Log 050
-Author: Rinas Rylos
-Rank: C.E.O.
-Corp: Rinas' Raiders (R.R.A.S.)
-Date: 115.08.20
So, apparently the powers that be decided that us mercs just didn't have enough ways to kill each other. After coming back from my vacation, I've found myself on the receiving end of these new "combat" and "rail" rifles and let me tell you: That shit stings. With that said, it only took one contract before I combed the market for some of these newfangled murder machines for my own usage, and it wasn't long before I was out and about, murdering my way across battlefields (and usually being then murdered by those same damned guns) while almost marveling at how easily they tore through armor.
While I'm at it, it was also nice to know that, no, I'm not the only one seeing tanks ramping off shit like the drivers are in fuckin' jihad jeeps. Not sure who decided to flood every tank ever with nitrous-oxide, but sweet christ I wish they'd stay still for three seconds. Between those and the fucking armor reps now built in to every single one of the giant bastards, it's a goddamned miracle if I can actually down one of the speedy shits. I'm half hoping Duoville or someone will develop a...shit, what do they call those things the flying space bastards use? A webifier, I think.Something to slow down the colossal metal fuckers so I can actually get a lock for more than a single volley from a swarm launcher, thanks.
In other news, it appears that someone is either trying to fuck with me, or has picked the worst person ever to share top secret government information with. See, the thing about being a result of a quasi-legal government experiment, taken from your incarceration to ostensibly die testing some bullshit implant for the sake of other, more capable people is that it leaves you:
A: Mildly pissed at your government, to put it lightly, and
B: Extremely curious about what exactly happened.
Back when the Gallentean government was still testing our sorry hides out, we were all given designations that were just a bunch of letters and numbers jumbled together, like we were...test subjects, which I guess we were. So while I learned a bit about my fellow lab rats, I don't even know if most of them are still alive. But, once the federation realized they needed me along with the other surviving people to show they could actually make immortals without either going through the capsuleer process or turning people fucking nuts like the Amarr did, they suddenly decided to start treating us like people again. They didn't tell us -shit- about each other, much less what they had done to us outside of its effects, however. Hell, I still don't even know the system where the fucking research station was that they conducted all this in.
Anyway, once the whole war business thing got started and the corporations started indirectly helping me gain independence from that conglomeration of dickheads that I'm supposed to call my government, I put out a few feelers with some of the cash I had laying around. I wasn't nearly as rich as I am now, much less savvy about how things work...up here, so for the most part it all pretty much petered out, and I just about forgot it entirely after my...episode.
So, you can imagine my surprise when someone sends me a shitload of documents concerning the experiments, along with evidence of their authenticity and claims that they'll help explain what exactly the fuck happened to me and all those other poor bastards. I guess someone must've found out I tried to find out more about the whole debacle and decided I was somehow worth all this crap. Mind you, I've still got the whole mess on a separate terminal to ensure that I don't open it up and find myself holding on to a massive cache of Amarrian kiddy porn or Minmatar snuff films, but also because I'm only half-guessing that it's a shitload of documents. Yeah, all the shit is encrypted out the wing-wong, and while I'm quite adept at raining down destruction upon my fellow man, slicing through crap like this is something else altogether. So I'm reaching out to a few contacts I've made through mutual merc acquaintances and hoping they'll be able to do something with all this crap.
With any luck (and a shitload of ISK), I should have something to show within the next few days. Not sure exactly what, but assuming mister or missus mystery provider isn't bullshitting me, then things could get very interesting.
Showing posts with label Shooting in the face. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Shooting in the face. Show all posts
Saturday, December 14, 2013
Thursday, November 21, 2013
Log 048
Log 048
-Author: Rinas Rylos
-Rank: C.E.O.
-Corporation: Rinas' Raiders (R.R.A.S.)
-Date: 115.08.14
So...guess who got to meet their bastard of a father yesterday? Yeah. Before I go into that, though? Cars. And support. Some things that need to be said about both.
