Emergency Log

CONTINGENCY.exe activated...
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FILE CORRUPTED. ATTEMPT RECONSTRUCTION? Y/N
RECONSTRUCTION ATTEMPTED.......
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RECONSTRUCTION PARTIALLY SUCCESSFUL. DISPLAYING RESULTS:


-Author: Ri#as Ry@#s
-Rank: CORRUPTED
-Corporation: CORRUPTED
-Date: 114.##.##

This will be the final log of Rinas Rylos. If you're reading this, either I've delved into the vastness of space to eke out a living as one of those flying space bastards, or the Gallentean government got me. Or something else, I dunno-This is only set to appear on my tablet if I haven't mind a post in over two years, so probably something has happened to me. Granted, I might've just stopped writing, but I suppose that's the result no matter what's happened to me.

I hope the family is doing well, along with Kaz and all the rest of my friends. It's weird to think that I even have any, given that when I started this whole journal business I was more bitter than an Amarrean pilot that was told he can't get paid in slaves. I'm sure there's still the usual space wars out there; Assholes in tons of metal and electronics and who know what else pounding the shit out of each other with weapons that could decimate a planet. Folks die, others get paid, life goes on usual...It's so weird to think of an economy built off of it, and yet...I profited from it. I lived off it. Hell, I thrived on it compared to some other people, and what's more I also enjoyed it.

I can't brush that off, no matter how much I want to. I know I'm gonna have to live (keep living? Assuming I'm still alive out there) with all this. Even if I'm not talking with Doc or my family or anyone else anymore...you can't survive alone. Sometimes when I think back to how robotic I was when I first got turned into...what I am, it scares me. I was basically a biological drone in some aspects, driven mostly out of spite and a desire to live. I guess...that hasn't actually changed much actually. It hasn't changed much, but I've got reasons to be more than just spiteful and murderous all the time. Even if they're all gone now, I've still got their memories-our memories. Memories of thrilling moments in battle, of tender moments with everyone...

Sorry if it seems like I'm just rambling, but it's not like I know what to write in the event of my disappearance/death, y'know? It's kinda conceited of me to admit, but it's hard to imagine death as a reality when I've been shot, stabbed, and run over enough times to put a batallion in the ground. But assuming the program works as intended, then I'm not around to really explain all this, so...I hope whoever reads this has a happy life. I hope they've learned something from the shit I wrote down, even if it's just to enjoy life a bit more. I hope they've learned that even if they don't think so, there's people out there who care about them and love them. I hope they've maybe enjoyed all my stories, and perhaps might take a shot at expressing themselves somehow.

I don't hope that this wasn't all for nothing, because I know it wasn't. It got me out of my funk, and let me look back on some of the most amazing battles anyone will ever have. This is, was, whatever-it's my validation of my existence, and whether this is eventually just thrown in a trash can somewhere or gets posted on the net and stays up until the heat death of the universe, I'm just happy to have made it. And if I managed to uplift some other folks at the same time, well...all the better. Because whether you're another former mercenary, or one of those flying space bastards, or just another person trying to make their way through New Eden, you're having just as much of adventure as I am. Might not seem like it from your perspective, I'm sure, but everything looks more glamorous from someone else's view, y'know?

I suppose I should probably wrap this up. I've got a battle up in a few minutes, and then it's off to go get drunk with Kaz again. To whomever is reading this: Thank you for your time and patience, and I hope your own adventures continue. I'll see you starside.

-End L*g

Log 05X-9

Log 05X-9

-Author: Rinas Rylos
-Rank: C.E.O.
-Corporation: Rinas' Raiders
-Date: 114.05.02

Well, Journal, preparations are just about done, and not a moment too soon. Sorta. I mean, there's still roughly a month before I make my move, but it's given me some time to sit back and double check that I've done everything I can ensure this all goes smoothly. My money is harder to track than a cloaked scouter, I've got just enough assets left to put up a facade of giving a shit in my contracts for the time left to me, and I've currently got some implants to learn how to finally fly a damn ship hooked up to my tech. Granted, I'm not a capsuleer, so things don't -exactly- translate, but I figure it's more or less accurate, and it saves me the hassle of having to hire an actual crew and then bribe them to keep their mouths shut or just flat-out murder them. Ordinarily, I'd be joking about that last bit, but looking back at the things I've done and the business I've gotten myself into, perhaps it's not as comical as I'd like it to be.

Don't get me wrong, talking with Kaz has helped me realize that it's a little too late to, uh, backtrack on my particular career choice, even if it wasn't nearly as much of a choice in the beginning, and talking with Chime reminded me that I've gotten awfully philosophical about a job that's pretty simple, all things considered. Pull trigger, try not to die, get paid, repeat. Ruminating on the spiritual or ethical choices of a system designed to not only keep everyone alive but also return them home at the end of the day is kind of like discussing the moral ramifications of being some kind of pencil pushing bureaucrat, though as far as -that- goes, I'm relatively sure I've killed way less people than bureaucrats have, especially permanently. At any rate, it's probably not my place (and god knows you've had to listen to my whining about ethics more than anyone, Journal) but I think it's probably one of the few things that really helps me cope. Or was. Did? Will? I dunno. I'm not sure I'm going to keep writing after I'm done with this. Perhaps I'll edit a few things and put this out on the net, let the common folk see what it's like to live without ever dying. Or maybe I'll just delete the whole thing and laugh about it. At this point, anything seems like a viable option; Aside from my funds, I'm not actually taking a whole lot with me; A good luck charm Kaz made me from part of a dud artillery shell that landed right next to him, a hair decoration that Chime gave me after landing a particularly lucrative contract, and as for the Doc...I'll have to think about it.

As far as my family goes...I do have a picture. I went landside just before the end of last month to take it. Gods, they've all gotten so much bigger. My brother is almost as tall as I am, and that's post surgical and genetic enhancement. The kids are all walking now, and most of them can talk, save for little Sina. She's the youngest, technically, given that her and Rive are twins, but she was born about a minute later than he was. I...I'm not gonna lie, Journal, I wasn't in top form when I came down. I had presents lined up and was totally prepared to make the most of what time I had left with them, but I broke quicker than a Caldari being forced to sell shit at cost. I'm not the most...familial person, Journal. What I did when I was younger, I did more out of a sense of duty to my siblings than out of any love, and while that might seem cold, it kept them alive and healthy. I think if I'd let myself love them, then the sense of guilt for them being put in such a shit situation would've killed me, even if it was hardly my fault to begin with.

Well, that went out the fucking window, and about any composure I had with it. I walked through the doorway to our-their house, and I just...couldn't. Seeing them all, happy and healthy and knowing that I contributed to it all, and it was one of the few times in my life where I've felt like I've actually contributed something positive to the universe, and I just couldn't. And then they put those tiny fucking hands on me, trying to make me feel better, and my brother held me, and I swear to god I don't want to go now. I really, really, really fucking don't. We talked, and laughed, and I got to actually feel like part of my own family for the first fucking time, and it's all going to be torn away because I cannot and will not let them be torn apart by those fucks in our government just so they can get to me. So instead I sucked it up, and after bawling like I was younger than Sina we went and toured their house, seeing their bedrooms, the kitchen, the entertainment room, etc. It was all so...normal, which was kinda hard to comprehend, if I'm gonna be real. I mean, I've got a vid screen up in my apartment, but since I've just got the basic package it's like ninety-nine percent ads for weapon deals (which are getting increasingly more desperate, I might add) and the occasional ad for stuff like new suits and whatnot.

I was kinda glad to see that they were living fairly modestly; The house wasn't too big, and their clothing and food was nice, but not extravagant, something I guess my brother picked up from me. I've sent them a loooot of money, especially considering it has to be exchanged for planetside currency, so they're gonna be fine for a long, long, while. After they showed me around, they had me sit down and asked about a million questions about my job, just about all of which I couldn't answer. Even if I wasn't about to give the government the finger and head on out, there's so much that's still classified that even knowing a hint about it would land them in a "reeducation camp" somewhere with the flimsiest fucking excuse for a trial ever. Besides, licensed mercenary isn't exactly a family table topic of conversation, whether it's your job or not, right? I'm seriously asking, since I have no fucking idea.

I've contemplated the idea of just pulling them out of their lives completely, but I can't do that. It would destabilize everything I've worked for, and if I couldn't find someplace to help them settle down again? They'd be screwed. Besides, the only other places they would be safe are in foreign space, which...isn't really so much more safe as less likely to wind up strapped to a chair somewhere. As it is, I know they're going to be abducted; That's...just a thing that's going to happen. Once I'm off the radar, they'll come kicking down doors and brandishing these guns that might've been able to put a round in some of the earliest suits they produced for us. They'll scare the shit out of them, talk about not seeing their relatives again, about going to jail forever, etc, but once it finally becomes clear that they'll have no idea where I am, they'll be released. They might be fucking assholes, but even my government won't just up and execute people for absolutely no reason.

So after we played twenty bajillion questions, we settled down for dinner, we snuggled up together to watch a movie, and then...well, it was time to go. Everyone except the oldest was rubbing sleep out of their eyes anyway, and there was only one shuttle back up beyond the atmosphere scheduled for the day. Hugs were given, right alongside a ton of kisses, and...that was it. I left.

I've done some shit things, Journal. I don't deserve the love they showed me. But that didn't stop every step away from their place becoming that much more difficult. All my money, all my experience, I'd trade all of it away just to have another day with them. But I can't.

I'm going to miss them.

-End Log

Log 05X-8

Log 05X-8

-Author: Rinas Rylos
-Rank: C.E.O.
-Corporation: Rinas' Raiders
-Date: 117.04.22.

