She felt the cold touch of the plastic against her skin…gentle, cool, almost erotic. The feeling was like a feather and the cold touch of steel at the same time. She slowly stood up and made her way to the open window. Icy air was drafting in, carrying a current of thousands of tiny ice crystals along with it into her small apartment. She took a deep breath of the air, ignoring the bite of pollution and the wet steel smell of Waschi on a cold winter day.

She smiled, her mind drifting aimlessly to a tiny faraway place where her mind would take her quietly when she wasn’t paying attention. Driftfully she closed the window and pulled on a long jacket with a furry lining. The fur was synthetic of course, just like everything else in the artificial city, but she didn’t care. An instant passed in her mind and she stood in front of her apartment building in the upper class sections of the city with her eyes closed looking up to the sky, her face being stung by thousands of tiny ice shards relentlessly streaming toward the ground. She spread her arms and twirled aimlessly for a moment, drawing the cautious stares from the crowd of people moving down the sidewalk.

After she stopped she took a moment to look around. Her twirling had taken her no more than ten meters away from the entrance to her apartment, down her street. The street was actually a wide boulevard leading straight into the heart of Waschi, Kamokor. Somewhere in the corporate domination of Intaki, the city had changed its central hub from the older Newport to Mordu Hub. Through the fog she could just see the brilliant neon signs advertising for any kind of service or product, trying to get those few extra isk off of any soul who happened to be lured in by the sparkling advertising.

She looked through the glare to a small boutique selling women’s clothing. A yellow blur streaked by as a corporate shuttle ferried personnel past the building. As the blur slowly faded in her mind a man appeared in front of the shop, slouching next to the window. Most people would just pass him by as if he didn’t exist, and that was his goal. Mordu rushed by her as she carefully wove through the traffic and myriad of multi-level sidewalks. She made no eye contact with the man as she passed him, but she suddenly felt her coat pocket increase in weight. Without thinking, she looked back to the man only to see that he had disappeared as quickly as he had appeared. She pulled out the object he had dropped in her pocket, a long flat digital storage unit with an antiquated interface on one end. She could just make out faint lettering on top of the device, “Intaki Corpation Network Backup 15.11.58 23.59, 10.2mTB. Destroy 1 Year from Creation Date.”

The date only briefly registered to her as over fifty years past, and that by all rights she should not be holding the device. She felt the cold metal pressing against her skin, imagined the precious contents that must be on it. She carelessly brushed her fingertips over the lettering before repocketing the device.

She looked up to the sky, taking in a deep breath of the near toxic air and letting the snow cover her face in a wet icy blanket. The lights blurred out slightly and she felt a rising warmth inside her, like a thousand tiny butterflies fanning tropical air on her heart. She shivered uncontrollably as the icy bite of the air returned. The weight in her pocket suddenly became almost unbearable, so she started the long walk back to her apartment.

Slowly, unbearably, the elevator rose toward the sky, limited only by the length of the support cable and the EM field that held it to the rail. She wondered briefly when and how someone had come up with the idea of elevators, but her thoughts quickly strayed back to the weight in her pocket. The door opened to her apartment’s front entrance and a wash of cold air. She stepped out, leaving whomever was behind to wonder why the temperature of the room was so low. Suddenly she felt the soft urge to turn up the heat to tropical conditions, so she shed her coat and set the environmentals to match an equatorial sunset on the ocean. Her lights immediately took on a ruddy glow and the temperature and humidity rose. She shut her eyes, holding her arms close around her. The warm air currents stirred quietly at her skin. She resisted the urge to strip off her tight plastic clothes and drift off into shadows of sensual dreams on her floor.

She sighed and looked around her living room as if she had never seen it before. It was simple, white, and almost frighteningly quiet. Far off in the distance her sound system played a recording of ocean waves to match the mood of the environmental settings. Her sofa and loveseat made up most of the room, sitting across from a screen and next to a low table floating on a magnetic cushion. An open wall lead off toward the kitchen, and a door opened to her bedroom. In one corner sat her desk with an unruly pile of computer parts balanced atop it. Her neural interface hung precariously off of her manual interface, a pile of cables keeping it from falling of.

She reached over to her coat and pulled out the storage device. The cold metal stung her skin and pulled at her fingers when she tried to brush them against its surface. She walked over to her computer and pulled the pile of cables off the desk. She eventually found one interface that would fit the device. She plugged the device in and reached behind her computer to plug the other end of the cable into the its Aura interface port. When the AIP recognized the device’s presence it brought the computer out of standby mode and started running initialization protocols. A few seconds later the screen cleared, showing a representation of her system’s mount points, the new device listed in green.

