LOCATION: UNKNOWN GALLENTE SPACE

It is often said space is like the deep ocean. The weightlessness can make you queasy. Your inability to move in any direction induces panic. There is no oxygen to breathe. There is no “up”. It is easy to panic in the ocean. It is almost a certainty to panic in space. Cold, dark, harsh, unforgiving, space will take your life far more quickly than the ocean.

The ocean is powerful. Gravity, tides, currents all contributing to massive and raw displays of power. The oceans form the landscapes of planets. They can give life. They can completely obliterate it.

Space is even more far reaching in its strength. Stars implode. Planets are crushed. Black holes that devour all within their grasp. Nebulae that can leave you lost forever.

It is difficult with mere words to truly impress upon someone the weight of space; the import of it. It is not to be trifled with. Unlike the ocean, you do not casually swim in space. You do not bathe in it. You treat space as the most unforgiving lover you have ever known, for that is what she is to some, a lover.

Admist a dense cluster of asteroids, suspended in space far from any nearby planets, rests a bunker, carved and built into the very foundations of one of these larger rocks. It slowly spins, controlled by forces of the universe, serving as a very hidden, and very secret, base of operations for a group that dreams of changing the universe as we know it. Yet they seek more than change, for being an agent of change can bring great and wonderful positives to the future. No, this group seeks more than change. They seek control; power; dominance.

Within the darkly lit bunker, in a deeper level so cold that heating units constantly pump out warm air to make it liveable, a man, a former shadow of his self, stands in a dank, poorly lit room. His body trembles and sweats at the same time, his hair matted against his forehead. His clothing clings to his body, emanating the stench of uncleanliness of both mind and body.

This man, whom must remain nameless for now, has stood in this room for nearly a week. He will not eat. He will not sleep. His slow and shallow breathing almost a catatonic state. He is consumed, and conflicted. A pure, untainted hatred eats at him from the inside, like an insatiable disease; unstoppable, unslowable, incurable. His superiors, with concern, attempted to treat him, to move him to the medcenter, to rescue him from himself. His response was that of a cornered animal. He viciously attacked his own, tearing at them with feral savagry. Now, those same superiors have written him off, unfit for duty, and yet still he remains, not a single soul daring to remove him.

“I had you,” he thinks to himself, “Yet you got away.” He is lost amidst the caverns of his mind. He is blinded to the reality unfolding around him, stuck in that one single thought, that critical moment that changed the course of his entire existence. “I had you, yet you got away.”

His heartrate rapidly increases, his breathing becoming laboured and heavy. His chest feels pressured, a great weight against it. Yet he feels clarity for the first time in a long while. His broken mind grasps at it, holding onto this lifeline lest it slip through his fingers, and he fall back into the murky abyss, lost even to himself. A dark epiphany has finally revealed its ugly truth to his demented psyche.

“I am coming for you, Roc Wieler.”

I can already tell from the deafening roar what his response is going to be before he gives me the thumbs down from the entrance of the cave; the dust storm isn’t letting up. We’ve been here for eighteen hours now, trapped by the storm, which seems to be gaining strength, not blowing over as we had hoped. We’re hungry, tired, and a bit demoralized.

It’s the perfect time for a story.

“Did I ever tell you guys the one about the Amarrian priest?” A grin cracks onto my face, and my team immediately gathers round, some with intense interest, others thankful for something to do other than stare at the cavern walls.

“It was before the war, and I was enjoying some downtime in Jita. I’m not a big one for shopping. It’s usually get in, get what you need, get out. But Jita, well, you know, that’s an entirely different experience. I had just spent the entire day shopping…” This brought the expected chuckles from my audience. “And was taking a public shuttle from one of the main hubs back to where I could catch a monorail to the secured hangar levels. Anywho, there I am, minding my own business…” Another round of chuckles. “When the shuttle reaches its next stop on our route. And who should get on but a small Amarrian priest, fully dressed in religious vestments, the quintessential stereotype of that proud and pompous race.” This brought full on laughter, and I stopped for a moment to join in. After catching my breath, and wiping a tear away from my eye, I continued. “Like I said, it was before the war. CONCORD dictated any race could pretty much go anywhere it wanted, and this was Jita afterall. I was sitting at the back of the shuttle, minding my own business, when I happened to notice this priest begin talking with a passenger near the front. Then another. Then another. My ears pricked up, trying to glean information on what was going on. I overheard parts of conversations ‘Your immortal soul’, ‘plan for the afterlife’, ‘come by one of our services’, etc, etc, when I realized this priest was evangelizing the people on the shuttle! I mean, give me a break. I’ve got my own beliefs, we all do…” <insert grunts of agreement> “But I don’t force it down anyone else’s throat, especially on a public transport. Sure enough though, this little Amarrian priest was single mindedly talking to each and every passenger on the shuttle. I wanted to pretend to sleep, or find some other means to avoid an engagement, but at the same time I really hoped he would try to talk to me.” I flashed a wicked, toothy smile which brought raucous laughter from those around.