Hey Journal. Sorry about how heavy things got. But I guess that's kind of inevitable; You can't go back and recount what fucked you up in the head so hard and not feel the edges of yourself shudder at the memories. Besides, with the end so close in sight, now isn't really the time for looking back, right?

At least, that's the attitude I'm trying to take. It figures that the closer to the end of this lifestyle I get, the more nostalgic I become despite the fact that I have neither the time nor the energy to dwell on my past screw ups. Especially since most of the technical shit has been taken care of. I've got enough money stored up to keep myself well-stocked on the battlefield, while the rest of it is stored in a variety of dummy corporations, some shady businesses that are all owned by about three people I know personally, or have their records stored in various data chips I've placed within several drop points, to be delivered to me at a later date. It's been extremely arduous doing all of this, and I'd be lying if I said even a tenth of it was legit, but at this point I'm long past caring. If I leave a single damned ISK or shred of evidence laying around, it could start a trail leading back to me, and I'm determined not to give the government that much of a chance. Of course, there's a halfway chance they've already caught wind of my schemes, and the day I intend on leaving there'll be a Gallentean special ops squad waiting outside my apartment door to escort me...somewhere, probably not a nice somewhere.

Actually, now that I think on it, the chances of that might be more slim than I thought. Word on the grapevine is that the whole immortal merc business is going under, which isn't exactly...surprising. I can't begin to imagine the amount of money spent on our services (not to mention custom weapons, dropsuits, equipment, etc,) made anyone besides manufacturers a whole lot of money. I don't know if everyone's gotten a heads-up yet, but apparently the four empires have made their decisions on the matter. Even the officials low enough on the totem poles to be bribed apparently have been talking to anyone who'll flash enough cash about how now is the time to be getting out of the merc market. Equipment suppliers are still selling, but I'm more than willing to bet that's just them finishing up their contracts. Once they've made enough, or past a certain date, I'm pretty sure they're dropping our asses like so much chaff on a radar. I dunno who finally decided that enough was enough (probably a bunch of assholes in a board room somewhere) but at least I made the right decision to get while the getting is good. Or not as bad as it's going to be soon, anyway, given that the value of a lot of these weapons are going to drop once it comes to light that we're not going to be an officially recognized industry anymore, so corporations won't actually be allowed to utilize us in droves just to take over a few acres of mining equipment for five fucking minutes. I imagine they'll still be available to sell to private citizens, and of course the gangs are always going to want yet more armaments to throw against...everyone, really. Banditry cannot be a fun job when you're flying through space and going up against people who can track you down and murder you AFTER you've already blown them up, not to mention that there's four giant ass empires along with CONCORD breathing down your necks the whole damn time.

But it's an end, all the same. They brought us up to become a commodity, a business, and apparently that business wasn't doing too well, since it's not so much a matter of time concerning when they're getting rid of us, but when. The official date is sketchy, but given how quickly people seem to be moving, I can't say I'm not a little glad I'm getting out when I am. I wanted to write more for this entry, but looking back on everyone and everything, it's kinda hard to really put it all into words. I wasn't exactly the most descriptive, well-written bitch out there before I began killing people for a living, and even writing this has only done so much to expand my vocabulary. I guess I'll give it some thought.

-End Log

Log 05X-7

Log 05X-7

-Author: Rinas Rylos
-Rank: C.E.O.
-Corporation: Rinas' Raiders
-Date: 117.04.19

Hey Journal (I've decided on that for the time being, sounds less kiddy) sorry for the delay. Had to deal with some...things, but I'll get to that later. Battles lately have been kind of...listless, I guess? I'm not sure how to describe them, but the closer I get to finally getting out of the business, the more dreary they seem to become. I thought I'd wind up treasuring my time left out on the battlefield, but lately I've started pondering how much time I have left before I'm allowed to just go home. It's a little sad, now that I think about it; I used to marvel at the various landscapes they'd send us out to, even with all the mining equipment or whatever dug into the ground, but these days it's all just...numbers. Not literally, but all I see is cover, good flanking positions, traps to lead others into, etc. Admittedly, I was way worse of a mercenary at the start, but it's still kinda shitty that the wonder of these planets has been replaced by just tactical advantage for me. Maybe I'll be able to regain it once I'm not landing on planets for the sole purpose of shooting/stabbing/exploding people, but...I dunno, we'll see.

So remember when I said that the Gallente didn't let us off their leashes immediately? There's a little more to it than that. See, it wasn't enough to recoup their investments, those assholes, no, they had to make a show of force. I didn't know it then, but all the empires also had the same technology at the same time, and they were going ahead with shows of force to show off just how game-changing all this new tech was. Granted, they'd planned on doing it with a legion of trained commandos, armed with the best equipment and weaponry that money could buy, backed by the full might of the Gallentean military, and instead they got a pack of barely-obedient soldiers who bristled at every command, even after the training from hell. So instead of some kind of colossal nationalistic circlejerk, we got sent off to show off our new,"talents," in another form entirely.

Nobody likes to talk about Sansha's Nation. Nobody sane, at least; It used to be that history classes would spend nearly a whole week blathering on about the "unity of the five empires against the abomination that was Sansha's Nation," and how,"only Gallentean leadership could inspire such a coalition of forces again," and blah blah propaganda blah. I hadn't even bought into those classes even before I had to start skipping to work to provide for the kids, but I will admit that the idea of all five empires uniting to kick the shit out of those mind-controlling pieces of scum was pretty awesome. Not to mention that you've gotta be pretty damn evil to actually manage to get everyone to unite against you, and even moreso to get them to cooperate to blast you off the map. 'Course, that all changed once those two hundred thousand colonists were abducted. The empires had managed to keep the secret that they'd rebuilt mostly spaceside until then, but no one kidnaps that many people and and succeeds at keeping it quiet. Did that actually manage to make everyone stop fighting and take a look at them again though? Not really, god forbid we see a real, insane enemy and try to focus on it once again. I can understand leaving the Guristas and Serpentius and whomever else to the flying space bastards and whomever CONCORD can convince to join their fleet, but Sansha's Nation is a whole other ball game, in my opinion. They're not doing this for cash, or resources, or even respect; They legitimately believe they're somehow paving the way for a better way of living for their...people, and that kind of fanaticism scares the everloving hell out of me.

So why am I bringing them up? Because thanks to the way our minds can teleport and just fling themselves from one body to another, they figured we'd be a good deterrent against their tactics. I dunno the specifics, but apparently it takes time to fit the implants they've got onto their slaves, so it'd be easy for us to just either kill ourselves or get someone to kill us, and then bam! That's one less slave they get their hands on, while we're no worse for the wear. From a tactical perspective, I had to admit that it made sense; Send the people for whom bodies are like trying on clothes to deal with a bunch of enslaving, abducting shitheads, since they can't technically be kidnapped. Once we'd done our damage to the nation, they could show clips of it over the net, talk about how big and bad we were, and show off just how,"excellent," the Gallentean military training program was, while also dealing some damage against an enemy absolutely nobody liked. Personally, I think we should've stuck with something a little closer to home; Most of Sansha's Nation is in Amarr territory, and they're the ones who usually wind up dealing with those assholes, but funnily enough, nobody asked me. Most of the point was to show off just how effective we would be against what was normally seen as a pretty terrifying enemy, and maybe give some hope of protection to the outer colonies we had.

Even as pissed as I was at my,"superiors," for my training, I had to admit that having the power to defend myself against an enemy like that was kind of awesome. I couldn't be captured alive since they wouldn't let me; Hell, even if I'd let myself be taken captive, the suits could accept a remote signal from the capital ship to self-destruct if it was determined we were disobeying orders. Had we been going against anyone else, they'd likely have had to abuse the hell out of that function, but as it was...you have to understand, even the lowliest Gallentean at least has their freedom, something no one else but the Minmatar has the right to claim, and to see that stripped from people on a level that even the Amarr refuse to do? That's...having the power to deny them that kind of victory is empowering, I'm not gonna lie. Even if the Gallentean dream is bullshit, the freedom they can't stop crowing about isn't, and if I'd known that I was gonna have the ability to ensure that those soul-stripping assholes could never, ever capture me like they did others? Shit, I'd have been the first to sign up.

Of course, our superiors managed to fuck even that up. When it came time to actually put boots on the ground, our objective was....almost monstrous, in a way. Our mission wasn't defense, or retrieval, or anything that could've actually made us feel good about what we were doing. No, instead we were fucking attacking. To give you some perspective, even with the folks that managed to survive the first two rounds of testing, we barely numbered eighty. Eighty of us, landing on a planet, to take over some fucking space dock so they could land other, more expendable soldiers on the ground and scour the rest of the damn planet. What they neglected to mention was that this wasn't a military space port; No, we were going for a civilian port instead. Sorta. See, due to everyone being mind-controlled, they didn't need things like "family," or,"travel," for the peons. Instead, you had what amounted to what was basically cargo ships with just enough life support on them to keep the fucking cargo from dying. We hadn't been told that we wouldn't be facing many military targets upfront, or that the so-called,"civilians," would rush us like some kind of pack of wild animals...

