Log 026

Log 026

-Author: Rinas Rylos
-Rank: C.E.O.
-Corporation: Rinas' Raiders (R.R.A.S.)
-Date: 115.06.05.

So it isn't too often that I find myself pissed off enough to actually go down planetside for something that could ostensibly be taken care of with threats and a reminder that I can't die. With that said, waking up to learn that some of the old crowd I used to run with began to hassle my family about getting into contact with me, after letting me take the fucking fall for murder, once again nearly left me smashing my poor com as I ordered a ticket on the first shuttle there. Apparently my little note I left to the office of currency exchange rang some alarm bells or something, as they aren't supposed to know I'm still alive. My family isn't actually supposed to know either, but I paid top fucking dollar for a secure connection between them and myself, so I guess it's technically possible that someone hacked in and told those greasy little shits, but I can't imagine why they'd wait until now to begin messing with my family about it.

Not gonna lie. Going back to my home world hit me like a round from an A.A. emplacement, except I can usually at least survive one of those if I'm in the right suit. Landing in the city I'd grown up in...it felt...familiar, but not like home anymore, y'know? Nostalgic, but kinda sad at the same time. Maybe it's just because I've been up in space too long, but all the buildings, and people, and...well, it was mainly the people. I'd forgotten what it was like to be around so many of them at once. Hell, I'd forgotten what it just felt like to be around so many. The suffocation of it all was kinda hard to deal with, but I sucked it up. I had a job to do, after all, and I wasn't going to let a bit of fucking nausea just because I'd stopped being a people person trip me up so early on. Thought about visiting my family, of course, but I wasn't there for shits and giggles. I had a job to do, and that meant finding Tristan.

Tristan was the local coordinator for all the gang-related activity here, which usually meant sucking up to the higher ranks whenever they visited and threatening beatings on his underlings whenever their performance dipped. He liked to think of himself as the head honcho, but I learned later on they just kept him around because he was desperate to move on up, and no one else liked dealing with this city. Most of the actual bosses kept to cities that didn't have shuttleports, as they tended to have way more security than others, with some even having CONCORD security stations on-hand for the real big metropolises, and god help you if a Senator lived in your city. Plain old district officials weren't that bad, as more than one was in on the take, or so I was told. Our city wasn't that big, but it was still a pain in the ass to go around unnoticed if you didn't know the right people, and Tristan was your best bet by far.

Not gonna lie, seeing the looks on the old crew's faces when I came waltzing through the old alleys was...a curious experience, to say the least. Most of the rats (slang for the bottom-rung members) were excited, but also a little confused, considering that I'd abruptly disappeared over a year ago. None of them were in on the total screwover I got, and for the most part we actually got along pretty well, which made my complete disappearance something of a mystery. Well, not THAT big of a mystery. You start working for a gang, it comes with some job hazards, y'know? Anyway, a lot of them weren't all that dissimilar to me back then; Just trying to find a way to support their families or keep things afloat while they tried to find a legit job, and if that meant peddling drugs to idiots along with selling cheap, crappy weaponry and fake jewelry, well...it wasn't like anyone was hurt too bad by it, right? That was what we told ourselves anyway. I didn't actually do too much drug selling myself; It was mildly more hazardous than theft, what with the unhinged junkies and idiots who tried to barter services for more and all that shit, not to mention I wasn't exactly the most able marksman back then so having a gun didn't really improve my odds of survival. Instead I was usually a pickpocket, or went out shoplifting shit one of Tristan's lieutenants would tell us to, and once in a while the bulbous prick would have a burglary job that me and a couple of the more nimble rats could score a bit bigger with.

The closer I got to his office though, the more less-than-friendly looks I got. Not that I was expecting any in the first place; Hell, I remember smiling just because of how much I was about to make that fat bastard and all his immediate underlings squirm. Still, most of them still just seemed surprised to see me walking around at all, which I can't say was all that much of a surprise to me. Pricks probably figured they'd -at best- see my body laying face down in a ditch or maybe read my name as a "volunteer" for a capsuleer ship that'd gotten blown up some day. Assholes. Still, no one tried to stop me, probably because I'd gone down in my merc suit (which got some stares, let me tell you) with shields and everything. No helmet though; I wanted them to see who had come knocking.

Finally, I got to the fat bastard's office. I could already see his silhouette inside, and it was already pretty fucking obvious that time hadn't done his physique any favors. Tristan wasn't his actual name, just the nickname everyone (including the bosses, apparently) used because he resembled the frigate of the same name. Fat, squat little bastard, with stumpy limbs that made you wonder how he did simple shit like brush his teeth or reach...anything, really. We actually used the nickname so much I seriously doubted any of us knew his real name anymore. We had all called him boss or sir, and the actual bosses all called him Tristan.

Annnnd that's all for tonight, Diary. It's late, my coffee ran out two hours ago, and I'm tired of watching "Amarrian Girls Gone Psycho" commercials. I'll write the rest tomorrow.

-End Log