The priest finally was talking to an older Caldari woman seated in front of me. She did her best to be polite, to deflect his responses to her every statement. The guy was good, I’ll give him that. No matter what she said, he had a way of twisting it around on her. Typical religious nut. He finally turned his attentions on me. ‘Greetings, proud slave.’ he began. This brought a unified chorus of ooooohs from my team. “I know, not the best way he could begin, but it was said with complete sincerity. Not a glimpse of mockery came from this man. He was completely convinced of his views on life. ‘Do you know God’s plan for your life, Matari?’ he began. ‘I do indeed.’ I replied. ‘I plan to live forever, or until the clones run out.’

‘Well perhaps you don’t know his plan for your afterlife then? I am sure there are things I could tell you that you might find…’ he was revving right up into his spiel, just like that. 

‘Listen,’ I interrupted. ‘I respect what you’re doing, really. Takes nads. But you do realize people pay to use this transport, and selling things to passengers on it is illegal, right?’

‘Oh no, misguided one, we are very careful about this type of thing. This is public property as you mentioned, and I am not soliciting anyone, so am not in violation of any CONCORD mandates.’ His toothy smile was starting to annoy me.

‘Really? Let me ask you this then. Do you care about my immortal soul?’ I asked. ‘Why yes, of course. It is the reason for my work here today. I care for all souls.’ I put my hand up to stop him. ‘And don’t you gain rank or something back at the boy scouts club for every soul you bring to salvation?’

‘Well, the brotherhood does smile upon those who tend to the lost.’ Again, I had to stop him with the hand before he went off on a tirade.

‘So then what you are telling me is that you are profiting from me accepting what you are selling, which sounds an awful lot to me like a transaction. And that would mean you are soliciting me to get that sale in the first place. You’re selling religion. And I ain’t buying.’

‘Usually, it’s the pilot of the shuttle that warns us not to do anything illegal. I didn’t realize you were licensed to fly a shuttle, dog.’ A fresh set of ooooohs from my audience. And yes, you heard right, he called me dog. I guess even the humble and meek have their limits. I had apparently reached his, and found which button to push. ‘I wouldn’t expect a slave to understand the things of the Master. I am sorry to have wasted both of our times.’ He turned to walk away, that pretentious smile never leaving his face. Who the hell did he think he was? Did he really think it was ok to be such a condescending prick in the name of God, to talk down to another being with such disdain and self righteous hypocrisy as to completely delude yourself from any sense of wrongdoing? Then to simply dismiss them as if they were some floatsam that was amusing for a moment but really not your job to clean up?

I could feel the blood boiling in my veins. I could see my eyes narrowing, my vision centering on the back of his head. I knew the bloodlust, the rage, that battle state that makes us proud Brutors, coming over me.’ A few cheers from my Brutor brothers. ‘I remember standing up. I remember seeing the look of shock on his face as he turned in response to my meaty hand on the nape of his neck, robes and all. But then, nothing.’ The men on my team looked at me, then to each other, as I left the silence hanging in the air for a moment.

‘I awoke in a medcenter.’ This received some curious looks from my listeners. ‘And one of my boots was missing.’ The curious looks intensified. ‘An attending doctor came to me, flanked on either side by a CONCORD Enforcer.’

‘Ah,’ he began, ‘you’re awake. Good, good. Seems you had a bit of an altercation with a priest. Do you remember anything about that?’ I told him about gathering up the priest by the back of his neck, but anything beyond that was a blank. I then tried to explain the events leading up to that moment. He gestured for me to stop, with a look that said all would be explained.

‘From what the witnesses on the shuttle say,  you gathered up this priest by the collar, then literally put your boot … <wait for it> up his ass.’ This brought a roar of laughter so loud that it threatened to drown out the noise of the storm. After letting them work it out of their systems, I continued.

‘You managed to bury yourself up to mid-shin. The medical team was having difficulty extracting your leg from his posterior; it was up there pretty good, so we decided to detach the boot. You’re fine, but I believe the priest will think twice about saving the lost. I think he just wants to put this behind him.’ Another round of laughter.

One of the burly CONCORD Enforcers stepped forward, as if on cue. ‘Roc Wieler,’ he began, in that typical law enforcement type of voice. ‘You are in violation of CONCORD law, section 11, subsection 24, paragraph 2. Because of your capsuleer status, there will be no criminal or civil prosecution. However, your ship has been impounded, your crew grounded, and you have been fined 15 million ISK.’

‘Well yeah, but what about my boot?’ I replied. From the look on his face, I could tell this grunt didn’t know how to reply. ‘Meh, am I free to leave?’

‘You are free to go about your business, capsuleer. However, in the future I advise…’ I was already out the door, limping slightly, one socked foot mocking me. I looked down at it for a moment, pausing my stride.

‘Dammit, that was a good boot too.'”

Looking around now, seeing my team laughing themselves silly, I realize my objective has been reached. Morale is back. We can continue waiting for this storm to end.

Crazy Kinux, in a continuing effort to bring you the best in EVE blogging, has added Roc’s Ramblings to the Blog Pack. This is very exciting indeed.

However, I only post once per day, so you can blame HIM for missing out on today’s in character story.

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