I...Life doesn't fuck around when it comes to certain sights. You see something, and you don't get to not-see it again, whether you wish you could or not. Even if you tear it straight out of your brain, you'll still have echoes of it in yourself, one way or another. What we did that day won't leave a single one of us until we're put in the ground for good, and for the life of me I can't tell if that's a punishment far too large or exactly what we deserve. We gunned down so, so many people that day. I guess I can't call them normal, exactly, when they began running at us and trying to tear us apart with nothing but their bare hands on sight, but that really just made things worse; Our training had been for fighting trained opponents with similar abilities to ours: Soldiers, other immortals, maybe local militia at the worst. This? This was...it was a massacre, one way or another. We'd been group into pods of six, with five commanders stationed back on our ship to coordinate tactics and help us keep our heads. They...they tried, really, but it was pointless. You can't see a ravenous group of human beings literally ripping your comrade apart like so many mindless animals and keep a cool head, especially when you've blown off entire fucking limbs with your guns and haven't managed to do more than momentarily stop them. Especially when there's children among them. We killed kids. We fucking murdered children, we are child killers, and none of us get to forget that, no matter what. Our baptism into the world of war left us anointed in the blood of fucking kids, and to this day I still don't know how the fuck I cope. Was it self-defense? Sure, doesn't change the fact that I slaughtered them all, like fucking animals. I watched a seven-year old lose her fucking hand from a grenade, along with half her face, and still come at Khris, and I just...I..

I learned a lot of things about how the world worked that way. About how humans can function despite the shit they do, how much blood the average human can lose without dying, and how well you can take seeing your friends be torn asunder time after time and not just lose your shit. Most of the things I learned that day ended with the reminder that it gets easier, whatever,"It," is. We're born to adapt, one way or another, and I guess one adaption we picked up along the way was finding out how to live with ourselves despite the terrible shit we can do to each other. It's...humanity is really fucking scary sometimes, when you realize what we are and are capable of in its entirety. It's the kind of shit that made me understand why my Dad drinks, and why I'm going to bed.

-End Log

Log 05X-6

Log 05X-6

-Author: Rinas Rylos
-Rank: C.E.O.
-Corporation: Rinas' Raiders
-Date: 117.03.14

Hey blog. Diary. Journal. I've never known what to call this whole thing, exactly. I guess it's technically a diary, but that just sounds so...adolescent, y'know? And when I think of journals, I think of decaying books written by long-dead explorers in those stupid vids that Chime loves to watch. You wouldn't think such a girly-girl would be into that kinda stuff, but you also wouldn't think she'd turn into a serial killer out on the battlefield either, so...shows what I know. Long as she keeps it on the ground and doesn't start trying to slit throats without being paid for it, it's all good. Sometimes I'm a little surprised she hasn't painted her armors teal or bright orange or something more peppy than the usual drab shit they're decked out in, but then I remember that if you use the wrong kind of paint (which is basically all of them) then it can fuck with the sensors embedded in the suit, which need total area coverage to work. In layman's terms, you'll basically become a giant walking target out on the battlefield. Don't ask me how I know that.

Speaking of technical shit, remember all that encrypted data I was sent a while back? Don't blame you if you don't, since I didn't speak of it as much as I thought I did, but I did eventually manage to get it all decrypted. Had to pay out the nose for it, since it was...alright, I don't actually know enough about computers, but I'm given to understand that it was really, heavily, encrypted. I actually had to contact a goddamned capsuleer to get the job done. Y'know what that means? I had to pay ISK to actually get the job done. I know I tend to bitch about stuff being expensive, but really I'm just being a frugal bitch; Expensive in my lexicon usually means just a few ISK, since whomever I'm paying wants whatever currency the current planet they're on is using, and the exchange rate is kinda horrific. Seriously, I'm reasonably sure that most of the flying space bastards (and probably a few mercs) could actually just outright buy entire planets if they were allowed. But anyway, I had to pay this guy ISK. A lot of it, incidentally, which set me back for a couple months, but the important bit is that I actually got them all encrypted. Most of it was redacted, because of course it was, but there was still enough available to paint a rather interesting tale.

Turns out that most of it was a mixture of research notes and personal logs from the experiments they did getting the implants to work on us. Y'know, the implants that keep us immortal? Yeah, as it so happens, getting them compatible with our physiology was a pretty hard task, and some of us weren't quite as lucky as others. There was three groups of us that they were using; One was a bunch of criminals and vagrants (like myself) that were going to undergo the initial process, the third was a series of regular folks that had signed up for a "procedure" that promised to pay out dividends, with the caveat being that they had to survive it, and the third was an amalgamation of hired mercenaries and veteran soldiers that had volunteered for this bullshit. Made me wonder just exactly how many people knew about the implants before we were released, but I digress. The idea was to try and implant the tech into us, then see who survived without being mentally retarded or just somehow fucked and take what they learned from that and apply it to the civilians, before taking the knowledge from THEM and using it to turn their already-experienced soldiers into unkillable murder machines.

But, they fucked up.

Not sure if it was a scientist feeling guilty, or just a technical error somewhere, but the regular people wound up being the test group, and they didn't find out 'til they were already using the veterans as the second set of test subjects, meaning that by the time they were done, the only group left was the trash. And the people who survived the first two sets of testing, which...wasn't much. Only two people survived from the first group, and five from the second. I dunno about what happened to the civilians, but the military people wound up being our trainers, since they were the only ones that could actually properly train with us in live-fire exercises. Holy shit, the live-fire exercises. In retrospect, I'm kind of shocked that only a few of us wound up just shut down mentally after the hell that was having guns thrust into our hands, having these assholes scream orders into ears, and being sent to kill each other. Repeatedly. Like, I saw the proverbial light more times during that training than the entire first year of my actual career. Sometimes I wonder if they were trying to see if the implants would eventually burn out, or if they were trying to take out some kind of vengeance on us since they died in our place, or I guess maybe both. Either way, eventually they had to put their mouths where they'd thrown a ludicrously large amount of money, and that was when we finally got released. We weren't let off the leash immediately, mind you, but this entry is getting long enough as it is; I'll talk about it next time. Anyway, it's time for me to catch some sleep. Sleep well, Journal.

Log 05X-5

Log 05X-5

-Author: Rinas Rylos
-Rank: C.E.O.
-Corporation: Rinas' Raiders
-Date: 117.03.10

Hey Diary. Sorry about the delay, turns out that moving large amounts of funds and subtly selling enough armaments and equipment to outfit a platoon takes a bit of work. And by a bit of work, I mean PAPERWORK. Not literally, all the forms are electronic (thank whatever deity the Amarr worship for that) but there's still a fuckton of it, and it's like all the fun of a long, drawn-out sniper battle without any imminent threat of death or the possibility of nailing that son of a bitch straight through their thick head. I could just plop all my stuff down on the market, but there's no way in hell that wouldn't raise some red flags somewhere. I guess I could sell it to the flying space bastards, but most of them have no use for it, and the few that do are pretty well taken care of already. So instead I've had to plan out a very, very rough timeline for selling off my crap. I can't pawn it all too quick, otherwise that'll get the watchdogs on my ass, but anything I don't sell in the next couple months is gonna be left in storage for scavengers to nab or get seized by the Gallentean military when they figure out what I'm doing, and I'd rather at least TRY to make a buck off of it, rather than leaving it to those assholes. Not to mention that I've still got contracts to do, so I've gotta walk the fine line between selling this crap off annnnnd making sure I'm at least halfway decently decked out there on the battlefield. Between keeping the feds off my ass, slowly saturating the market with my gear, and still using some of it, I...it's a mess. I'm a mercenary, dammit, not a fucking number cruncher! But I'll deal with it. Kinda have to, right? The end is in sight.

Speaking of which, it struck me today that my time on this station was numbered. I'd never really thought about until now, but the familiar winding corridors and friendly, if unknown faces began to make this place feel like home right under my nose. Maybe that's part of what helped me ease into...all of this? I dunno. But soon it won't matter. All these folks...they'll just see that weird woman pack her shit up and leave, and...well, what happens after that, is..is...At any rate, it's gonna suck not getting to just idly stroll through these corridors anymore, heading to the fitness center after picking up food, or hauling ass to the transport so I can catch another shuttle to wherever I felt like heading. But it won't be all bad, it's not like I'm unused to walking through unfamiliar space stations, or making tracks on planets I'd never have set foot on otherwise. Unfamiliar isn't bad, it's just that...well, familiarity breeds comfort, which I'd kinda sunk into without realizing it. Still, the clock is ticking down, and now I find myself lingering at windows and outside of doors, wondering how much time I've actually got left on here. It's not like me to get all wishy washy about this, but I can't help it sometimes, especially when I think back to how many times I've walked down these damn halls.

Speaking of familiarity, I actually went down to a firing range for the first time with some of the guns I use out on the field. It felt...kinda weird holding them in my own hands, instead of just one of those cookie-cutter clones we always get transferred into for the contracts. I haven't actually had to fire a gun in a body that was molded to look like mine since my original training, but it seemed to come back to me easily enough. Even breathing, squeeze the trigger instead of pulling it, don't aim upwards when you're not shooting, etc. It returned without too much effort, which is kinda weird since these muscles shouldn't technically have the memory of it, but whatever. Also got some stares at the range, since I was clearly handling military weaponry at a civilian range, but no one was dumb enough to actually say anything, though I was in a suit the whole time, so...that probably contributed to a few of the stares too. I contemplated asking if I could use a local police precinct's range, but I rather doubt that would've turned out well, police being, well, police and not exactly happy with civilians walking around with guns that make theirs look like outdated pieces of shit. Plus, the suit adds like a half-foot to my height, so I was actually taller than most of the people there, though I'm not sure they could tell whether I was a guy or girl in the first place. I mean, I know how to distinguish between them, but I've also spent enough time in and around the stupid suits to know the difference. Anyway, it felt good to get some practice in, and I figure I might as well start now, given that I can't be sure what'll be happening a couple months from now.

I think I'll take next week off. Get some time in with the friends and family before the whole possibly never seeing them again thing kicks in. For now, however, it's time for some sleep.

