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.
Showing posts with label Gallente. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Gallente. Show all posts
Saturday, April 16, 2016
Thursday, January 23, 2014
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
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
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
-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
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
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
Wednesday, December 11, 2013
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
-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
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