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