Log 05X-4

Log 05X-4

Author: Rinas Rylos
Rank: C.E.O.
Corporation: Rinas' Raiders
Date: 117.02.25

Mood: Introspective
Weather: None. I live in space. Dur.

Weather in the battles today wasn't actually that great. It's hardly fun being shot at in the best of conditions, but when a veritable sandstorm is raining down on you like the asswipe of an angry deity? No fucking thank you. Normally we don't fight while weather is hitting us like this; Fucks with the electronics, makes it harder to identify FoF (Friend or Foe) signals, and there's the small, but not zero chance that we'll land a drop pod into the side of a refinery or whatever the fuck we're fighting over, ruining the whole thing and pretty much rendering the entire contract invalid. Granted, the fact that it'll change hands in about a week renders the whole thing a massive waste anyway, but, details. The entire contract was...well, imagine a normal one, but with visibility shortened to about ten feet in front of you. Yeah. I dunno how many shotguns littered the ground after that crap, but it's fair to say there's a factory out that's going into overtime to make up for all the ones we wasted.

So I thought I'd give a follow up on some more folks I didn't get to last time. Mostly because I'm writing these just before it's time for bed, usually, and sleepiness tends to claim me when I'm right in the middle of writing, and if I just keep doing that then I'll have a bunch of half-written entries and not actually complete any of them, so sometimes they've gotta be a little on the short side. Anyway! Chime. Do you remember Chime, diary? Equal parts cheerful and screwed up? Had a ridiculous fondness for pink? Yeah, she's become a fucking monster now. Still just as cheerful and sweet, and hardly a day goes by that I don't get an invitation to visit for food or try on some dress she found that she thought I'd like or something like that, but when she's on the battlefield, it's like she's another person entirely; By which I mean she turns into a beast fueled on the blood and fear of her enemies. Don't get me wrong, I'm totally happy to have (mostly) helped her work past her issues, especially since they were pretty similar to mine, but more than once I've been all too glad that she and I have been on the same side of a contract. You wouldn't think a single soldier with a crappy stealth module and a nova knife could inspire terror in hardened mercenaries, but...well, until I saw her go to work, I didn't know the human body had that much blood in it, so it was...educational, if nothing else.

I guess that leaves my family. Proper family, I mean, not that sack of shit sperm donor. They're all doing fairly well, or as well as they can be when I'm spending an obscene amount of money to keep them away from prying eyes. All that stuff about me disappearing from the records? A lot cheaper to do it to civilians, oddly enough. I guess the lack of killing ability means they're not exactly high up on the priority list, though you do have to shell out extra to make sure nobody gets curious about why precisely these random ass civvies need to go off the grid. Still, I have to imagine that there's at least one school admin out there who is confused as hell about why these kids all have different names in the computer. Yeah, I didn't actually pull them out of their lives, they shouldn't have to deal with what I'm doing, but all the computer registries have their names replaced by...I dunno what, I didn't look that far, but the important thing is that no one should come looking for them. Also, I hired some old "friends" to keep watch around the house and if they see anyone that looks suspicious they break their kneecaps. Y'know, never hurts to go that extra mile, especially when you're dealing with the stupidly rich and powerful, like...pretty much everyone that could ever actually become dumb enough to try and strike at an experienced killer for hire.

I will admit, I've never actually had someone come after me, least not anyone that didn't already know me. The old gang tried that shit until they found out that the reason I wasn't dead was because I'd gone from scrappy, mouthy, bitch to trained murder machine, and my Dad tried to fight me once in a drunken stupor. That's not the reason he's in a coma, but he did walk away with a couple shattered ribs. Anyway, I guess it might seem a little paranoid that I've been taking all these precautions for something that might not actually happen, but...I've seen how these corporations work. I've seen how the empires act when they don't get what they want, and it's goddamned frightening. You wouldn't think that these slow, lumbering behemoths of bureaucracy and paperwork could actually get a damn thing done, but you take something they want or had and suddenly they're sending out jackbooted thugs in force and hiring mercs to back them up. The only reason the Caldari haven't tried to off Kaz (once he got out of CCP-enforced space anyway) is because they're too scared to really tussle with the capsuleers out in unregulated space. Plus, they're not about to send their armies out just to off a single dude. I think. The Amarr thought tussling with the Jove was somehow a good idea, so I wouldn't discount any dumb notion on the part of these assholes, whether they're Gallente, Caldari, or whomever.

Alright. It's way past time for me to head to sleep. Gotta get some more sleep before another day of bullets whizzing past and occasionally into my head. We'll talk more later.

Log 05X-3

Log 5X-3

-Author: Rinas Rylos
-Rank: C.E.O.
-Corporation: Rinas' Raiders
-Date: 117.02.17

Hey diary. Sorry about the, uh, somber note I kinda left you on last time. Figured that was a little bleak, so I thought I'd catch you up on everything that's been going on with my friends and family, since that's...mostly better. Not like everyone's come out of the last few years unscathed, but I'll get to that in a bit. I will say that there does seem to be something of a fatigue going around, which I guess is understandable. Year after year of endless warfare for companies that don't give two shits? It wears you down, and I'm not the only one who has said that enough is enough, but I'll get to that in a second too.

So...where to start? I guess we might as well begin with Kaz, since he's one of the first people I mentioned on here. Not including Doc, I guess, but..I think I didn't start writing about him until later, so Kaz it is. As for what how he's doing, he's actually retired. Well, I say retired, but the truth of it is that he struck a bargain with some of those flying space bastards and now he acts in an advisory role for 'em. Apparently the whole,"tearing themselves away from the empires and forming their own...thing," is really picking up traction, which means they're going to need planets, which will need protection, and who better to help equip their soldiers then someone who has a shitload of experience and the same complete disregard for human life as they do? Still has enough armaments and dropsuits to outfit an entire legion too, and it wouldn't surprise me if he had upped his arsenal with some more...grandiose equipment.  I'm talking about artillery and bombardments, the kinda stuff that you use when you're taking down a Military. Maybe not up to orbital capacity, but if he wants something to die, he's got plenty of choices in how to make it so. The whole thing leaves him fairly busy, but we still get to talk on occasion, which does kinda make me appreciate it that much more. I'd like to visit him sometime, but there's no way in hell that the Gallente would let me go meet with a "rogue" mercenary, especially considering he took a shitload of illegal weaponry with him. I'm not even supposed to technically talk with him, but there's ways past that if you know how...or pay someone that knows how.

As for Doc, he's come a long way. Used to be he had his own private clinic dealing with sorry cases like me, now he owns his own practice, and they deal with PTSD in all military vets, whether they're mercs like me or just regular old soldiers. Well, they'll actually help anyone, it's just that military vets get a discount, which is nice of him. I actually quit going to him about a year ago, once I realized that our talks were more social than medical. We still talk occasionally, but he's busy as shit. It's not quite like Kaz, though. I still babysit for him and his husband sometimes, which breaks up the monotony nicely. Usually I head over there to do it, since my own spartan digs aren't exactly kid friendly, particularly when it comes to keeping any of us sane. Do you remember Vena and Arya? The little terrors, or at least they used to be. They're older now, not -quite- as energetic, more prone to sit there wide-eyed and listen to me talk about my equipment and my life. I'd say they're a little sheltered, but given what Doc does, I'm not sure if they're fascinated because they've never heard this crap before, or if they've just taken a liking to me personally. Either way, they're way less exhausting and a bit more like actual people, which is always nice. I'm still,"Aunt," incidentally, which hasn't gotten any less mortifying as time has gone by.

So...my dad. When I said that not everyone has gotten better, he's mostly who I was referring to. I'll just go ahead and say he isn't dead, no, but he's...not doing well. To be more precise, he's in a coma. As for why, I wish I knew. The doctors have said that it was something engineered, like some kind of manufactured  disease or something like that, since the symptoms don't seem to match up to any known illness, and my dad is definitely not one for colonization, so it's not like he got some whacked out space plague. They've done everything they can, but they don't actually know -why- he's in a coma; His vitals suggest he's doing fine, and they can't find anything wrong, but...well, if he's not waking up, he's not waking up. One of the doctor's suggested that he might've stood a better chance if his organs hadn't already been on the way out, which I can't say was exactly surprising. Who knew that not drowning yourself in fucking booze might keep your healthier than if you didn't?

Fuck. Didn't really want to end this on a depressing note again, but it's time for bed. Uh...my coffee is good? I dunno, I'll try not to do it twice next time. 'Til then.

Log 05X-2

Log 05X-2

-Author: Rinas Rylos
-Rank: C.E.O.
-Corporation: Rinas' Raiders
-Date: 117.02.14

Y'know, I'd be lying if I said that there wasn't some serenity to the battlefield. Well, not at the start; I still remember my first few battles and the sheer, unabated chaos that come with them. Didn't help that it wasn't just -my- first battle, no, they decided to field multiple blueberries all at once. Not exactly sure how that seemed like a good investment, because I'll tell you right now that it wasn't. Guns firing wildly out into the air, people calling in vehicles they barely had any idea how to use, not to mention our utter lack of actual experience with the equipment. I mean, sure, it's easy to pull the pin on a grenade in VR, or inject myself with an adrenaline booster to keep my failing body up for a few more minutes, but out in the field? You're scrambling just to keep from dropping your weapon, nevermind following orders or god forbid actually shooting someone. It's all you can do to keep from blowing your own head off, especially as gunfire rages around you, along with gunships, tanks, grenades, etc.

 It really doesn't help when you die, since it takes a second for the implant to kick in, and now you're somewhere else and have to reorient yourself to where your allies and enemies are. Honestly, I'm not even sure when I stopped just cowering in a corner; I just remember it kinda...clicking? I guess? One moment I was huddled around my gun, trying not to just lose it and suddenly I quit cowering, took the safety off my auto rifle, and began to check my corners. Immediately got my head blown off by someone on my side, but that's one of the perks of being immortal. It doesn't stick.

