All I know is the fight.
I started out like any cadet. A fist fight in some back alley bar on Caldari Prime, a toxin fuelled stupor to stiffen my jaw back up again, follwed by a piece of paper rammed down my throat from some uniformed Caldari State poster boy.
He’s a talker, alright. His stripes would give the impression of a brave tactition who pulled lesser men through the black hell of contested space. A man of honour, a man who thinks on his feet without fear. I can tell however, from the focus in his eyes and the way his weight is shifted to his heels that he’s never seen any action past holo-reels and simulations. A man born of social exclusivity: those were payed for.
I got soul, he said. I got fire, he said. Be a patriot and advance to Caldari Prime and proclaim myself a Hero of the State.
A hang-over is all I really had, and the man doubled over counting his teeth on the floor was the only cure I could afford.
My days in the academy were short, which suited me fine. There were no soldiers, no order and no discipline, just a band of brawlers pissing up walls. We were all here for one thing. None of us cared for the State and our sense of duty came from the desire to line our pockets. Those of us who made it through signed it all away, to be welcomed with assignments branded “early retirement”, to engage Guarista outposts. None of us were expected to come back. I couldn’t get enough of them.
The thrill of the hunt and disregard for consequence became aparent to my Agent. He had a sense of humour that’s for sure.
My weekly briefings became daily, which in turn became personal visits everytime I came to dock. I grew accustomed to sleeping in my pod during transit, so rare it was I had the chance to spend my few unconcious hours in homely comforts; and the only thing that put me to sleep was the pills.
They decommissioned me from active duty shortly after 112 consecutive flights post initiation throughout New Eden, without leave. Top brass considered me a liability. No pilot can withstand such sleep and comfort deprivation without the abuse of illegal depressants and stimulants. They themselves upped the dosage every couple of days so I could keep flying, but some brown nosed official or the press must have caught wind. I was branded a loose connon: all fist and no velvet glove.
For my “loyal service” they brought out all the fanfare that would fit into the Admiral’s office and congratulated me on my honourable discharge. His teeth sure made a mess of my knuckles.
Now I get to sleep at home. On the bar.
My Agent, the bastard, still has mission briefings slipped through the cracks to my station quarters. Kill Gallente liberist scum, straight and narrow. The politics numb me more than the pills and as far as I’m concerned I don’t care for nobody regardless of which side of some imaginary line they spawned from.
The Navy have long buried me. These orders are stricly on a need to know basis: no doubt private investors with their honey in the hands of Gallente Corporations.
Me? I just need to know where I start swinging.
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please excuse my first foray into Role Play of any inaccuracies, faux pas and general school boy errors. don’t tell my friends i did this…
Tarisai Hsaun