She smiled distantly and dreamily sat down, picking up her neural interface from the floor and hooking it up to the tiny i/o ports on her temples. The world greyed out, rushing out of existence beyond her mind’s periphery. Thick blackness hovered around her for an instant. She felt a mental surge and a tangible representation of her computer system swam into existence. She felt the subtle hum of power flowing into the system and her ability to route it to any device or soft she wished. She let her mind flow through the layers of interface and programming until she arrived at the mount point for the Intaki storage device. It felt like a narrow tunnel with a flow of power into the tunnel and a trickle coming out. She approached the tunnel and felt a sudden rush as she was transported into it.

There was a sudden flash of energy and she found herself on the other side of the interface looking at login area for the system the device was supposed to represent. She smiled inwardly and brutally eliminated all traces of the security system. The streams of data in the device spread out in all directions, subtle strands of code flowing between the interlocked data components.

“Where are you?” she vaguely asked, feeling her mind’s query flow over the system like a liquid net. A number of points in the sea of information brightened slightly then died as she fed the computer more information.

“Large file size, embedded security, unlinked files generated with no operating system ties.”

Suddenly one point brightened and a spider web of lights formed, trailing across the system. She guided herself quickly down into the system, past blocks of data, through data streams, until she reached her destination. The point now glowed in a large white sphere, gently pulsing. When she got close to the sphere, the light faded and she could see the specifics of the file. The computer represented the file as a perfect sphere with two tiny spikes sticking out of it. One of the spikes pointed toward the “ground” of the system, representing the file linkage with the system as an associated file, the second pointing toward another association. The other was at an odd angle, usually associated with a broken executable. She wondered briefly at the second spike, but pushed it from her mind. She knew this was the file.

She pushed the system slightly to return her to a mental representation of the standard file structure. The three dimensional world faded to be replaced by a file tree, with the sphere file selected. Intaki_bd135 registered as a self contained executable file, last accessed at the moment of the backup. She took a deep mental breath and reached her mind out to activate the file.

Suddenly her mental picture of the computer shuddered, blurred, and then rapidly reformed. The file was activating a subset of programs, scanning her system. The open file threads listing hovering in her mind’s periphery expanded exponentially, showing that the file was unarchiving an insane list of files and running those subprograms. There was another mental shudder and all the threads closed. Just as suddenly as the first assault had come, it vanished. A text window faded into life in front of her.

>Who are you? What system is this?

She thought for a moment. No answer came to her mind immediately, but the text window suddenly updated.

>I understand. Thank you for reactivating me.

She felt fear rising in her, but she fought her mind and sent a reply.

>Who are you?

>I am Sentient Operating System Independent Kernel. I was designed by Michael Pryce on 15.03.54. Since that time I have had 134 revisions and 638 people programming me. Sometimes they would call me SOSIK. You may do so.

>Where do you come from?

>I was designed for the Intaki Corporation for corporate defense and espionage. I was assigned the task of keeping hackers out of Intaki’s systems and to break into Concord’s mainframe. I was unsuccessful in my secondary objective. During my lifespan before this revision, I was responsible for rebuffing three hackers out of my systems.

BLACK HOLE PUB
DAL SYSTEM

 I watched with admiration as FullMetal Basilisk, a fellow Brutor corp member, guzzled back another pint. The man might’ve even been able to hold more liquor than me. I glanced down at my NeoCom once again, still shocked at the latest corporate mail in my inbox.

Unfortunately I will be leaving the corporation, effective tomorrow. There have been many issues, some of them solved, but some of them which have not been. During my time in Freeform Industries I have been part of some epic adventures and I’ve met some amazing people, some which I still hold in the highest regard.

I have made friends; I have made enemies, but most of all I have gained respect for each and everyone I have met in their own way.

I hope that you will still have me in our public comm channel so I can still remain in communication with you all, and still participate in certain endeavours. I will always try to assist all the friends I have made here whatever happens. So if you need help – do call on me.

Apologies that this seems rather sudden, and I will miss serving with you as part of the same corp.

This is my last communique as Freeform’s Recruitment Officer.

Good luck, and fly safe.

