It’s not all glamourous. It’s not all fun and games. Every action has a consequence; good or bad.

—

“Roc Wieler, you are under arrest. The charges are two counts of aggravated assault, one count of assault. You have the right to remain silent. You have the right to …” I had tuned them out already, withdrawing deep inside of my own mind. What I had done? It would be all too convenient to say to you that I had no memory of it; that some type of miraculous hole had occured during my rage filled attack on that group of commuters. I can’t in good conscience do that though. I am fully aware of what I have done; I am simply in shock that I did it. 

Magtrain security had responded quickly to the train’s sudden lurch, as pressing the strip engaged the braking system, bringing the train to a halt and notifying security of exactly in which train car the strip was pressed. They arrived on the scene amidst my melee assault on those four passengers whom had given me the letter full of mucus. 

The two security personnel engaged me, trying to pull me off of one of the females, whom I was in the midst of punching repeatedly in the face. Some people don’t realize how vicious women can be; far more dangerous than men, both physically and emotionally. She had scratched long clawmarks down my face, and had kicked me in the groin. I don’t discriminate when it comes to combat. If you attack me, I will put you down.

They pulled me onto the floor of the train, yet still I struggled, headbutting one of them clean across the bridge of his nose. His grip released, as his hands reactively moved to cover the injury, leaving me free to deliver a meaty hook to his partner. By now though, two more security personnel had arrived.

I was restrained until the train could arrive at its next station, where CONCORD was awaiting me to press more formal charges. 

I was taken to the nearest CONCORD station, thrown in a holding cell, and left to consider my actions. I had been doing nothing but since the incident.

It only takes one choice, one moment, to change your entire life. I was being charged as a civilian; no military or capsuleer special privileges this time. My name would make the news, and not in the way it had in the recent past. There would be no coverup. This could end my military career.

When I was asked whom I would like to call, I had chosen my CEO. I figured he might at least have some pull on the civilian side of things. Instead, when I was finished being processed, given the terms of my release, and guaranteed I would show for my court date, it was my CEO who via vidphone, reminded me of corporate policies regarding criminal activity, then wrote me up on disciplinary action, letting me know that if anything like this happened again I would be terminated from the corporation.

I also had a call from General Fist, letting me know that in addition to the civilian charges I was now facing, I would also be charged as a war criminal, and made an example of. Abuse of power would not be tolerated within the ranks of the Republic. 

I’ve had people tell me to let go of my anger in the past. I’ve done the blame game, where it’s everyone else’s fault but my own. I am not that person anymore.

I accept the consequences of my actions. I know there will be reprecussions. I’m just so very tired of the idiots in the world. The sad part, of course, is that aside from the one I hospitalized, the rest of that group from the magtrain will go about their lives just the same, having never learned a damned thing.

Maybe I should just be woefully ignorant. Maybe I should just give up caring about anything, as it seems the more you try to do what’s right and good, the more you get bit in the ass for it.

I don’t know; it’s been a trying day. I just needed to writed my thoughts down. I have a lot to consider over the coming weeks. 

And I totally forgot about my datacores.

I woke up on the right side of the bed today, spring in my step, however you want to phrase it. This morning’s workout was incredibly rewarding, even though the “after workout pump” only lasted for about twenty minutes. Still, it was like a mirror into the future; looking at yourself, muscles engorged with blood. It was the future of what you would become with consistent hard work and dedication.

The station’s head mechanic had left me a voicemail; the ship was repaired and ready to go. I had fully expected delays and excuses; so it was particularly refreshing to hear everything was on budget and schedule. I also had an automated message from my datacore production facility; my cores were produced and awaiting my pickup. All in all, a very good morning.

I hummed an offkey tune as I waited for the magtrain, my final day on this godforsaken station, and smiled at near passerbys. The train arrived on schedule, and I found myself a spot to stand amidst the crammed in crowd. There was nothing that could get me down.

“Excuse me, but this is for you.” a strangely familiar voice said. I turned to see one of the Achura females from the annoying group in the corner standing before me, an envelope in her outstreched hand. I politely thanked her, and she turned away, squeezing her way back to her seat in the corner with her friends. I had completely forgotten about them, my joy was so great at what awaited me today.