Vehicles are...tricky. Can't live with 'em, can't seem to get them to drive over your anti-armor explosives. Not unless they're about to run you over, anyway. Admittedly, I've never been the greatest driver, so anything going faster than a tank tends to leave me internally screaming obscenities as I desperately try not to plow into either the environment. With this said, I generally don't spend too much on things with wheels, treads, or that can fly, outside of training to ensure I can use the guns mounted on them to a decent degree. I'll leave driving to the drivers, and I'll be the gal that throws down explosives and runs around with a goddamned swarm launcher to nail tanks in the back.
Speaking of shit people can't do, it's almost beginning to seem like the idea of support is somewhat disappearing amongst the masses at this point. Not sure if the major corps still have the brains to dedicate the occasional person to repairing armor and keeping everyone alive in their own private wars, but in public contracts? Forget about it. The whole sad affair isn't just when it comes to repair either; It's seriously been fucking disappointing how many war points I've managed to gain in my last few contracts with just the simple act of laying down a drop uplink, or hitting the battlefield with one of my load-outs that carries a nanite injector. These are not difficult items to utilize, people! A nanite field to replenish ammo or armor can take you so much further than just equipping yourself purely for battle! And with barely an increase to your suit's costs as well! It's fucking baffling how these people never seem to get it into their heads to lay down an uplink once in a while, or at least carry around a revival injector with them.
So I know I spent a decent part of my last log detailing why the empires were underestimating capsuleers and how they needed to get with the times, and how I shouldn't type cast them, understanding a pivotal notion necessary to adapt and survive in New Eden, blah blah blah. I know I said all that, but there was something about the idea of coming face to face with the son of a bitch that ran out on Mom and the rest of us that left me feeling a mixture of rage and emptiness, and I don't mean the pissy little kid rage either; This was the sort of anger that flows throughout the rest of you rather than just residing within your chest. The kind of anger that provides you with a purpose rather than merely leaving you swinging blindly at whatever comes into range. I spent almost the entirety of my fucking trip daydreaming about what I'd do to him, along with some idle wondering about how much I'd have to pay to get off for whatever I'd do to him. From customs to the ship to the shuttle to the restaurant where we decided to meet, all I could focus on was getting back at him for those long fucking years of trying to get by, left alone to keep my siblings alive while the son of a bitch went out and did whatever the fuck he wanted.
As I finally approached the cheap little place he'd decided we should meet at, I could feel my chest swell with each step, a combination of apprehension and uncertainty filling me like some kind of fucked up balloon until I finally entered the joint. It didn't take me long to spot him sitting alone in the corner, head down, like someone who was trying not to be noticeable and actually having it backfire because of it. As I began to walk over to his table, it felt as though the closer I got, the more and more aware of myself I became. From the looseness of my civilian clothes, to the heaviness of my hands and feet, and just when had my mouth turned dry? By the time I finally sat down opposite of him, I felt more aware of my body than I had in years, and despite every brain cell I had telling me that now was the time to unleash myself on the drunken bastard...I couldn't.
As much as I wanted to unleash every ounce of hatred I had for the prick, as much as I wanted to scream at him until my vocal cords snapped, I just couldn't. I looked him over as he gave me a what presumably would've been toothy smile if he'd still had all of his, and I realized that the man I'd spent years turning into a symbol of everything wrong with my life was just that; Another man. One that had screwed my family over badly, yes, but his appearance said that karma had fucked him over harder than I ever could have. From the patchwork coat covering what looked like grim-covered shirt, to the ratty beanie covering his head, to the pair of destroyed jeans that looked as though rabid animals had eaten off half of them. More than anything his clothes could say, though, was his eyes; There was...I'm not sure how to describe it. A dead look? A lack of life? I'm not sure, but I hadn't seen eyes like that since Chime had decided to come back to the world of the living. They were the mark of someone who felt dead inside, and with them it was pretty clear that what he'd had so long ago has abandoned him as surely as he'd left us.