Fullmetal Basilisk

I realized that I must’ve been living in my own little blissful fantasy. I hadn’t experienced any types of issues within the corp, but to be honest, I was often away on military assignments, and wasn’t very involved in our corporate activities even when I was around. I was based out of Dal, and while the corp kept a steady supply of frigates and ammunition available at our office there, we were primarily based elsewhere, engaged in mining and industrial operations. It was never my forte, and I guess Cytral was understanding of my position on that. I had never received a monthly dividend payout which was fair, as I had never contributed to the corporation’s growing wealth. The arrangement worked fine for me, but apparently left me out of the loop on a great many things.

“So what’s going on, Metal?” I asked, lifting my glass to my mouth. Metal and I had never been close, but had a pretty good understanding of each other; Brutors were pretty simple that way. Our intense focus was often misunderstood for aloofness or stupidity, but that was far from the truth. We simply spent a lot of time in our minds.

“Isshh nuffin. I has got nuffins bad to say bout anyones.” He slurred, and I realized my earlier assessment of his alcohol abilities may have been overrated.

“Jussst tired of bullshits. I’m the bleedin recruitment ossifer!” Metal began to raise his voice.

“You know the rook. Loyal sumbitch. He workss all every days, giving more than hundred millions to the corp every day, but he’s only getting paid twenty million for hiss takes! Is just wrong to me.” Metal’s words were getting hard to follow.

I knew the rook well. I refused to call him by his real name; which was common for me with many of our newer recruits. This one had stood out. He was brazen, having often engaged in banter with me in our public channel, making jokes at my expense. Sometimes he made my skin seethe, but he had balls, at least until I cut them off eventually. Still, the rook was dedicated and tireless, working diligently building our coroporate coffers.

My assumption was he had an understanding with Cytral. If he didn’t like it, he should address it directly. Of course, Metal was our recruitment officer and probably responsible for bringing most of these recent recruits to Freeform, so it would make sense if some of them were having issues that they would talk to Metal about it directly.

“I commed the Directors,” Metal continued. “Repeatedly. No resluts. Their attitude is ‘If he’s not lickin it, he’s free to leave the corp.’ Bullslits! We’re not a dictatorshit, we’re a goddammed corp!” 

He slammed his glass heavily against the table, sloshing his beer around and gathering the attention of nearby patrons. If Metal was anything like me, he was probably looking for a fight, then a woman or two.

“What can I do, Metal?” I asked. I had never experienced corporate drama before. It made me a little sick to be honest. I had no time in my life then or now for petty games, or pissing matches to establish who the alpha male was. 

“Nuffin to be done, friend.” Metal retorted. “Peoples talkin behind me backs, saying shits about me. Can’t fights what I can’t sees.”

I understood completely. Rumours, hearsay, gossip, those were things that could destroy empires much less small corporations. Still, I wasn’t satisifed with Metal giving up; it had never been his style.

“Try once more.” I said, trying to get Metal to focus on me. “Talk to them once more. Be blunt. Be direct. Lay it out there. What have you got to lose really?”

Metal swayed a little in his seat, and I knew he was thinking on my words. Finally, he barked out his familiar laughter, startling more customers around us, but I didn’t care.

“Yura good man, kernel. I’ll try once mores.” Metal said.

With that, he lifted his glass, and I returned the salute, both us consuming our drinks.

“Alright then.” I said. “That’s settled. Now let’s go somewhere and start a fight, then get us some whores, eh?”

Metal slapped his hands on the table. “Now you’re talkin the good shits!”

And with that, we left the pub seeking adventure.

ENROUTE TO DAL

Maleatu reclined in the comfortable chair, his body seeming to sink into the fabric itself. He leaned his Khuumak against the arm rest, and let out a long sigh. 

Our journey had been a quiet one, the Sanmatar having invited himself aboard my Rifter for the journey home. I didn’t envy his life in the public eye; my own fifteen minutes of fame was nothing compared to the constant scrutiny his every action was held accountable to. As if reading my mind, he spoke.

“Ah, the welcome quiet. There are days, my friend, when I fantasize of a life without politics.” He held a warm and disarming smile on his face as he spoke, making it easy to see why he was such a powerful and charismatic man to contend with.

“Is there truly such a thing?” I asked rhetorically. Politics affected every aspect of every being in the galaxy, willingly or not. It was all a trickle down effect; the decisions made by government leaders, whom could never do anything right by the masses, inevitably defining the standards by which all other conclusions were based. 