I looked at the sealed envelope in my hand. Maybe I had gotten through to them? Maybe taking the high road did work after all? I looked back over at the group, who were quietly talking amongst themselves. I felt good about myself suddenly. Maybe I did make a difference for once, not as Colonel Roc Wieler of the Tribal Liberation Force, but simply as an anonymous commuter. My belief in the good of people was quickly being restored.

I tore open the envelope, eager to read their response. There was a folded sheet of paper inside. I unfolded the paper, only to see a large, thick glob of mucus stuck between the folds of the paper. On the paper itself was a smeared lipstick kiss. There were no words on the paper whatsoever.

My right eyelid twitched uncontrollably. My hands trembled, adrenaline coursing through my body. I could hear their laughter now, and chanced a glance in their direction. They were pointing, ridiculing me, louder than ever before. My head burned, and I could feel my heartbeat strongly in the pulsating vein on my forehead. The muscles and tendons in my neck strained as my jaw clenched, my teeth grinding against each other.  The mucus glob had slowly made its way down the paper, and dropped to the carpet at my feet with a thick, wet thud. 

I tried to push my emotions aside. I tried to make a rational decision. My vision narrowed and turned red, the rage announcing its hungry desire. All I could see were Veshta Yoshita, Mandi Kai, the two teenaged Brutor morons, the Amarrian priest, and every other individual from my past and present that subtracts from my enjoyment of life. I squeezed my eyes shut, forcefully willing myself to not react the way every fiber of my being was urging me to. A single tear slid down my face. 

I turned my head away before opening my eyes. When they opened and focused, my vision rested upon the yellow sticker from the day before; the emergency sticker and strip that lined the top of the side walls of the train. A sinister grin tugged at one side of my mouth. The decision was no longer mine to make.

I pressed the strip. An emergency was about to happen…

“Yeah, you’ve managed to ding her up pretty good,” the Republic Fleet assembly plant mechanic said.

—

Lasleinur.

Aura provided everything the Minmatar militia and Republic historical records had on the system. Bottom line; it wasn’t pretty. I hadn’t heard back from Mynxee; I took her silence as my answer. I had decided I would at least recon the agent mission, and if need be, employ some local mercs to assist me in its completion. That would be a delicate balance; I would have to offer them more isk than the salvage of my ship would be worth. Mercs could be loyal; their strength and weakness being the pursuit of profit.

—

“How much?” I grumbled to the mechanic. I nearly scoffed at his response.

—

Reality slowed to real-time around us as we exited warp from the ancient accleration gate. The scene before me was gruesome, but all too familiar. I quickly deployed scan probes, Aura quickly processing the terabytes of data into something I could understand. Twenty seven Minmatar wrecks between sixty and ninety kilometer range. Damage markers indicated massive hull piercing from laser based weapons, with support from cruise missles. My mind tried to analyze what must have transpired here.

—

His cost for repairs was non-negotiable. Apparently pirates in low sec didn’t only live outside of stations. In reality though, I had no choice. I was fortunate enough to find a Fleet assembly plant out here that would have the parts needed for my ship; things could’ve been much worse.

“How long?” I asked.

—

Aura blared her warning alarm across the ship and through my brain; forty four hostiles warping in at one hundred kilometer range. The probes quickly made haste to get better intel for me. The data was grim; Guristas. Their fleet consisted of mostly battleships, a few battlecruisers, cruisers, multiple frigates, and two interceptors, which were already aligning towards me and running hot.

My mind reeled at the sight of them, and my memory flashed images of those two Brutor teens I had disciplined not too long ago on the magtrain; especially the one wearing the Guristas shirt. I could feel the anger rising within me, the desire to turn straight into this fleet and tear them apart. It would be foolhardy to do so, and I knew it. Instead, I focused on what I had been learning in therapy; slowing my breathing, pushing emotions to the side to make rational decisions. It was a difficult thing for me to do in all honesty. My life was war. My life was killing. Trying to balance that with inner peace seemed contrary and hypocritical to me, as if I were living a duplicitous lie.

