CONTINGENCY.exe activated...
..............
...........
...........
FILE CORRUPTED. ATTEMPT RECONSTRUCTION? Y/N
RECONSTRUCTION ATTEMPTED.......
................
............
..........
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RECONSTRUCTION PARTIALLY SUCCESSFUL. DISPLAYING RESULTS:
-Author: Ri#as Ry@#s
-Rank: CORRUPTED
-Corporation: CORRUPTED
-Date: 114.##.##
This will be the final log of Rinas Rylos. If you're reading this, either I've delved into the vastness of space to eke out a living as one of those flying space bastards, or the Gallentean government got me. Or something else, I dunno-This is only set to appear on my tablet if I haven't mind a post in over two years, so probably something has happened to me. Granted, I might've just stopped writing, but I suppose that's the result no matter what's happened to me.
I hope the family is doing well, along with Kaz and all the rest of my friends. It's weird to think that I even have any, given that when I started this whole journal business I was more bitter than an Amarrean pilot that was told he can't get paid in slaves. I'm sure there's still the usual space wars out there; Assholes in tons of metal and electronics and who know what else pounding the shit out of each other with weapons that could decimate a planet. Folks die, others get paid, life goes on usual...It's so weird to think of an economy built off of it, and yet...I profited from it. I lived off it. Hell, I thrived on it compared to some other people, and what's more I also enjoyed it.
I can't brush that off, no matter how much I want to. I know I'm gonna have to live (keep living? Assuming I'm still alive out there) with all this. Even if I'm not talking with Doc or my family or anyone else anymore...you can't survive alone. Sometimes when I think back to how robotic I was when I first got turned into...what I am, it scares me. I was basically a biological drone in some aspects, driven mostly out of spite and a desire to live. I guess...that hasn't actually changed much actually. It hasn't changed much, but I've got reasons to be more than just spiteful and murderous all the time. Even if they're all gone now, I've still got their memories-our memories. Memories of thrilling moments in battle, of tender moments with everyone...
Sorry if it seems like I'm just rambling, but it's not like I know what to write in the event of my disappearance/death, y'know? It's kinda conceited of me to admit, but it's hard to imagine death as a reality when I've been shot, stabbed, and run over enough times to put a batallion in the ground. But assuming the program works as intended, then I'm not around to really explain all this, so...I hope whoever reads this has a happy life. I hope they've learned something from the shit I wrote down, even if it's just to enjoy life a bit more. I hope they've learned that even if they don't think so, there's people out there who care about them and love them. I hope they've maybe enjoyed all my stories, and perhaps might take a shot at expressing themselves somehow.
I don't hope that this wasn't all for nothing, because I know it wasn't. It got me out of my funk, and let me look back on some of the most amazing battles anyone will ever have. This is, was, whatever-it's my validation of my existence, and whether this is eventually just thrown in a trash can somewhere or gets posted on the net and stays up until the heat death of the universe, I'm just happy to have made it. And if I managed to uplift some other folks at the same time, well...all the better. Because whether you're another former mercenary, or one of those flying space bastards, or just another person trying to make their way through New Eden, you're having just as much of adventure as I am. Might not seem like it from your perspective, I'm sure, but everything looks more glamorous from someone else's view, y'know?
I suppose I should probably wrap this up. I've got a battle up in a few minutes, and then it's off to go get drunk with Kaz again. To whomever is reading this: Thank you for your time and patience, and I hope your own adventures continue. I'll see you starside.
-End L*g
Showing posts with label Ending. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ending. Show all posts
Saturday, January 20, 2018
Friday, July 22, 2016
Log 05X-8
Log 05X-8
-Author: Rinas Rylos
-Rank: C.E.O.
-Corporation: Rinas' Raiders
-Date: 117.04.22.
Hey Journal. Sorry about how heavy things got. But I guess that's kind of inevitable; You can't go back and recount what fucked you up in the head so hard and not feel the edges of yourself shudder at the memories. Besides, with the end so close in sight, now isn't really the time for looking back, right?
At least, that's the attitude I'm trying to take. It figures that the closer to the end of this lifestyle I get, the more nostalgic I become despite the fact that I have neither the time nor the energy to dwell on my past screw ups. Especially since most of the technical shit has been taken care of. I've got enough money stored up to keep myself well-stocked on the battlefield, while the rest of it is stored in a variety of dummy corporations, some shady businesses that are all owned by about three people I know personally, or have their records stored in various data chips I've placed within several drop points, to be delivered to me at a later date. It's been extremely arduous doing all of this, and I'd be lying if I said even a tenth of it was legit, but at this point I'm long past caring. If I leave a single damned ISK or shred of evidence laying around, it could start a trail leading back to me, and I'm determined not to give the government that much of a chance. Of course, there's a halfway chance they've already caught wind of my schemes, and the day I intend on leaving there'll be a Gallentean special ops squad waiting outside my apartment door to escort me...somewhere, probably not a nice somewhere.