He chuckled, merriment ringing in his laughter. “Spoken like a true politician, Colonel. Answer the question with an equally vague and perplexing question. Are you certain you haven’t been dabbling in my arena?”

He looked right at me, though I knew it was but an illusion. The Sanmatar was blind, having refused the corrective procedure to heal his eyes many years ago. It was public record that it wasn’t an act to endear respect amongst the Brutor clans, rather that he wanted to honour and respect his ancestral line whom didn’t have the option of surgery under the oppressive hand of the Amarr.

Still, his blank stare was disconcerting, and I once again found myself wondering if there was much more to the man than he let on. I had been vocal recently, at least within my own circles, about my idealistic views and how I thought certain aspects of the Republic should be run, but without a doubt I knew none of those things left closed doors or drunken mouths. Besides, I highly doubted there were any that would take the political ramblings of a pod jockey seriously.

“I prefer direct confrontation, Sanmatar; knowing whom my enemy is and forming my tactics accordingly. I am not one for subterfuge and hidden agendas. I cannot imagine the weight you bear, having plans within plans all for the betterment of our people.”

I did hold Maleatu in the highest regard and reverence. He was a man of true legend, his conquests prior to his rise to the rank of Sanmatar no less impressive than his political prowess. If there was any man to lead the Republic into a bright and secure future, it was him.

“You sell yourself short, Colonel. You are a proven tactician on the battlefield, and a confident public speaker. I still smile sometimes when I recall your address to the general assembly a few months ago. I truly didn’t know what to expect of you and yet you surpassed any vision I could have imagined for that occasion. You had the Matari frothing at the mouth for vengeance against the Amarr; it was simply inspirational. 

That is not something that can be learned or taught, in my opinion. There are those born to lead, and those born to follow. It is my belief that if you are truly honest with yourself my friend, you will see that even the stars themselves are not vast enough to contain your potential.”

I flushed crimson and was thankful he could not see it. The Sanmatar was the highest level of authority to all Minmatar, and befit of the highest honours. His words pierced me to my core, not because I believed they were true, but because I could tell from his sincerity that he did, and that shamed me greatly. 

I was a soldier. Yes, I commanded others, but I answered to the Tribal Liberation Force leadership. My goal had never been to gain a broader sphere of influence, but to simply be the best that I could personally be; honourable, dedicated, loyal, able. If I was to be any type of role model to the younger recruits joining the militia and Freeform Industries, it would be by the virtues I lived daily, not because of any ideals or beliefs I held privately.

Maleatu interrupted my troubled thoughts. 

“You are more quiet than usual, Colonel. It seems I may have touched upon a nerve. If I have given offence, for that I apologize, but know you well the words I speak are truth, and I hope in time that you will come to accept them as such. Now, onto more light hearted subject matter, if you please.”

He rose an empty glass from the arm rest of the chair, shaking it lightly, a broad and friendly smile across his face. I took the glass from him, found one myself, and poured us both a stiff drink.

I pulled a nearby chair closer to his, and settled in.

“Sanmatar, I thank you for your words. You honour me by them. I will not say that what you put forward hasn’t crossed my mind; that perhaps I could make more of a difference to our people, for it has. Yet I am a soldier, and find fulfillment in this life fighting on the front lines against our enemy. It is what I know. It is what I do. And without false modesty, I know there are far better educated persons to which the political life would be more suited.”

“Education you say, Colonel?” Maleatu snickered, but not with derision. “Education does have its place, I will attest to that much. But it’s experience and passion that mold the minds of men, not a degree in socioeonomics. It is how a man acts, not what he knows that drives others to follow him. May I tell you what I see when I look at you, Colonel?”

I took a long draw from my drink. It didn’t even occur to me that a joke existed about a blind man willing to tell me what he saw. I felt at an unexplainable crossroads in my life; so many things had been spinning out of my control lately, and I was torn in multiple directions simultaneously. Perhaps the Sanmatar could help me find focus once again.

“I would be humbled and grateful, Sanmatar.” I said sincerely, leaning back into my chair.

In retrospect, those next few hours did end up being pivotal to my life in New Eden, the Sanmatar’s words forever changing my perspective, driving me forward towards a path that would prove to be my ultimate undoing.

“You have our sincere apprecation for delivering Dagan to us, Colonel Wieler.” Sister Alitura began in that subtly condescending silky voice I had become too familiar with. My clenched fists trembled in fury as I stood before her, outraged at her casual callousness regarding this scenario.