But if I'm being honest, that's probably what did me in. Treating it all like clockwork, all mechanical, all routine and instinct doesn't make you a good soldier, and it definitely doesn't make you better off when you're not on the clock. I remember reading accounts from other mercs that just wished they could suck it up on the battlefield, but that's...it doesn't work that way. Either you take it as it comes, or it all comes back to wallop you once everything is over. The pain, the spite, the horror, bottling that shit up just makes it even worse when you do eventually deal with it-And you do, whether you want to or not, sooner or later. The fear is what you have to deal with above everything else, though. Fear makes you miss shots and fumble nanoboosters, makes you dive -at- a grenade instead of away from it because you're too panicked to leap the right way. When you're starting out, fear kills you so much quicker and faster than just about anything your enemy can do to you, and it isn't until you've got it under control that you can actually contribute to a conflict in any meaningful way. I guess it might be different when you're in an actual military, but the, uh, laid-back nature of our industry meant that things like,"orders," and,"a chain of command," were all but total bullshit. Not unless you joined a proper corp, or a legit squad, but...that wasn't really for me. Even back when I had been in a gang, I was such a shit that I'm surprised they didn't try and off my ass sooner. Nothing against cooperation, mind, I watched more than a few squads nearly win entire contracts on their (with some help from me, of course). But at the end of the day, we all went back to our respective apartments and slept in our beds, and I didn't really see camaraderie in faces that were my allies one second and people trying to plant a grenade on my ass the next.

Honestly, I could write until my fingers fell off about the sheer amount of shit happening in any given contract. There's just so much going on in a single battle that it's hard to peg down one specific thing, whether it's the feelings of the soldiers involved, or the logistics of their equipment, or the planning, the execution, the whole conflict at its entirety. And we do this dozens of times a day, shipped all across the stars, loaded down into pods and shot at planets like tiny death machines, which I guess isn't really too far from the truth. At the end of the day, though, we're still people. Just because I get another chance at life every time I die doesn't make getting stabbed any less painful, doesn't make it any less shitty when I miss a shot and an enemy sniper practically takes my fucking head off, it's just... Fuck it, I've made myself depressed. I'm gonna head to bed.

Log 05X-1

Log 05X-1

-Author: Rinas Rylos
-Rank: C.E.O.
-Corporation: Rinas' Raiders
-Date: 117.02.07

More battles, more bullshit, more pointless bloodshed. Part of me is disgusted that I ever found enjoyment in my work, while another part of me is still enjoying it. No matter how many people I crush with a tank, or shoot in the head from fifty meters, there's still some sick satisfaction in it. At this point though, it's so slim as to be nonexistent, and I can't help but chuckle at how routine I've become. I feel like one of those nine-to-five parents they'd always have in the serials back planetside, except instead of being a manager or a factory worker, I go out and murder people for a living before coming home and relaxing with some coffee and some music and books. Well, e-books. I might be "rich", but have you seen the shipping rates on shit out here? No thanks, it's costly enough just getting actual coffee out here. Could be worse though, at least I'm not sipping it out of a rusted can or whatever the Minmatar use.

As far as leaving goes, I can't really do too much yet; Getting out of the game takes time, and I can't imagine being done with all this crap any sooner than...I dunno, four months from now? Give or take a few days. I say that like I have any clue on how to actually do this, hah. I have no idea how to actually get myself out of the merc registration lists, especially since I'm in more databases than kiddy porn in Amarr hard drives. It's probably gonna be expensive, but I guess that's the price you have to pay if you don't want people hounding you or your loved ones over your murderous talents. Not that I've made too many enemies off the battlefield, but I can't imagine the Gallentean military (or any of them, for that matter) just accepting a hand-written resignation, so...I guess I'll have to get in touch with some people. I haven't taken -too- many odd jobs, but I've done enough to know where to poke my nose. It helps that I've...kinda patched things up with my old gang, but I'll get to that some other time.

It's still kinda weird writing back in this thing again. When I was first told to start this diary, I was nothing if not contemptuous about it. It felt like the Doc's way of just forcing me to prolong staying awake when I was a point where the only things in my life were the fights and sleep. Then I began writing in this, and branching out, little by little, and I met friends like Kaz, met the Doc's husband and his kid, and it all began to feel like maybe there was more to this shit existence after all. Looking back, I can't definitively say I ever really answered whether or not there's more to this than just the battlefield, since most of my friends were still borne from me eking out a living on it, but I guess I'll find out soon, eh?

Speaking of which, I guess I should probably update you on how everyone is doing, but...it's late, and I need to hit the gym before it closes for the night, so I'll save it for next time. 'Til then.

Log 05X

Log 5X

-Author: Rinas Rylos
-Rank: C.E.O.
-Corporation: Rinas' Raiders
-Date: 117.02.04.

Hey Diary. Guess it's been a little while, huh? Then again, what's two years when you're effectively immortal? I've been unable to die for years now, been shot, run over, bludgeoned, and stabbed to death more times than I care to remember, and it's all been a moot point. Years and years of gunfire and tanks and blood and you'd think I would be a shell of myself after all of this, kinda like how I first turned out. I guess I am, given my total lack of fucks to give at this point, but not like how I used to be. When I first got volunteered for this bullshit, I used to care about the cause, and when that fell through I cared about my comrades, after my..episode, I just considered getting paid, but once I amassed enough money to live well for a long while it all came down to my kill ratio. At this point? It's hard to care about anything on the battlefield. You throw yourself at enemies that will be back in seconds, just like you, and all of it just boils down to who died the least, or didn't let their ship get destroyed. Year after year of helping these heartless corporate fucks waste lives and resources in this never ending bullshit "conquest," that destroys more than it saves. I've seen friends...comrades, I've seen so many people get sucked into this machine of steel and death that refuses to let you go.

Well, I'm done. No more dropsuits, no more HMGs, no more tanks and assaults and watching squads of thinking, feeling people get gunned down and revived in some macabre dance. I used to think that my job was fucking awesome, y'know? Get paid to kill people, even give the finger to the Gallente (along with everyone else if I felt like it) and they'd reward me for it. But...after a certain point, you just have to sit back and wonder what it's all for. I've been shot down onto countless planets, some of them without even actual names, just designations, and fought for people who didn't care about a damn thing more than my results. At some point you just get burnt out with the endless bloodshed, and it struck me around the time I realized I cared more about the coffee maker in my apartment than I did about the guy with a sniper rifle sitting next to me, desperately trying to pick off the squad that was coming to kill us. Even if I died, I'd be back in seconds, boots on the ground and a tank on the way to stick it to them for killing me. Assuming I cared anyway, which is hard after more battles than I can count.

It's not like I have to worry about money now anyways. Not for a long, long, loooooooong time, at least. With this much ISK, I can pick a high-rise apartment on damn good planet and just relax. Or I could, at least, but someone with my kind of skills and history doesn't exactly get to just leave the business. I don't know who would be after me, but it's a safe bet that there'd be at least someone out there. God help me if they find out about the kids, or my old therapist. So instead of relaxing on a core planet with enough amenities to bankrupt the planet, I'm...not sure where I'm going, actually.

It's not like I don't have time. If I'm gonna leave, I'm gonna do it right. Get all my stuff sold, cash in on what few favors I have left, and try to make the most of all this. It'll be months at the very least. Plenty of time to write about what's happened, and what (I hope) will happen.

-End Log

Log 052

Log 052

-Author: Rinas Rylos
-Rank: C.E.O.
-Corporation: Rinas' Raiders (R.R.A.S.)
-Date: 115.08.26.

Today was just not been one of those days. On the battlefield, anyway. Whether it was some jackass with a forge gun figuring out where I've been sniping, some pair of dickheads in tanks rolling up on me while I was running around with my own forge gun, or just dealing with a squad of incredibly persistent motherfuckers all decked out in protogear, it's...today was not my day out there. Still, we've all got times like that, so I can't complain too much. That's what I tell myself, anyway. When your K/D is fucking pathetic it's hard not to bitch out loud about it, but given that I'm being paid to kill people  I think that my perspective on things might be a bit skewed.

At any rate, the rest of my day wasn't too bad. Bought a new coffee maker that makes the stuff so fast it might as well just sense when I'm in the mood for the stuff. Construction on a new civilian corridor finished up that let me run past a large window again during my morning exercise, and  I apparently was sought out by some disgraced Amarrian bishop who is apparently in exile with his assets frozen. According to the message, for just a small payment I can help him out, and be given a decent share of his ISK when he comes back into power. So in addition to everything else, I also got a great chance to laugh my ass off for a good half-hour. Not just at the obvious scam, but the idea that there was some poor bastard out there who actually fell for this.

The flying space bastards seem to be rather trigger-happy as of late, given that they had yet another giant battle none too long ago. Normally I'd just pass it off as the same shit, different day and all that, but looking at the numbers afterwards, I had to concede that that was a pretty big blowout even for them. 70 trillion ISK in assets? I'm not sure I could imagine a trillion ISK, much less seventy. I can already imagine their market going insane as they try and haul ass to recover everything they've all lost. I'm not sure how it's going insane, I'm a mercenary, not an economist, but I'm betting that actual economists are enjoying watching all the new data and shit flow in or something.