The interceptors had already closed to fifty kilometers; the time to act was now. Lazily, my Republic Fleet Stabber rolled to its port side, away from the incoming angle of the interceptors, Aura aligning the nav computer to a nearby moon. From there, it wouldn’t be difficult to plot an escape route out of this system. A bright flash of light appeared directly in front of us, Aura talking directly to my cerebrum. 

“Warp Disruption bubble detected, 100 km radius.”

A heavy interdictor had warped directly in front of me. I would have to find another escape route. Entering warp on this course would tear both our ships apart, killing our crews needlessly. 

I fired up the Corelum C-Type 10MN Afterburner, angling the ship’s nose downwards, increasing  thrust to a maxxed out 2700 m/s. The interceptors were under thirty kilometers now; the familiar sound of my ship being target locked chiming through the pod. Things were going to get interesting.

I pushed the mental commands through the system, directing the weapons masters to get ready. Most Minmatar liked autocannons, as did I. There were few things more satisfying than getting in close to your target and tearing their plating to shreds. It often meant sustaining more damage than needed, and in a hostile environment such as lowsec, the more I could minimize damage to my ship, the better. I had my chief mechanic and his team fit the ship with 650mm tech 2 artillery cannons for this endeavour, complete with Fleet Issue Titanium Saibot and Phased Plasma ammunition.

The two interceptors broke formation, splitting into paths I knew were designed to urge me away from my current alignment, reducing my chances at escaping this engagement.

I gave the command to fire. All five cannons were trained on the closest interceptor, whom undoubtedly was trying to get into range to web me. Slowing the velocity of your enemy was one of the first things every new pilot was taught. It figured into transverse calculations; the slower your enemy was moving, the faster you could keep moving while maintaining the same percentile for successful weapons hits.

While fast, interceptors were weak; there was always a tradeoff. It exploded in a brilliant display of light, but I had already turned my attention to the other interceptor. That was when the ship lurched. The interdictor had joined the battle.

—

“Five days?!? Are you kidding me? For that kind of ISK, I think you meant five hours,” I rambled. “What the hell am I supposed to do in this godforsaken place for five days? I have deadlines to meet!” I went on extensively beyond that, but already knew from the glazed over look in the station mechanic’s eyes that it wasn’t going to matter. Five days was how long it was going to take. I could already see the smirk on that bastard agent’s face as I kissed my bonus goodbye.

I sent Sam a transmission. We talked briefly about things way beyond me, as was often the case, but his passion about technical things always left me feeling the better for our conversations. Sam wasn’t one to make you feel stupid even though he was probably more brilliant than anyone he spoke to. That was one of the many things that made his friendship so likeable. One of the other things was his curious quest to find new and easy ways to make life better, whether it be through technology, or simply through profit.

“Data cores? I have no idea what you’re talking about Sam.” I said into the vidcam. He patiently explained it all to me, and how basically I could research and produce datacores, which were always in demand across all of New Eden, and basically profit for very little work. I looked up the agent directory for this station, and sure enough, there was an entry level Research Agent that would more than likely help me get started in this new venture. I had five days to spend here anyway, so what the hell. I transferred the agent’s location into my datapad, then headed for the station magtrain system. 

—

The interdictor had me webbed, had scrambled my warp drive, and was hammering me with its weapons. I was much faster than the interdictor, so very few of the blows were full impact. Either way, too many hits and I was done for. I gave another mental command, then veered away from the interdictor, trying to escape the reach of its stasis webifier, praying that the reset cycle for the warp core would come online soon.

A single Augmented Valkyrie was released from my drone bay; a little something to distract the remaining interceptor while I made the desperate attempt at escape. The Valkyrie might have a chance at even taking out the enemy, depending on how good the opposing pilot was.

Four kilometers. It doesn’t seem like much in a starship, but when you’re webbed, it might as well be forty. Well, that’s not entirely true; it feels like forty, but really you’re only slowed to half of your maximum velocity. Still, in a fight, every second counts, and I was running out of time on the clock.

—

DAY 1:

Societies are funny. One realization I had just come to was that it doesn’t matter where you are, or who the people are, there is always a “rush hour”, that time twice per day where far too many people cram into far too small an area to get far too unsatisfying jobs. Those particular times of day might vary from place to place, but they are invariably there. I had happened to discover rush hour at this station.