Dagan had turned out to be a member of a group called the Society of Conscious Thought. Dagan had been using this society as a front for selling military secrets. Duels of honour, hidden truths, misinformation at every corner, I had seen it all.

The Sister of Eve had known about Dagan all along. He had been of minimal concern to them. They had used Dagan, and in turn used me, to track down some of his less documented corporation members. 

I had already inserted the Sister’s operative using fake identification into their operation.

“We have need of you one last time, Colonel, the final act required to solidify the goodwill you have been building with the Sisterhood on behalf of the Minmatar Republic.” Sister Alitura cooed.

“It would seem the Society of Conscious Thought has setup a listening station nearby that we have discovered too late. We are worried that our operative may be exposed. We need you to quickly eliminate this threat.” she said.

My body trembled. I knew there was nothing more I was willing to do for them, now or ever again.

Sister Alitura looked at me quizzically. “Do you understand your orders, Colonel?” she asked.

All of it, the rogue drones, all the killing, all the ship losses I endured, the trips through enemy high sec, all to appease their own vanity regarding a situation they should’ve resolved ages ago on their own. It was a sickening game to me; a game I could no longer play in good conscience. Those who say they stand for peace yet employ murderers are just as guilty of the act themselves.

Sister Alitura rose from her desk and purposefully walked towards me. I stood rigidly still, fighting with myself to contain the verbal outburst barely held at bay within my clenched jaw.

“Or perhaps you wish to speak on behalf of the Republic, Colonel? If so, I would bid you choose your words wisely.” It was an open challenge to debate, and one I was tempted to accept, even though I knew regardless of what I could say, she would use it as her ‘out’ to reneg on her end of the negotiations with the Republic.

“He may have many things to say to you I am sure you would not wish to hear but are most assuredly deserved, Alitura.” a strong male voice said from the entrance way to the office.

Sister Alitura turned viciously towards the unwelcome intrusion. Sanmatar Shakor himself stood before her. Her demeanor noticeably changed, and she folded in on herself slightly, her arrogance restrained.

She quickly flashed a wicked look to me as Shakor approached us both. I simply smiled down at the woman, savouring this particular moment. I had reported to Shakor every step of the way during this assignment, raising red flags of concern where needed, offering my own insights when I thought them helpful. I had been impressed to see his building ire as it became more and more clear to him that this was all a game. That is when we had arranged for him to meet me here today.

“Colonel, you’re dismissed. Please wait for me outside.” Shakor said. I saluted and with long, proud strides, left the two of them alone.

For forty minutes I could hear the volume of their discussion, though the words were muffled by the thick walls separating the office from the hallway.

Finally, the door opened, and Maleatu walked out. He nodded to me and I fell into a steady stride beside him. 

A few moments later, he summed up my entire experience with the Sisters of Eve in one succinct phrase,

“What a bitch.”

I sat in silence, alone, feeling the emptiness of space push in around my Rifter, the Ripsack. There were times when I had found the solitude peaceful, an escape from the pressures of my position in life; now was not one of those times.

I had stripped the ship of every weapon, every necessary component for combat; I was tired of the Amarr profiting from my foolhardiness. All that remained was a single low tech afterburner and a specially tuned scanner that had been requisitioned to me from Sister Alitura’s Amarrian contact. 

I could feel I was close to finishing this journey, to unravelling the mysteries surrounding Mordu’s Legion and the rogue drone infestation. I just had to delicately work my way through Amarr highsec a little longer. 

I refreshed the built-in ship scanner, knowing the Amarr Navy would find me soon. It was only a matter of time before they pinpointed my location. I had remained stationary for the past three minutes. Remaining motionless was an invitation for certain death, but that day it was something I had hoped to use to my advantage.

“Aura, estimate minimal scan time at optimal resolution once again please.” I said, never taking my eyes from my instruments or from the surrounding blackness space.

“28.4 seconds.” Aura replied quickly and without hesitation.

There it was. That was the time I had to get in, scan for this special something the Amarr agent needed, and get out. A Rifter couldn’t tank what I had consistently encountered thus far. The Amarr Navy tended to send smart squads: an interceptor to web you, two cruisers to damage you, and a battleship to destroy you should you try to get away; it was a lethal combination.

There, warp signatures. They had found me.