Oh! And apparently my dear little brother now has a certain special someone~ Or that's what I think, anyway. He asked me if I could up the payments back home so we could have a nanny help look after the twins. I told him sure, but he'd have to find one and I'd have to approve of them before I'd go along with the idea. Not about to let some freaky Amarrian zealot or weird Minmatarr guy or gal get paid to watch my siblings. Not without knowing they're sane enough to not murder, eat, or kidnap them, anyway. I know that doesn't sound like much to go on, but in the last few chats we've had he's also mentioned wanting to get out of the house a bit more lately, and I could've -sworn- I saw someone with long, flowing, orange hair flash by the camera last time we had a video chat. Not a one of us has long hair, not even my deadbeat dad, much less orange hair.

Still, that got me thinking about my own, uh...relationship status. Is that what you call it? I dunno. It's kind of hard to really imagine something like a significant other for myself. I know a few other mercs manage relationships with people, but I've not got a fucking clue about how they do it. I literally make a living off murdering people. They come back, yeah, but that still doesn't mean it's something I can just walk away from and pretend like it's the goddamned norm. Finding someone who would not only be alright with this, but also the rest of me is harder to imagine than the damn 70 trillion ISK.

Besides, I haven't thought about what I'd look for in someone to be together with in fucking forever. The last time I can even imagine something like that was daydreaming about it when I was twelve, and that wasn't so much about having a knight in shining armor or some princess or anything like so much as I just wanted to have someone else to help raise my siblings. I guess I'd...like someone who wasn't a whole lot of maintenance? I dunno, I'm tired. I'll give it some thought tomorrow. Speaking of which, I should probably get some sleep. Not gonna do any better tomorrow if I can't get the sleep out of my eyes before I hit the battlefield.

-End Log

Log 051

Log 051

-Author: Rinas Rylos
-Rank: C.E.O.
-Corporation: Rinas' Raiders (R.R.A.S.)
-`Date: 115.08.24

It's weird knowing how a story ends, but still reading through it.

Or at least, that's what I've been telling myself since we managed to decode the documents. Good news and bad news on that front: The good news is that thanks to a collaberation between some of the more tech-savvy folks I reached out to, we have decoded that mass packet of documents! The bad news is that I just partially lied; They don't have more than a few pages of this crap properly decoded, and it's going to take more time (and money) to get the rest of it done. What's more, even the documents they did manage to decode are still censored pretty heavily. I asked them about it, but apparently this is as good as I'm going to get, even for the paycheck I'm putting out. Still, it's a start, and as far as I can tell, they even managed to get lucky and decode the beginning of the whole packet as well.

As for the pages we've got finished, it's an interesting read. Near as I can tell, the whole thing seems to be a series of reports on the initial experiments that were conducted on myself, along with everyone else that got picked for their fucking testing. Actually, come to think of it, it might just be easier to show you. Here:



-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Report 00*
Date: 114.0*.**.
Author: Dr. K*****.

These are the research logs of Dr. K*****, detailing the experiments surrounding Project ****.  Due to the rejection of several subjects in groups L*** and O*** (from hereon to be referred to as groups L and O) initial testing was delayed for several days until suitable replacements could be acquired. Replacements arrived today, and after a brief rundown of their medical histories, we shall began to test without delay. Requests by the research team for further time to study the new technology (from hereon referred to as *****) were denied. Prior to initial surgeries, the groups were numbered as followed:

Group O: 15
Group L: 15
Group T: 15

Initial surgery group was comprised of 7 of group L. Three deaths occurred, either during surgery are during post surgery recovery. The remaining totals are:

Group O: 15
Group L: 12
Group T: 15

Despite the losses, Command has ruled that obtaining more subjects is unacceptable. A reprimand of the Surgery branch was issued shortly thereafter. Further, we are expected to produce a working prototype in each group before the first of **. Orders have been acknowledged, but a request has been put in for additional staff and equipment. Request is pending.

Summary: Final obtainment of subjects for testing Project **** prompted initial testing, leaving 3 dead. Surgery has been reprimanded, and orders for a prototype by date 114.**.0*. have been issued.

-End Log

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Frustrating, huh? Honestly, the whole thing looks like a bunch of spooks ran through it with some digital fucking scissors, but I suppose beggars can't be choosers. Besides, maybe I'll get lucky and some of the other ones will be actually have the names and dates of who the fuck all these people are and just what they're doing. I mean, it's pretty obvious what project **** is, given that I was one of those fucking fifteen, but I still want to know more about what happened during the whole thing. Particularly given that there was nowhere near forty-two of us by the time they actually brought me back to consciousness.

I wonder how some of the other folks that managed to make it out are doing.

-End Long

Log 050

Log 050

-Author: Rinas Rylos
-Rank: C.E.O.
-Corp: Rinas' Raiders (R.R.A.S.)
-Date: 115.08.20

So, apparently the powers that be decided that us mercs just didn't have enough ways to kill each other. After coming back from my vacation, I've found myself on the receiving end of these new "combat" and "rail" rifles and let me tell you: That shit stings. With that said, it only took one contract before I combed the market for some of these newfangled murder machines for my own usage, and it wasn't long before I was out and about, murdering my way across battlefields (and usually being then murdered by those same damned guns) while almost marveling at how easily they tore through armor.

 While I'm at it, it was also nice to know that, no, I'm not the only one seeing tanks ramping off shit like the drivers are in fuckin' jihad jeeps. Not sure who decided to flood every tank ever with nitrous-oxide, but sweet christ I wish they'd stay still for three seconds. Between those and the fucking armor reps now built in to every single one of the giant bastards, it's a goddamned miracle if I can actually down one of the speedy shits. I'm half hoping Duoville or someone will develop a...shit, what do they call those things the flying space bastards use? A webifier, I think.Something to slow down the colossal metal fuckers so I can actually get a lock for more than a single volley from a swarm launcher, thanks.

In other news, it appears that someone is either trying to fuck with me, or has picked the worst person ever to share top secret government information with. See, the thing about being a result of a quasi-legal government experiment, taken from your incarceration to ostensibly die testing some bullshit implant for the sake of other, more capable people is that it leaves you:

A: Mildly pissed at your government, to put it lightly, and

B: Extremely curious about what exactly happened.

Back when the Gallentean government was still testing our sorry hides out, we were all given designations that were just a bunch of letters and numbers jumbled together, like we were...test subjects, which I guess we were. So while I learned a bit about my fellow lab rats, I don't even know if most of them are still alive. But, once the federation realized they needed me along with the other surviving people to show they could actually make immortals without either going through the capsuleer process or turning people fucking nuts like the Amarr did, they suddenly decided to start treating us like people again. They didn't tell us -shit- about each other, much less what they had done to us outside of its effects, however. Hell, I still don't even know the system where the fucking research station was that they conducted all this in.

Anyway, once the whole war business thing got started and the corporations started indirectly helping me gain independence from that conglomeration of dickheads that I'm supposed to call my government, I put out a few feelers with some of the cash I had laying around. I wasn't nearly as rich as I am now, much less savvy about how things work...up here, so for the most part it all pretty much petered out, and I just about forgot it entirely after my...episode.

So, you can imagine my surprise when someone sends me a shitload of documents concerning the experiments, along with evidence of their authenticity and claims that they'll help explain what exactly the fuck happened to me and all those other poor bastards. I guess someone must've found out I tried to find out more about the whole debacle and decided I was somehow worth all this crap. Mind you, I've still got the whole mess on a separate terminal to ensure that I don't open it up and find myself holding on to a massive cache of Amarrian kiddy porn or Minmatar snuff films, but also because I'm only half-guessing that it's a shitload of documents. Yeah, all the shit is encrypted out the wing-wong, and while I'm quite adept at raining down destruction upon my fellow man, slicing through crap like this is something else altogether. So I'm reaching out to a few contacts I've made through mutual merc acquaintances and hoping they'll be able to do something with all this crap.

 With any luck (and a shitload of ISK), I should have something to show within the next few days. Not sure exactly what, but assuming mister or missus mystery provider isn't bullshitting me, then things could get very interesting.

Log 049 - B

Log 049 - B

-Author: Rinas Rylos
-Rank: Awesome
-Corp: Vacatiooooonnnnn.


Right. So, while dealing with Chime for a day was tiring but interesting, Kaz is...something else entirely. Still just as tiresome, mind you, but in a vastly different direction.

For starters, he's Caldari. While my Gallentean education taught me that this makes him inferior scum that I should immediately stab in the jugular the second I see him, I managed to resist the impulse long enough to learn that he's not inferior because of his heritage, but because his k/d ratio is better than mine, and clearly he's been gaming the system somehow. Bastard. But yeah, heading off to Caldari space was...tricky, given that I was essentially a Gallentean mercenary seeking access to space owned by the empire my former one is at war with, but liberal application of ISK lubed up the process fairly well, and it wasn't long before I managed catch a transport to his station. After a bear hug that I'm fairly sure could've killed an actual bear, we stopped off at his place for him to change clothes (he'd been working out, which explained both his colossal physique and rank stench) before heading out onto the town.

Now, I imagine it depends on where you live, but Gallente society is pretty fucking focused on materialism. Or at least I thought we were, until we traveled into a commercial area on this station and I pretty rapidly realized that we had a looot to learn about being a bunch of consumerist whores. I was bombarded with more neon advertisements than in a red light district, and I'm only half-sure I didn't suffer some kind of seizure from their blinking in tandem. I actually wound up being mildly grateful that most of the areas I fight in are nowhere near like this, if only because the simple act of locating an enemy would be damn near impossible in such a shitshow.