Not long after I sat down, he began to prattle on about how big I'd grown, how much he'd missed me, and all sorts of other lies. He prattled on for a while, but the whole realization that life had dealt him what was most likely even a shittier hand than mine had left me feeling confused inside, and I don't think I did much more other than give a nod as I tuned him out. I knew that everything I'd planned on the way there was pointless; What would screaming at him accomplish more than what he'd been through? No. I...as much as I still wanted to, I couldn't. God fucking help me, I know he deserved it, but I couldn't let myself sink low enough to scream at a guy that looked essentially homeless, much less one that was kind of the reason I existed.
So what did I do? Mostly I just sat and waited out his spiel, though I did order a drink halfway through. If nothing else, I have to give him credit for preparation, given he took up roughly a good ten minutes trying to flatter me before spending another ten going through a bunch of pleas and begging and other bullshit. Honestly, I ignored most of it, instead mentally pitting my current situation against his and realizing how much I'd lucked out. If I hadn't been chosen for whatever reason to become a merc, then I'd either be in prison or just flat out dead. But I had been picked, and while life hadn't miraculously gotten better afterwards, it was...improved, for lack of a better word. If nothing else, I didn't have to worry about providing for the kids or my brother, and I was personally rendered fucking immortal. I don't remember the state he was in the last time I saw him, but I'd have bet that shit had been on a bit of a downward spiral for him too, the only difference being that there hadn't been a second chance. No redemption for him, as opposed to my sorry hide that arguably lucked out with the whole mercenary deal. So I suppose if I was lucky enough to get a second chance, shouldn't I provide one? Or did he deserve to suffer even more after the hell he'd put me and mine through? That...that was a hard choice for me, for a bit, but I decided to at least offer him a chance. Nothing quite as fancy as killing for cash while living in a personal apartment out in space, but I could at least see if he was worth the effort for another chance.
Thankfully, he decided to pause for breath not too long after I had come up with a plan, and seized the opportunity to explain it to him. As it so happens, I occasionally check on the occasional cost of living on this planet, to ensure what I send to the kids is enough so that Rilan doesn't have to grab a job of his own. I told the old bastard I'd set up a separate bank account and send him roughly half of what I send the kids, on the conditions that he quits drinking, doesn't gamble or get involved with the gangs, and we'd talk every other week so I could make sure that he was keeping up his end of the bargain. A spark of anger flashed across his face for a second, but it petered out pretty quickly and he agreed to the terms. I guess he just needed the money that badly, though he might've been a bit more pissed if I told I'd also be keeping tabs on the bank account to ensure he wasn't cheating, but I'd save that for a conversation for another time. I also forbade contact with Rilan and the others until he'd straightened out, but he didn't seem too peeved about that.
While I was willing to give the bastard a second chance, I still didn't want to deal with him anymore than I had to, so with everything hashed out, I stood up to leave. To my complete and utter shock, the bastard hugged me. Or tried to hug me, anyway. Given that I was now a good foot taller than him, his arms made their way halfway around my neck while his head sat next to my shoulder blade. The familiar urge to throttle flared up as I realized he had mistaken my pity for affection, but it wasn't until he tried to hug me tighter that I finally pried the bastard off. I told him I'd send the details of the new account to him in a couple days, and...that was that. I left before I could see his reaction, before I did something I had to spend any more time in his presence.
As I got back to the shuttle, I gave Rilan a quick call and told him he wouldn't have to worry about the son of a bitch anymore. I think he assumed I dealt with him as someone in my trade usually would, 'cause he was silent afterwards until I clarified that I'd forbidden the bastard from contacting him and the kids before I felt he was responsible enough. I think he was relieved at that, but a crash in the background (which I later learned was the twins causing a ruckus) forced him to end the call a bit sooner than I'd have liked. Poor kid. He's gotten a lot better at dealing with the pair since I left, but I still think they occasionally run him ragged when they've got the urge to do so.
