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.