Log 039 - A

Log 038 - A

-Author: Rinas Rylos
-Rank: C.E.O.
-Corporation: Rinas' Raiders (R.R.A.S.)
-Date: 115.06.29

So I thought I'd put the whole debate about mercs fighting and why they did it and all that bullshit behind me, right? And yet every spare goddamned second I had afterwards was spent still wondering about it, still pondering if the answers I'd gotten were really that...important? No. More like if they were fulfilling. I know I say I'm just a mercenary, that money is why I fight, etc. But that doesn't mean I'll fight for anyone who just waves some cash at me. Mercenary or not, I've still got some goddamned dignity and standards despite whatever else was stripped away when I turned into a gun for hire. New Eden is a huge place, big enough that there's more than enough cash floating around even for someone who wants to be picky about their employers, and so help me I am. I'm not some cash-strapped whore. I am goddamned Rinas Rylos, mercenary atop the Federal Administration Bureau offices near Halle VII, and I am more than a gun for hire.

It was with this in mind that I called up Chime. Doc and I had been talking about her lately (hell, I'm on a shuttle to his place right now) and as much I'd tried to find some way to connect with her, I had come up with a grand total of fuck and all. I figured that this was about as close as I could get to a guess about her problems, given that I wasn't even sure what had originally caused mine. Still, I called her up, half-unsure about what the hell I was going to say, how I was going to phrase it, and pretty certain she'd just quit putting up with me altogether.

With that in mind, I decided to call her. A video feed, no less. I mean, I even took off my helmet, just so she could see I wasn't fucking around. She had hers on, along with the rest of her suit. It occurred to me that she might've just accepted a contract or was about to, but I had to tell her while it was still fresh in my mind, otherwise I'd just fucking mangle it later and she'd hate everyone even more.

Chime: What?

Me: What do you fight for?

Her: .....Why?

Me: Because that's not what just defines you. We aren't just our guns and our equipment. We're fuckin' people, no matter what others think and what the fucking empires decide. Just because we don't die anymore, just because we decide to fight for a living, that doesn't make us any more or any less than what we used to be. You're still you, and I'm still myself, we're just...just...we're different from before, but that doesn't mean we have to relinquish our identities because some dickheads try and mess us up.

Her: ....Where did this come from?

Me: Where the fuck do you think? I've been a part of your therapy more than once, hon. You think you're the first gal to just sit there and think that he doesn't know what we've gone through? Or maybe you didn't even do that. I did. I fought every goddamned step the Doc took with me because I thought to myself 'he doesn't know what happened, how shitty I feel, how screwed up I am' as it turns out, he does. Not from personal experience, but he understood me enough to help me out, just like how I understand enough to know where you're coming from.

At this point she finally took off her helmet, and holy christ she seemed to be the poster gal for depression. Most of her face seemed to have this gaunt look to it, between the rings under her eyes, the sunken look of her cheeks, her black hair hanging all limp, not to mention the large frown across the bottom of it. Her eyes seemed to carry a mixture of sadness and hatred in them. Couldn't say I was too familiar with the former, but I'd had plenty of time to deal with the latter.


Me: I know it's hard sometimes. Occasionally I'll still have nightmares where I'm just drenched in blood, literal mountains of bodies of mercs surrounding me. Sometimes when it's real bad, they'll be made of civvies instead. Doing this...it can fuck you up. But it won't break you unless you let it. And one of the first steps you can take towards beating it back is accepting help, whether it's from me, or Doc, or just having someone to chat shit out with.

She looked away after I said that. Like she was trying to figure out if it was worth it. Then she began crying, with these huge tears and giant red splotches appearing on her face, which was almost a relief given that she she looked like a fucking ghost otherwise. I'm pretty shit at consoling people, so I kinda just let her have it, though honestly? I think it was good that she did. It almost felt like she hadn't let herself cry before up until then, and given how much sobbing she did I think she really, really fucking needed to. I stayed on the line until she finished up, at which point I asked her if she'd finally start talking to Doc. Thankfully, she said she'd try to start participating more, though only if I were there. Gave her my word that I would before my alarm popped up, saying it was time to go visit Doc in person, which is when we finally said goodbye and logged off.

There isn't a whole lot of shit I do these days that gives me a warm, fuzzy feeling, particularly when it comes to interactions with other mercenaries, but I'll be damned if I couldn't stop smiling all the way to the shuttleport. Even if it's through a shared or similar tragedy, it's still nice to connect with people, and I think being able to actually give her the chance to do so will help out Chime immensely. That said, it was fucking mentally exhausting, heh. I almost considered rescheduling the trip to Doc's until I remembered they said the kids had something special to show me. So that's part one of today's log. I'll write up some more tonight or tomorrow after I get home!



-End Log