At any rate, I opened up the account not too long after I got back to the station. Given that I'm actually aboard a financial station, it's not too hard to find someone whose willing to put a few questionably legal surveillance measure on a new balance, much less ensure that no one else finds out about it. The whole thing was finished up by the time I went to bed yesterday, but I'm still going to wait until tomorrow to give it to him, if only so he can sweat it out a little.
Nothing says I can't have -some- payback against him, after all.
-End Log
-Author: Rinas Rylos
-Rank: C.E.O.
-Corporation: Rinas' Raiders (R.R.A.S.)
-Date: 115.08.14
So...guess who got to meet their bastard of a father yesterday? Yeah. Before I go into that, though? Cars. And support. Some things that need to be said about both.
Vehicles are...tricky. Can't live with 'em, can't seem to get them to drive over your anti-armor explosives. Not unless they're about to run you over, anyway. Admittedly, I've never been the greatest driver, so anything going faster than a tank tends to leave me internally screaming obscenities as I desperately try not to plow into either the environment. With this said, I generally don't spend too much on things with wheels, treads, or that can fly, outside of training to ensure I can use the guns mounted on them to a decent degree. I'll leave driving to the drivers, and I'll be the gal that throws down explosives and runs around with a goddamned swarm launcher to nail tanks in the back.
Speaking of shit people can't do, it's almost beginning to seem like the idea of support is somewhat disappearing amongst the masses at this point. Not sure if the major corps still have the brains to dedicate the occasional person to repairing armor and keeping everyone alive in their own private wars, but in public contracts? Forget about it. The whole sad affair isn't just when it comes to repair either; It's seriously been fucking disappointing how many war points I've managed to gain in my last few contracts with just the simple act of laying down a drop uplink, or hitting the battlefield with one of my load-outs that carries a nanite injector. These are not difficult items to utilize, people! A nanite field to replenish ammo or armor can take you so much further than just equipping yourself purely for battle! And with barely an increase to your suit's costs as well! It's fucking baffling how these people never seem to get it into their heads to lay down an uplink once in a while, or at least carry around a revival injector with them.
So I know I spent a decent part of my last log detailing why the empires were underestimating capsuleers and how they needed to get with the times, and how I shouldn't type cast them, understanding a pivotal notion necessary to adapt and survive in New Eden, blah blah blah. I know I said all that, but there was something about the idea of coming face to face with the son of a bitch that ran out on Mom and the rest of us that left me feeling a mixture of rage and emptiness, and I don't mean the pissy little kid rage either; This was the sort of anger that flows throughout the rest of you rather than just residing within your chest. The kind of anger that provides you with a purpose rather than merely leaving you swinging blindly at whatever comes into range. I spent almost the entirety of my fucking trip daydreaming about what I'd do to him, along with some idle wondering about how much I'd have to pay to get off for whatever I'd do to him. From customs to the ship to the shuttle to the restaurant where we decided to meet, all I could focus on was getting back at him for those long fucking years of trying to get by, left alone to keep my siblings alive while the son of a bitch went out and did whatever the fuck he wanted.
As I finally approached the cheap little place he'd decided we should meet at, I could feel my chest swell with each step, a combination of apprehension and uncertainty filling me like some kind of fucked up balloon until I finally entered the joint. It didn't take me long to spot him sitting alone in the corner, head down, like someone who was trying not to be noticeable and actually having it backfire because of it. As I began to walk over to his table, it felt as though the closer I got, the more and more aware of myself I became. From the looseness of my civilian clothes, to the heaviness of my hands and feet, and just when had my mouth turned dry? By the time I finally sat down opposite of him, I felt more aware of my body than I had in years, and despite every brain cell I had telling me that now was the time to unleash myself on the drunken bastard...I couldn't.
