Yesterday was a day chalk full of pleasant suprises. The first being I received a paid day off. Like any well trained soldier, I awoke early at the crack of noon to a rumbling stomach, and promptly made my way to the mess hall.

After devouring quite the satisfying breakfast, I headed for the gym, keeping mental note to not overwork this new body. My routine was brief, but satifsying, given the limits of my new shell.

After a long, steaming shower, I headed for my regular tattoo salon. There was a trendy fad amongst capsuleers to pay a little extra and have their clones “pre-inked” as it were, and though I could afford it, there was a certain spiritual satisfaction to ritual. My forebearers had endured the needle; thus would I. I walked through the station promenade towards my regular tattoo salon.

I had grown accustomed to the paparazzi by now, and the civilians that recognized me, hounding me for even the briefest of attention, to sign this or that, or to simply acknowledge them with a salutory wave of my hand. Originally, it had bothered me greatly to be in the limelight, to have no privacy whatsoever, and the realization that it no longer did, that I no longer viewed it as an intrusion or interruption, was another welcome surprise.

A quaint set of chimes sounded as I entered the salon, and immediately I was recognized as a regular by the shop owner. “Ah, Colonel Wieler. I haven’t seen you in quite some time.” He had a smile on his face, and was just finishing up with another client, wiping his own hands with a clean towel as he came to greet me.

“Good for me. Bad for you.” I smiled back, my hand extended, and gave him a stong-gripped, thorough handshake. He had my tattoo patterns on file, and within two hours I had familiar markings back on my face. He always tried to sell me on body ink as well, and I always told him the same thing; “Maybe next time, friend.” I tipped him well, and made my way to my personal hangar bay.

Sometimes I just enjoyed the sweet smell of labour. My teams were working diligently, though with me having some downtime, they weren’t nearly as busy as I usually kept them. Still, the entire bay was spotless, and I only saw one team on duty, working on my Claymore. The command ship had become a hobby project since my original overestimation of how I could equip it, and I honestly hadn’t devoted myself to putting together an optimal fit for the vessel.

I glanced through my datapad, checking my messages, and noticed I had won an auction for a Firetail. I simply couldn’t help myself; I thoroughly enjoyed that ship. To be fair though, I had recently stumbled across an interesting guide to Rifter class frigate combat, authored by a fellow Minmatar, Wensley, and had to admit his guide inclined me to try out his suggestions at least once. 

After shadowing and pestering my work team on their various tasks, I finally decided to hook into my pod. As I was jacked into the Aura network, my military grade credentials were sent into the system via electronic pulse. Within moments, I was following along the day’s activities in the Minmatar militia channel. 

That was when yet another surprise occured.

“Greetings, Colonel.” One pilot shouted out into the channel.

Another showed their live video hookup, and was saluting me. “Roc” was all she added to the salute. 

Within a few minutes of channel hopping, I noticed another small squad of pilots had secured Tararan. “Well done pilots.” I spoke into the channel. It wasn’t that any of us needed recognition, but it was certainly nice to know our efforts didn’t go unnoticed. I didn’t expect a response back of course.

“Sir! Thank you, Colonel. And I must say, welcome back.” That brought a smile to my face.

All in all, it was truly just a pleasant day off. A day of relaxation; a day of pleasant surprises and recognition.

Little did I know that in only a short while the next surprise to happen to me that day would not be pleasant in the least.