I kept to myself, standing in an aisle on the magtrain, enjoying some neo-jazz through my audio implant. I heard some rather raucous laughter, even through my music, and turned my head to see the source of the disruption. In the corner of the magtrain sat four adults; two Achura females, a Caldari male of some sort, and a Gallente male. They were talking, gesturing, laughing quite merrily, and at excessive volume. I noticed many other passengers throwing them dirty looks, trying to ignore them, trying to subtly give them a sign that they were indeed being quite annoying and disruptive, but it was having no effect.

I turned back to mind my own business, as I often do. This wasn’t familiar territory. I didn’t want to make any poor impressions here; just get to work, do the job, then get back to the mission. As I let my eyes wander in front of me, I noticed a small yellow and black sticker placed above a thin yellow strip that ran along near the top of the sidewall of the magtrain. It said “Emergency Alarm, Use in case of Fire, Harassment, Illness, Accident, Vandalism, or Passenger Safety.” Nice. Maybe lowsec wasn’t so uncivil afterall, present noisy company excluded of course.

—

The heavy interdictor continued to pour hot death down upon me. The Valkyrie seemed to be holding its own though, a little taste of good luck I savoured. My shield hardeners strained against the punishment they were taking, and I knew once they were drained my armour plating wouldn’t last long. Things were becoming serious, and quickly. That was when I had a crazy idea. 

I turned my Stabber towards the Interdictor, urging Aura to lock onto the enemy’s bridge. They might think I was bluffing, but that was simply because they didn’t know me. All artillery turned and fired in bursts at the bridge, the damage splashing off of the larger ship’s shields. That was ok; I actually was bluffing, but it was all about appearances. I closed the distance between us as best I could, edging ever closer to the enemy’s bridge, continually burst firing all the while. Artillery was limited for close range combat, but I had enough skill that I believed I could pull this off.

At five thousand meters, the enemy reacted as intended. The interdictor slowly listed to one side, not so much worried about the dismissive damage we were doing, but more because they had calculated my trajectory. For all intensive purposes, it appeared to be a suicide run directed straight at the command center. No pilot in his right mind would risk his ship and crew falling prey to that, especially when they knew their enemy was a capsuleer, and could simply clone himself into a new body should the worst fate befall him. Their ship had a much larger crew than mine. Their ship was far more expensive than mine. Their loss would be far greater than mine. Everything always came down to profit with mercs. I played my hand.

At three hundred meters, I forced the ship to pull away. It groaned, threatening to buckle at the command, but managed to obey me faithfully. I felt a lower turret sheer off as the two ships scraped against each other, but the plan had worked. The interdictor captain had reacted predictably to this insanity; the webifier was disengaged, and as my ship cleared theirs, they entered warp. At the same time, the second interceptor exploded, having been beaten by my Valkyrie.

The frigates were under sixty kilometers now, and the warp disruption bubble still active. Shields were at eleven percent, and wouldn’t be recharged in enough time to sustain anymore damage from the enemy. My warp core still needed thirty seconds to complete its reset cycle, and there was no way I could escape the grip of the bubble in time to make a hasty exit before the frigates arrived. Unless…

—

DAY 2:

Datacores were actually kind of interesting. I had never engaged in anything outside of death and destruction, and I found this to be a new and enjoyable challenge all on its own. I decided to take the same rush hour magtrain as I had the previous day, and much to my chagrin, the same cluster of disruptive commuters were seated in the corner, sharing each and every word they had to say with the rest of the magtrain crowd. It was starting to get on my nerves a little bit; I could only imagine how vexed those who took this train every day must’ve felt.

—

I sent the Valkyrie to destroy the bubble generator. It was another gamble, but I really couldn’t think of any other options at the time. I wasn’t going to survive the frigate assault, and I wasn’t able to warp away to safety. The seconds counted down ever so slowly as the Valkyrie zoomed towards its intended target. I hoped this wasn’t one of those times where it spontaneously decided to quit listening to my mental commands and choose its own course of action. That was an annoying thing with drones, they sometimes went rogue, achieving some form of self awareness, and simply no longer responded to control. I routinely had my drones’ memories wiped clean to minimize that possibility.