As much as I wanted to unleash every ounce of hatred I had for the prick, as much as I wanted to scream at him until my vocal cords snapped, I just couldn't. I looked him over as he gave me a what presumably would've been toothy smile if he'd still had all of his, and I realized that the man I'd spent years turning into a symbol of everything wrong with my life was just that; Another man. One that had screwed my family over badly, yes, but his appearance said that karma had fucked him over harder than I ever could have. From the patchwork coat covering what looked like grim-covered shirt, to the ratty beanie covering his head, to the pair of destroyed jeans that looked as though rabid animals had eaten off half of them. More than anything his clothes could say, though, was his eyes; There was...I'm not sure how to describe it. A dead look? A lack of life? I'm not sure, but I hadn't seen eyes like that since Chime had decided to come back to the world of the living. They were the mark of someone who felt dead inside, and with them it was pretty clear that what he'd had so long ago has abandoned him as surely as he'd left us.
Not long after I sat down, he began to prattle on about how big I'd grown, how much he'd missed me, and all sorts of other lies. He prattled on for a while, but the whole realization that life had dealt him what was most likely even a shittier hand than mine had left me feeling confused inside, and I don't think I did much more other than give a nod as I tuned him out. I knew that everything I'd planned on the way there was pointless; What would screaming at him accomplish more than what he'd been through? No. I...as much as I still wanted to, I couldn't. God fucking help me, I know he deserved it, but I couldn't let myself sink low enough to scream at a guy that looked essentially homeless, much less one that was kind of the reason I existed.
So what did I do? Mostly I just sat and waited out his spiel, though I did order a drink halfway through. If nothing else, I have to give him credit for preparation, given he took up roughly a good ten minutes trying to flatter me before spending another ten going through a bunch of pleas and begging and other bullshit. Honestly, I ignored most of it, instead mentally pitting my current situation against his and realizing how much I'd lucked out. If I hadn't been chosen for whatever reason to become a merc, then I'd either be in prison or just flat out dead. But I had been picked, and while life hadn't miraculously gotten better afterwards, it was...improved, for lack of a better word. If nothing else, I didn't have to worry about providing for the kids or my brother, and I was personally rendered fucking immortal. I don't remember the state he was in the last time I saw him, but I'd have bet that shit had been on a bit of a downward spiral for him too, the only difference being that there hadn't been a second chance. No redemption for him, as opposed to my sorry hide that arguably lucked out with the whole mercenary deal. So I suppose if I was lucky enough to get a second chance, shouldn't I provide one? Or did he deserve to suffer even more after the hell he'd put me and mine through? That...that was a hard choice for me, for a bit, but I decided to at least offer him a chance. Nothing quite as fancy as killing for cash while living in a personal apartment out in space, but I could at least see if he was worth the effort for another chance.
Thankfully, he decided to pause for breath not too long after I had come up with a plan, and seized the opportunity to explain it to him. As it so happens, I occasionally check on the occasional cost of living on this planet, to ensure what I send to the kids is enough so that Rilan doesn't have to grab a job of his own. I told the old bastard I'd set up a separate bank account and send him roughly half of what I send the kids, on the conditions that he quits drinking, doesn't gamble or get involved with the gangs, and we'd talk every other week so I could make sure that he was keeping up his end of the bargain. A spark of anger flashed across his face for a second, but it petered out pretty quickly and he agreed to the terms. I guess he just needed the money that badly, though he might've been a bit more pissed if I told I'd also be keeping tabs on the bank account to ensure he wasn't cheating, but I'd save that for a conversation for another time. I also forbade contact with Rilan and the others until he'd straightened out, but he didn't seem too peeved about that.
While I was willing to give the bastard a second chance, I still didn't want to deal with him anymore than I had to, so with everything hashed out, I stood up to leave. To my complete and utter shock, the bastard hugged me. Or tried to hug me, anyway. Given that I was now a good foot taller than him, his arms made their way halfway around my neck while his head sat next to my shoulder blade. The familiar urge to throttle flared up as I realized he had mistaken my pity for affection, but it wasn't until he tried to hug me tighter that I finally pried the bastard off. I told him I'd send the details of the new account to him in a couple days, and...that was that. I left before I could see his reaction, before I did something I had to spend any more time in his presence.