Actually, now that I think on it, the chances of that might be more slim than I thought. Word on the grapevine is that the whole immortal merc business is going under, which isn't exactly...surprising. I can't begin to imagine the amount of money spent on our services (not to mention custom weapons, dropsuits, equipment, etc,) made anyone besides manufacturers a whole lot of money. I don't know if everyone's gotten a heads-up yet, but apparently the four empires have made their decisions on the matter. Even the officials low enough on the totem poles to be bribed apparently have been talking to anyone who'll flash enough cash about how now is the time to be getting out of the merc market. Equipment suppliers are still selling, but I'm more than willing to bet that's just them finishing up their contracts. Once they've made enough, or past a certain date, I'm pretty sure they're dropping our asses like so much chaff on a radar. I dunno who finally decided that enough was enough (probably a bunch of assholes in a board room somewhere) but at least I made the right decision to get while the getting is good. Or not as bad as it's going to be soon, anyway, given that the value of a lot of these weapons are going to drop once it comes to light that we're not going to be an officially recognized industry anymore, so corporations won't actually be allowed to utilize us in droves just to take over a few acres of mining equipment for five fucking minutes. I imagine they'll still be available to sell to private citizens, and of course the gangs are always going to want yet more armaments to throw against...everyone, really. Banditry cannot be a fun job when you're flying through space and going up against people who can track you down and murder you AFTER you've already blown them up, not to mention that there's four giant ass empires along with CONCORD breathing down your necks the whole damn time.
But it's an end, all the same. They brought us up to become a commodity, a business, and apparently that business wasn't doing too well, since it's not so much a matter of time concerning when they're getting rid of us, but when. The official date is sketchy, but given how quickly people seem to be moving, I can't say I'm not a little glad I'm getting out when I am. I wanted to write more for this entry, but looking back on everyone and everything, it's kinda hard to really put it all into words. I wasn't exactly the most descriptive, well-written bitch out there before I began killing people for a living, and even writing this has only done so much to expand my vocabulary. I guess I'll give it some thought.
-End Log
-Author: Rinas Rylos
-Rank: C.E.O.
-Corporation: Rinas' Raiders
-Date: 117.04.22.
Hey Journal. Sorry about how heavy things got. But I guess that's kind of inevitable; You can't go back and recount what fucked you up in the head so hard and not feel the edges of yourself shudder at the memories. Besides, with the end so close in sight, now isn't really the time for looking back, right?
At least, that's the attitude I'm trying to take. It figures that the closer to the end of this lifestyle I get, the more nostalgic I become despite the fact that I have neither the time nor the energy to dwell on my past screw ups. Especially since most of the technical shit has been taken care of. I've got enough money stored up to keep myself well-stocked on the battlefield, while the rest of it is stored in a variety of dummy corporations, some shady businesses that are all owned by about three people I know personally, or have their records stored in various data chips I've placed within several drop points, to be delivered to me at a later date. It's been extremely arduous doing all of this, and I'd be lying if I said even a tenth of it was legit, but at this point I'm long past caring. If I leave a single damned ISK or shred of evidence laying around, it could start a trail leading back to me, and I'm determined not to give the government that much of a chance. Of course, there's a halfway chance they've already caught wind of my schemes, and the day I intend on leaving there'll be a Gallentean special ops squad waiting outside my apartment door to escort me...somewhere, probably not a nice somewhere.
Actually, now that I think on it, the chances of that might be more slim than I thought. Word on the grapevine is that the whole immortal merc business is going under, which isn't exactly...surprising. I can't begin to imagine the amount of money spent on our services (not to mention custom weapons, dropsuits, equipment, etc,) made anyone besides manufacturers a whole lot of money. I don't know if everyone's gotten a heads-up yet, but apparently the four empires have made their decisions on the matter. Even the officials low enough on the totem poles to be bribed apparently have been talking to anyone who'll flash enough cash about how now is the time to be getting out of the merc market. Equipment suppliers are still selling, but I'm more than willing to bet that's just them finishing up their contracts. Once they've made enough, or past a certain date, I'm pretty sure they're dropping our asses like so much chaff on a radar. I dunno who finally decided that enough was enough (probably a bunch of assholes in a board room somewhere) but at least I made the right decision to get while the getting is good. Or not as bad as it's going to be soon, anyway, given that the value of a lot of these weapons are going to drop once it comes to light that we're not going to be an officially recognized industry anymore, so corporations won't actually be allowed to utilize us in droves just to take over a few acres of mining equipment for five fucking minutes. I imagine they'll still be available to sell to private citizens, and of course the gangs are always going to want yet more armaments to throw against...everyone, really. Banditry cannot be a fun job when you're flying through space and going up against people who can track you down and murder you AFTER you've already blown them up, not to mention that there's four giant ass empires along with CONCORD breathing down your necks the whole damn time.
But it's an end, all the same. They brought us up to become a commodity, a business, and apparently that business wasn't doing too well, since it's not so much a matter of time concerning when they're getting rid of us, but when. The official date is sketchy, but given how quickly people seem to be moving, I can't say I'm not a little glad I'm getting out when I am. I wanted to write more for this entry, but looking back on everyone and everything, it's kinda hard to really put it all into words. I wasn't exactly the most descriptive, well-written bitch out there before I began killing people for a living, and even writing this has only done so much to expand my vocabulary. I guess I'll give it some thought.
-End Log
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