I had already aligned the ship to my destination before laying myself out as bait, but still I didn’t move. Aura blared warnings of target lock against me, but I waited. 

The Crusader sped towards me, snaring me quickly in its web. Still I didn’t move. Two Mallers pushed their engines forward, edging towards firing range. 

NOW! I thought to myself, mentally asserting the command to warp. Aura responded swiftly, and my small frigate accelerated into warp, leaving the faction patrol far behind.

I knew I would be easy to follow. My hope was that more squads weren’t available and I would only have to contend with the one, already calculating how long it would take me to turn and scan down a fleeing enemy were I the hunter and not the prey. I estimated it might take me six seconds. Another ten or so seconds in warp to follow, that left … a sixteen second differential. Sixteen seconds of me desperately scanning for who knew what while the Amarr Navy pounded on my ship. And that was assuming that some random enemy capsuleer hadn’t come across my ship’s signature yet.

I entered real space less than fifty meters from my target and immediately cycled the scanner, unconsciously biting my lip, willing things to move faster.

I began mentally counting down the clock of my own doom. There I was, in a stripped down frigate, in hostile Amarr space, scanning. The absurdity of it all makes me laugh heartily now; what an idealistic fool I was back then. 

My mind ticked off what should be zero seconds, and I braced for the re-appearance of the faction squad. It didn’t happen. Each passing moment stretched infinitely, each interval of time leaving my mind reeling, preparing for a fight or flight response. Adrenaline coursed through my veins; fear mixing with it to create a cocktail I hoped I wouldn’t need to partake of.

Four seconds left on the scan. For a moment, I thought I was actually going to pull it off. I naively believed the universe had recognized me for who I was and shared its benevolent grace with me. 

“Roc Wieler, you are a proven enemy to the Amarr people. This will be your last voyage into our territory.” The message appeared across my HUD, and I knew from previous experience, across the screens of every ship within 2 AU. The faction squad exited warp, less than fifty kilometers off my starboard bow.

The Crusader raced towards me. The scanner finished, pinging a result.

I flared my engines to life, trying to gain as much transversal velocity as possible while Aura analyzed the data and triangulated a waypoint for me. 

The cruisers were out of range, but the interceptor snared me in its web once again. Without weapons on my ship, I couldn’t even turn my attention to it, couldn’t even try to break free from its grasp.

Aura warned the Abaddon battleship was cycling up its weapons. I urged her to warp us to the waypoint as the battleship’s glowed hot.

My ship aligned as quickly as it could, and the Ripsack entered warp just as the blast from the battleship shook me violently. Fire Control systems, hull breach warnings, structural integrity notifications, life support failure, and numerous other alerts were a cacophony of noise in my brain. The initial damage had nearly destroyed the frigate, but she had held on. I smirked to myself; I knew many non Matari whom had  always laughed at the flimsy appearance of our ships, but they certainly were sturdy when it mattered.

With the inertial stabilizers offline, exiting warp pushed me hard against the restraints of my pod. My insides made a valiant attempt to join my outsides.

Aura locked onto a small container, and I edged the ship towards it, fire and smoke trailing behind me as the Ripsack hemorraghed oxygen, many sections of the frigate quickly depressurizing regardless of the emergency bulkheads sealed in place.

I scooped up the container into my hold, thankful at least some part of my vessel was still in one piece, and aligned for the nearest non-hostile station, one I had made arrangements with before this entire fiasco had began.

My crippled ship slowly turned, straining to enter warp just as the faction squad reverted to normal space and began their chase anew.

But it was too late for them; I had already entered warp, and would soon be docking anonymously to safe haven.

—

After a quick steam rinse and a change of clothes, I found myself enjoying a cold brew in the quarters of my benefactor. I had paid him well for his assistance, and Sister Alitura’s Amarrian associates were already busy analyzing the contents of the container I had brought back. I didn’t know what was in it; I didn’t care to.

I considered myself a very luck man. Things had finally gone right for a change. I suppose, in the grand scheme of things, it was inevitable that I would have at least one good day.

—

“Thank you for the information. Your loyalty to the Empire has been rewarded.” The Admiral said, closing the comm. A dock worker of a nearby private corporation station had reported a tattered Rifter class frigate in their station. The Admiral had known it would pay off handsomely to have word out amongst the lower class citizens. 

This enemy pilot, this Roc Wieler, would die before leaving Amarr space, the Admiral thought to himself. It was inevitable.