As I got back to the shuttle, I gave Rilan a quick call and told him he wouldn't have to worry about the son of a bitch anymore. I think he assumed I dealt with him as someone in my trade usually would, 'cause he was silent afterwards until I clarified that I'd forbidden the bastard from contacting him and the kids before I felt he was responsible enough. I think he was relieved at that, but a crash in the background (which I later learned was the twins causing a ruckus) forced him to end the call a bit sooner than I'd have liked. Poor kid. He's gotten a lot better at dealing with the pair since I left, but I still think they occasionally run him ragged when they've got the urge to do so.
At any rate, I opened up the account not too long after I got back to the station. Given that I'm actually aboard a financial station, it's not too hard to find someone whose willing to put a few questionably legal surveillance measure on a new balance, much less ensure that no one else finds out about it. The whole thing was finished up by the time I went to bed yesterday, but I'm still going to wait until tomorrow to give it to him, if only so he can sweat it out a little.
Nothing says I can't have -some- payback against him, after all.
-End Log
Friday, September 27, 2013
Log 042
Log 042
-Author: Rinas Rylos
-Rank: C.E.O.
-Corporation: Rinas' Raiders (R.R.A.S)
-Date: 115.07.31
Holy fuck battles have been one-sided lately. I'm not sure if it's just because some groups have finally gotten their shit together or what, but one way or another I just seem to tag along for curb stomps these days, whether I'm on the actual winning side or not. It's a little sad, if I'm being honest; Used to feel like I could have an impact on a battlefield, but now it's as though I either just manage to make it not -quite- a crushing defeat as it could be, or give the inevitable avalanche of murder an extra speed boost. I know I get paid either way but the whole "crushing defeat" thing does leave me rather grateful that I keep a few cheap outfits on hand just so getting shot or blown up or fucking whatever isn't all that expensive.
Speaking of the sensation of getting shot, I got a surprise visit by Chime the other day! That was...well, it was nice to have someone visit me for a change of pace, at least. Haven't had anyone over since Doc visited a few months back. It's still kind of strange seeing her all chatty when I can think back to not too long ago and remember when I couldn't get more than two words out of her at time. Either she's clamped up tight or talking like she'll die if doesn't, this girl doesn't seem to do things by halves. That said, it was nice to have someone hug me as though it were the most natural thing in the world, not to mention that I didn't have to look down on her. Literally, I mean, we're the same fuckin' height. These merc bodies seem to be taller than damn near everyone else, so it was nice to be able to look her in the eye without having to peer down at her.
After settling down with some coffee and making sure I didn't have anything immediately scheduled for the day, we talked each others ears off for what seemed like forever. By which I mean she talked my ear off for what seemed like forever. To a bit of my surprise, she was also rather competent on the battlefield, or at least her stories about it made her sound better than I thought she would. Usually, she said, she was in more of a support role, shotgun off to the side as she doled out armor repair and ammo, though once in a while she'd bust out the sniper rifle and practice her aiming if the clone ratios seemed decisive enough that it wasn't necessary. I gave her the specs of my anti-armor suit which she promised to try out, along with showing her a few vantage points to use for when she decides to practice her sniping.
