’s good air pressure at sea level. So you take a risk, because you’re a risk taker—that’s why you jump through gates and travel halfway round the universe. What’s this in comparison to that? You take off that helmet and let your internal systems integrate and BAM! You get a rush like you just took a hit of buzz and you’re feeling good, really good, and you realize that the “grass” you’re standing on has a pollen that gives you an endorphin rush like nothing else. Well, friend, let me ask you, who better to set up shop and keep watch at this place than the system’s favorite good-time girls and boys?
Of course, the Monsters granted mucho rep to the Love and Rage Collective for letting them set up shop on Carnivale—I mean, wouldn’t you? It was a win-win for everyone. Well, except for people who think recreational murder between consenting sapients is a bad thing, but who the fuck cares about them, they’re not invited.

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