—

DAY 3:

I could feel the vein in my forehead pulsing. I knew I was growing flush. I clenched and unclenched one fist repeatedly. Maybe I should just take a different train? But why should I have to change my schedule to accomodate someone else? Would they do the same? Of course not. If they gave a rat’s ass about anyone besides themselves they wouldn’t continue to sit there in woeful ignorance, blathering on about asinine things. I mean, did this look like a pub, or a dance floor, or a grade school cafeteria? Some other commuters were trying to sleep; some trying to read or work on their laptops. It was just simply disgusting. I was losing patience. Maybe I should just write them a letter, try to be civil about it. That is what my therapist would say. Of course, she always said don’t send the letter, it’s just a release for my own emotions, but I think this might be one of those exceptions. I would write it tonight.

—

The frigates locked on. I was aligned on my escape vector. The warp core finished its reset cycle. The drone destroyed the bubble generator. Augmented Valkyries weren’t cheap, but I didn’t have time to wait for it to return to the drone bay. I urged the ship forward, and time and space stretched before me. I had escaped.

—

Day 4:

“Excuse me,” I said politely. “This is for you.” I handed them an envelope, with my written letter inside. This is what it said:

“Dear sirs/madams,

Thank you for taking the time to read this communique. 

I am a man of great joy, and can appreciate and celebrate the joy of others. I applaud your many stories and  shared laughter, and commend you on the vibrant friendships you share with one another.

I am also one who enjoys the ease and availability of public transit. 

As such, I haven’t been able to help but notice your group. You are all very loud, disruptive even, and it affects me. At first, I was judgemental, wondering who you thought you were, that your time was more important than anyone else’s, or that what you have to say is of more value than those other passengers that surround you. I realize this was wrong of me, and I apologize.

Perhaps you are simply and woefully ignorant of the impact your little group has on others. Perhaps you aren’t aware that this isn’t a place for teenaged like behaviour amongst adults. Perhaps you paid more for your tickets than the rest of us, and that entitles you to carry on inappropriately the way you do, but I doubt that, as all tickets are the same price. 

I really am not sure what the right way to approach this subject is, so I will simply and politely ask. Would you please mind keeping it down so as to not negatively affect and interfere with others enjoying the magtrain? I know I would not be the only one incredibly appreciative of this gesture.

Thank you, sincerely.”

—

I was most curious to see if my heartfelt letter would have any effect.

“Too many things to do, never enough time.” I know we’ve all felt that way. Right now, it’s my turn. In addition to my already fulfilling and overbooked life, I’ve eluded to some special projects I’ve been working on.

Rocalicious 2009 Calendar

This is now the single most viewed post on my blog. There must be a lot of women out there anxiously awaiting this product (and maybe a few ‘men’).

The calendar is almost ready, and should be in my upcoming online store, the Store of Roc, shortly. Just finishing up some postwork on the images. Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten!

Bio CD

The other project I’ve been working diligently on for the last two months is a sixteen track soundtrack chronicling the story of Roc Wieler thus far. It was an emotional experience composing, arranging, mixing and mastering this CD, but I am very excited to see the reaction my readers and fans have to this musical work. It will be launching at the Store of Roc on Dec 15th!

I gave a sneek peak of the Rocalicious 2009 Calendar not too long ago, so it’s only fair if I give a sneek peak of the Bio CD. The title track of the CD can be downloaded HERE. It’s in AAC format, perfect for iTunes. The CD itself has superior quality of course, but I chose AAC for this preview as it does a better job than MP3. If you have issues playing it, I’m sorry, you’re just gonna have to wait for the CD.

Capsuleer

This list just keeps growing. Sam and I have been relentless in our pursuit of bringing you the single best EVE Online iPhone application. The features we’re adding should really immerse our users more into both EVE and into the application. We’ve restructured our entire application process, and laid out our plan about 4 major version releases in advance, so our roadmap is completely defined, and there are already elements of future releases being implemented into v1.1 of Capsuleer. 

So thanks for bearing with me recently. I still try to write a rambling every day, and once I get these things off of my plate, I am sure it will be back to business as usual. Of course, Christmas is here, New Year’s, wrapping up projects at work … ugh … too many things to do, never enough time.