But I'm getting off track. Whereas Chime wanted to go shopping for most of the day, Kaz wanted to go...shopping. Not for makeup and girly clothes, though that arguably would've been even more interesting than doing so with Chime, but mainly for new weapon accessories and guns. Unlike most of the mercs I'd dealt with, Kaz had been interested in weaponry and the military before being implanted, due in no small part to a capsuleer relative he kept in contact with. Ara..Ama..Amakato, I think his name was? Ara...something, maybe. Anyway, he'd maintained an interesting in warfare long before getting an implant, but had been smart enough to realize that enlisting would've likely meant pissing away the one life he'd had. Instead, he had opted to become some of a military enthusiast, learning about tactics and weaponry from across the four empires as well as indulging in a crazy amount of war-themed vids and games.

Had I heard all this coming out of the mouth of anyone else, I'd have likely called them fucking crazypants. It sounded halfway similar to the survivalist bullshit you hear from the nuts on Gallentean vids that claim the Jove are coming to exterminate us all but it's okay because they're in a bunker with a bunch of water and protein packs and other food! But, given that Kaz tended to lug around HMGs and forge guns for my own benefit and actually had a similar understanding of placement and tactics to my own, I wasn't about to say anything; As far as my own perspective was concerned, he was simply a hobbyist that managed to take his leisure activity to the next level, along with getting paid for it. So..good for him. Bad for everyone he points one of those giant fuckers at, but good for him.

At any rate, rather than looking at eyeliner and dresses for three hours, I instead got to learn about scopes, trigger guards, proper gun cleaning and handling, and all sorts of other shit we don't actually have to consider out on the field. Aside from technique, most of what I was taught was more along the lines of proper handling and reloading, though the latter is easily the most idiot proof bit of the guns they sell us anyway. It wasn't the most enthralling lecture I've ever been given, but it was still pretty interesting to learn about the civilian models of some of the shit we use out in the field, along with the actual mechanics of how they work. Not that I'll ever likely need to learn how to eject the chamber of a duoville hunting rifle, but I suppose it's not like I've got anything more interesting to learn about, and Kaz was way too enthused in his explanations for me to turn him down.

Still, even he could only go on for so many hours about his favorite guns, and that's when we went out for a bit of food and drinking. I'm not normally too big on booze, but every once in a while I'll make an exception, and as it turns out, when Kaz takes you drinking you make a big fucking exception. Five hours and an extreme amount of liquor later, the two of us had gotten fucking plastered. I'm fairly sure that the amount of synthetic Caldari booze I imbibed would've had me branded a smuggler if I'd tried to leave their space, to say nothing of how much of that putrid shit Kaz managed to chug down, but thankfully it wasn't so much that  I wasn't able to stumble my sorry hide back to Kaz's place while also providing a shoulder for his giant ass to lean on. Being the sophisticated lady that I am, I somehow got his ass back to his bed before crashing on his couch, knocking over a glass figure and I think something else in the process.

The morning after was a mixture of bizarre and unpleasant. Despite downing enough beer to kill a regular man roughly two times over, the experience gained from building up a tolerance for the stuff left the effects of a hangover on a relatively low scale, leaving him to wake me up with a smile, more or less. I was not quite so lucky, and just thinking back to that godawful morning leaves me with a mild headache. A quick shower and some coffee left me feeling slightly better, but by the time I departed I was still a fairly large wreck. Thankfully, the rides home were pretty quiet, and I was allowed to pass out once again upon getting back home.

So that was my vacation! Shitloads of makeup, dresses, lectures about gun handling, and a hang over large enough that I could probably wield it out on the field. Not too bad for someone with only a couple friends, though I have been left wondering what I'd go do with people if someone actually tried to visit me. Get them some coffee, probably.

-End Log

Log 049 - A

Log 049

-Author: Rinas Rylos
-Rank: Doesn't matter, was on vacation.
-Date: 115.08.17

So between a smattering of contracts that left me in a sad division between enraged at myself, pissed off at my allies, and feeling more inferior than having to work for that bumblefuck gangster, along with all that shit from my dad still on my mind (which probably contributed to my pathetic performances on the battlefield) I decided to take a few days off. Nothing like some R&R to get me back in fighting shape, right? Well, as it turns out, I'm not exactly qualified to say that. I mean, when you've spent the better part of your life either working to keep people alive or working to murder other people or just working in general? It's hard to fill the hours. Like, really hard. Like, I vastly underestimated how much time you have to work with when you aren't actively working.

Seeking answers, I turned to my other merc friends, all two of them. As it turns out, they fill the void by pointlessly wasting their time with frivolous bullshit that allows them a momentary escape from reality, also known as gaming. I'll admit that I was a tad surprised when I received the same answer from both Chime and Kaz about how the hell they kept themselves sane on their days off, and got a surprisingly large number of game recommendations from the both of them. Apparently Kaz had been big on gaming before the whole merc thing, as he showed me a rather long list of digital titles he owned and beat that stretched back years, which did leave me wondering where exactly he'd found the time for all of them. Chime didn't have quite the pedigree in terms of quantity, but match after match against her siblings in virtual arenas had left her dangerously competent. More than that, though, is that they also helped keep her connected with her siblings, whom she'd been having trouble really dealing with after the operation along with strengthening the bond to the rest of her family as well. Outside of the ridiculous amount of equipment and amenities they bought for her, anyway. Why they keep doing this when she's swimming in ISK now is beyond me. Still, the irony of my two friends that kill for a living deciding to lay waste to virtual people in their spare time was not lost on me, nor was it when I decided to go ahead and join them for a bit.

That said, even with a near-limitless amount of cash and the entirety of four empire's worth of virtual entertainment at my fingertips, I couldn't stand to sit on my ass for an entire day, much less three, just laying around and playing games. I considered writing in here, but what the fuck would I write about? The only reason I started this is because the Doc made me, and I -do- enjoy it now, but I feel like I'd do you a disservice by filling you full of a bunch of bullshit about the more tedious bits of my life. Well, the more tedious bits of my life, though I suppose from an outside perspective it'd be interesting to get into the head of someone who kills for a living.

Anyway, gaming was fun for a while, but once my supply of Quafe ran out and I lost enough matches I decided to shelve it before I grew sick of the whole thing completely. There had been one idea floating through my head that I was resisting, but without anything else coming to me, I finally opted to go with something I had been putting off for ages.

I was going to hang out with Chime.

First off, let me state that it was not my original idea. But between one of her myriad calls to me, she had mentioned having a sort of "girls night in" with just the two of us over at her place doing all sorts of crap together. I can't recall the conversation exactly, but I think I was busy fine tuning a suit loadout and just a gave a grunt of approval or something. Needless to say, this had come back to bite me in the ass, though from the squeal she gave when I asked about it I had just about made her day, so at least one of us was excited about the whole thing. Once I mentioned that I had most of the next couple days off, she insisted on extending the ordeal into a day-long thing that involved, among other things: A manicure, pedicure, clothes shopping, book shopping (which threw me for a second, I'll admit, she did not strike me as the bookish type) and enough cosmetics to deck out a clown. I quite literally had to buy a small cabinet that's now installed in my bathroom just to fit all the shit we purchased, to say nothing of several new...colorful, additions to my wardrobe that will hopefully never see the light of day ever again. The night itself consisted of me watching her try on more outfits than I knew ever existed, along with watching some riveting films as "Fires over Luminaire," and "How to lose a Caldari Priest in Ten Days." Just real intellectual stuff, lemme tell ya.

Still, it could've been worse. We also chatted about suit fittings and I finally found someone who agreed with me that the Caldari suits seemed to be way too fucking snug, which I guess happens when they auction their manufacturing off to the lowest fucking bidder. She seems to think that the Amarrian ones are the coziest, but personally I stick with Gallente for good suits; Amarrian ones seem to reek of...something, I'm not sure what, and everything made by the Minmatar feels like it's held together by spit and prayers, even the shit they co-opted from others.

Anyway,  I can't keep my eyes open, so I'm gonna go ahead and wrap this up for tonight. After my day with Chime I wound up hanging out with Kaz, but I'll save telling ya about that for when I can stay conscious.

-End Log

Log 048

Log 048

-Author: Rinas Rylos
-Rank: C.E.O.
-Corporation: Rinas' Raiders (R.R.A.S.)
-Date: 115.08.14

 So...guess who got to meet their bastard of a father yesterday? Yeah. Before I go into that, though? Cars. And support. Some things that need to be said about both.

Vehicles are...tricky. Can't live with 'em, can't seem to get them to drive over your anti-armor explosives. Not unless they're about to run you over, anyway. Admittedly, I've never been the greatest driver, so anything going faster than a tank tends to leave me internally screaming obscenities as I desperately try not to plow into either the environment. With this said, I generally don't spend too much on things with wheels, treads, or that can fly, outside of training to ensure I can use the guns mounted on them to a decent degree. I'll leave driving to the drivers, and I'll be the gal that throws down explosives and runs around with a goddamned swarm launcher to nail tanks in the back.

Speaking of shit people can't do, it's almost beginning to seem like the idea of support is somewhat disappearing amongst the masses at this point. Not sure if the major corps still have the brains to dedicate the occasional person to repairing armor and keeping everyone alive in their own private wars, but in public contracts? Forget about it. The whole sad affair isn't just when it comes to repair either; It's seriously been fucking disappointing how many war points I've managed to gain in my last few contracts with just the simple act of laying down a drop uplink, or hitting the battlefield with one of my load-outs that carries a nanite injector. These are not difficult items to utilize, people! A nanite field to replenish ammo or armor can take you so much further than just equipping yourself purely for battle! And with barely an increase to your suit's costs as well! It's fucking baffling how these people never seem to get it into their heads to lay down an uplink once in a while, or at least carry around a revival injector with them.

