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.