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.