So I know I spent a decent part of my last log detailing why the empires were underestimating capsuleers and how they needed to get with the times, and how I shouldn't type cast them, understanding a pivotal notion necessary to adapt and survive in New Eden, blah blah blah. I know I said all that, but there was something about the idea of coming face to face with the son of a bitch that ran out on Mom and the rest of us that left me feeling a mixture of rage and emptiness, and I don't mean the pissy little kid rage either; This was the sort of anger that flows throughout the rest of you rather than just residing within your chest. The kind of anger that provides you with a purpose rather than merely leaving you swinging blindly at whatever comes into range. I spent almost the entirety of my fucking trip daydreaming about what I'd do to him, along with some idle wondering about how much I'd have to pay to get off for whatever I'd do to him. From customs to the ship to the shuttle to the restaurant where we decided to meet, all I could focus on was getting back at him for those long fucking years of trying to get by, left alone to keep my siblings alive while the son of a bitch went out and did whatever the fuck he wanted.

As I finally approached the cheap little place he'd decided we should meet at, I could feel my chest swell with each step, a combination of apprehension and uncertainty filling me like some kind of fucked up balloon until I finally entered the joint. It didn't take me long to spot him sitting alone in the corner, head down, like someone who was trying not to be noticeable and actually having it backfire because of it. As I began to walk over to his table, it felt as though the closer I got, the more and more aware of myself I became. From the looseness of my civilian clothes, to the heaviness of my hands and feet, and just when had my mouth turned dry? By the time I finally sat down opposite of him, I felt more aware of my body than I had in years, and despite every brain cell I had telling me that now was the time to unleash myself on the drunken bastard...I couldn't.

As much as I wanted to unleash every ounce of hatred I had for the prick, as much as I wanted to scream at him until my vocal cords snapped, I just couldn't. I looked him over as he gave me a what presumably would've been toothy smile if he'd still had all of his, and I realized that the man I'd spent years turning into a symbol of everything wrong with my life was just that; Another man. One that had screwed my family over badly, yes, but his appearance said that karma had fucked him over harder than I ever could have. From the patchwork coat covering what looked like grim-covered shirt, to the ratty beanie covering his head, to the pair of destroyed jeans that looked as though rabid animals had eaten off half of them. More than anything his clothes could say, though, was his eyes; There was...I'm not sure how to describe it. A dead look? A lack of life? I'm not sure, but I hadn't seen eyes like that since Chime had decided to come back to the world of the living. They were the mark of someone who felt dead inside, and with them it was pretty clear that what he'd had so long ago has abandoned him as surely as he'd left us.

Not long after I sat down, he began to prattle on about how big I'd grown, how much he'd missed me, and all sorts of other lies. He prattled on for a while, but the whole realization that life had dealt him what was most likely even a shittier hand than mine had left me feeling confused inside, and I don't think I did much more other than give a nod as I tuned him out. I knew that everything I'd planned on the way there was pointless; What would screaming at him accomplish more than what he'd been through?  No. I...as much as I still wanted to, I couldn't. God fucking help me, I know he deserved it, but I couldn't let myself sink low enough to scream at a guy that looked essentially homeless, much less one that was kind of the reason I existed.

So what did I do? Mostly I just sat and waited out his spiel, though I did order a drink halfway through. If nothing else, I have to give him credit for preparation, given he took up roughly a good ten minutes trying to flatter me before spending another ten going through a bunch of pleas and begging and other bullshit. Honestly, I ignored most of it, instead mentally pitting my current situation against his and realizing how much I'd lucked out. If I hadn't been chosen for whatever reason to become a merc, then I'd either be in prison or just flat out dead. But I had been picked, and while life hadn't miraculously gotten better afterwards, it was...improved, for lack of a better word. If nothing else, I didn't have to worry about providing for the kids or my brother, and I was personally rendered fucking immortal. I don't remember the state he was in the last time I saw him, but I'd have bet that shit had been on a bit of a downward spiral for him too, the only difference being that there hadn't been a second chance. No redemption for him, as opposed to my sorry hide that arguably lucked out with the whole mercenary deal. So I suppose if I was lucky enough to get a second chance, shouldn't I provide one? Or did he deserve to suffer even more after the hell he'd put me and mine through? That...that was a hard choice for me, for a bit, but I decided to at least offer him a chance. Nothing quite as fancy as killing for cash while living in a personal apartment out in space, but I could at least see if he was worth the effort for another chance.

Thankfully, he decided to pause for breath not too long after I had come up with a plan, and seized the opportunity to explain it to him. As it so happens, I occasionally check on the occasional cost of living on this planet, to ensure what I send to the kids is enough so that Rilan doesn't have to grab a job of his own. I told the old bastard I'd set up a separate bank account and send him roughly half of what I send the kids, on the conditions that he quits drinking, doesn't gamble or get involved with the gangs, and we'd talk every other week so I could make sure that he was keeping up his end of the bargain. A spark of anger flashed across his face for a second, but it petered out pretty quickly and he agreed to the terms. I guess he just needed the money that badly, though he might've been a bit more pissed if I told I'd also be keeping tabs on the bank account to ensure he wasn't cheating, but I'd save that for a conversation for another time. I also forbade contact with Rilan and the others until he'd straightened out, but he didn't seem too peeved about that.

While I was willing to give the bastard a second chance, I still didn't want to deal with him anymore than I had to, so with everything hashed out, I stood up to leave. To my complete and utter shock, the bastard hugged me. Or tried to hug me, anyway. Given that I was now a good foot taller than him, his arms made their way halfway around my neck while his head sat next to my shoulder blade. The familiar urge to throttle flared up as I realized he had mistaken my pity for affection, but it wasn't until he tried to hug me tighter that I finally pried the bastard off. I told him I'd send the details of the new account to him in a couple days, and...that was that. I left before I could see his reaction, before I did something I had to spend any more time in his presence.

As I got back to the shuttle, I gave Rilan a quick call and told him he wouldn't have to worry about the son of a bitch anymore. I think he assumed I dealt with him as someone in my trade usually would, 'cause he was silent afterwards until I clarified that I'd forbidden the bastard from contacting him and the kids before I felt he was responsible enough. I think he was relieved at that, but a crash in the background (which I later learned was the twins causing a ruckus) forced him to end the call a bit sooner than I'd have liked. Poor kid. He's gotten a lot better at dealing with the pair since I left, but I still think they occasionally run him ragged when they've got the urge to do so.

At any rate, I opened up the account not too long after I got back to the station. Given that I'm actually aboard a financial station, it's not too hard to find someone whose willing to put a few questionably legal surveillance measure on a new balance, much less ensure that no one else finds out about it. The whole thing was finished up by the time I went to bed yesterday, but I'm still going to wait until tomorrow to give it to him, if only so he can sweat it out a little.

Nothing says I can't have -some- payback against him, after all.

 -End Log

Log 047

Log 047

-Author: Rinas Rylos
-Rank: C.E.O.
-Corporation: Rinas' Raiders (R.R.A.S.)
-Date: 115.08.11

Snipers. Snipers everywhere, or at least that's what it seems to be like lately. Sniper battles are the most exciting things to watch, and the pay isn't half as good as loading up for anti-armor duties, but there's a certain pleasure in seeing my own K/D ratio rise above the poor newbies, so full of bluster and bravado as they imagine themselves to be some kind of sniping ace. Admittedly, I'm not sure if it's because of all the time I've put in to using them, or if splurging on some nicer ones has given me a leg up, but either way I'm not gonna bitch about doing better than others, particularly when some of them came close to edging out my own scores. Besides, perhaps seeing a chick whip their asses in the aftermath will motivate some of their sorry asses to actually, y'know, do better. It probably won't, honestly, but a gal can always dream.

Speaking of dreams, the flying space bastards seem to be hatching some bigger schemes than usual lately. A mixture of reports and gossip on the electronic vine seem to indicate that they're branching outside of what the four empires are happy with them doing. Not that they give a rat's ass outside of their own territory, but these anomalies called "Ghost Sites" are popping up everywhere, both high sec and null, and while they keep blaring out propaganda saying that they're forbidden to deal with them, five minutes going over the daily schedule of most capsuleers will tell you exactly how many of them will heed such an proclamation.

Now, I only continue to reside in space because by now I could bankrupt a city with how much goddamned ISK I've got, so I'm probably not the best person to go to when it comes to intergalactic politics or drama. I know exactly enough about the system that governs the whole clusterfuck to know that I don't really like it, but changing it would require..well, it'd require capsuleers to quit being a bunch of flying space bastards on occasion, so it doesn't really matter exactly what else such a shift would need. New Eden is a big place. Like, really big. As in, I seriously doubt most of us realize the enormity of the whole cluster, and given the perpetual warring, battles, espionage, etc., that we bring upon ourselves, it's difficult to imagine any major change taking place at all.

Bleh, perhaps I'm just rambling. It's hard to describe New Eden without remembering that for every capsuleer I generalize, every merc I shoot, and every planet I fight on, there's countless more out there; Each one struggling just as hard as I do -if not more- to eke out an existance amongst each other. To stereotype the entirety of any one group is a process that doesn't just cast an assumption on a group of people, it leads to cliches surrounding entire planets, galaxies, and just seems like a bit of a stupid idea in the overall scheme of things. People might have similar ideals at some points, but the sheer, shifting nature of not only ourselves but the world around us only ensures that taking such a crude approach to life is a surefire way to see your fortune plummet, robbed and tricked by people with a more easily adapting perspective in a cluster where you -need- to adapt to survive.

I guess the long and short of what I'm trying to say is that the empires don't seem to understand the world that they themselves created, and if they keep this bullshit up they're likely to wind up being swept away by the very force they all helped to create.

Also, I should probably quit stereotyping capsuleers. I'm sure there's good ones out there. Somewhere.

-End Log.