We chatted about a bunch of other shit too, mostly mocking Gallente celebrities and giving me a chance to educate her a bit more about the other empires. Apparently she hadn't really been taught too much about anyone else besides the Caldari, so learning that there is more to the Amarr besides them being a bunch of crazy religious nuts and that the Minmatar have more to them besides making everything out of spit and prayer was a bit of an eye-opener for her, not to mention she barely knew who the Jove were. Actually, I don't know much about the Jove either, aside from hearing about how they once kicked the shit out of the Amarr right before the Minmatarr got in on the "beating religious ass wholesale" thing. Still, the privilege that comes from being so rich you don't have to care about other cultures was a curious thing to behold. I was never that rich, or at least I wasn't until I started killing people for money at which point it was a little too late, but...well, you learn about other cultures whether you want to or not when you're only a few runs below the bottom, mainly about their own attitudes toward criminal activity. Necessity breeds education when it comes to learning how to survive.
Anyway, it was nice to have such a casual conversation with another female merc, even if about eighty percent of its entirety was Chime talking. Not too many gals walking around murdering people for cash, or at least not too many of them that have implants that make them immortal and get contracted to do it by various organizations and businesses. It isn't as though chatting with regular civilians is awkward, but even at their most relaxed a lot of folks tense up when the topic of my occupation comes up. Not that I blame them, odds are I wouldn't have been too receptive if I were on the other side of discussing whatever with an immortal mercenary either, but it's still a little disheartening sometimes. Chime doesn't give two shits aside from taking the occasional tip and recounting her own contracts, or at least that was what I originally thought up until I actually contemplated her visit for more than three seconds. I didn't really notice it until I thought about her trip today, but there were a few signs that she isn't totally over the whole occupation swap just yet. A hug that lasted a little too long, a bit of a desperate note in her voice when she mentioned her contracts, her cup of coffee shaking (though that might've just been the caffeine) were all a bit of tip off... I guess this shit doesn't just go away, but given that I'm still seeing the Doc I guess I shouldn't be all that surprised. Ah well, I'll be glad to help her where I can, and pass her off the people far more qualified than me to do so when I can't.
-End Log
-Author: Rinas Rylos
-Rank: C.E.O.
-Corporation: Rinas' Raiders (R.R.A.S)
-Date: 115.07.31
Holy fuck battles have been one-sided lately. I'm not sure if it's just because some groups have finally gotten their shit together or what, but one way or another I just seem to tag along for curb stomps these days, whether I'm on the actual winning side or not. It's a little sad, if I'm being honest; Used to feel like I could have an impact on a battlefield, but now it's as though I either just manage to make it not -quite- a crushing defeat as it could be, or give the inevitable avalanche of murder an extra speed boost. I know I get paid either way but the whole "crushing defeat" thing does leave me rather grateful that I keep a few cheap outfits on hand just so getting shot or blown up or fucking whatever isn't all that expensive.
Speaking of the sensation of getting shot, I got a surprise visit by Chime the other day! That was...well, it was nice to have someone visit me for a change of pace, at least. Haven't had anyone over since Doc visited a few months back. It's still kind of strange seeing her all chatty when I can think back to not too long ago and remember when I couldn't get more than two words out of her at time. Either she's clamped up tight or talking like she'll die if doesn't, this girl doesn't seem to do things by halves. That said, it was nice to have someone hug me as though it were the most natural thing in the world, not to mention that I didn't have to look down on her. Literally, I mean, we're the same fuckin' height. These merc bodies seem to be taller than damn near everyone else, so it was nice to be able to look her in the eye without having to peer down at her.
After settling down with some coffee and making sure I didn't have anything immediately scheduled for the day, we talked each others ears off for what seemed like forever. By which I mean she talked my ear off for what seemed like forever. To a bit of my surprise, she was also rather competent on the battlefield, or at least her stories about it made her sound better than I thought she would. Usually, she said, she was in more of a support role, shotgun off to the side as she doled out armor repair and ammo, though once in a while she'd bust out the sniper rifle and practice her aiming if the clone ratios seemed decisive enough that it wasn't necessary. I gave her the specs of my anti-armor suit which she promised to try out, along with showing her a few vantage points to use for when she decides to practice her sniping.
We chatted about a bunch of other shit too, mostly mocking Gallente celebrities and giving me a chance to educate her a bit more about the other empires. Apparently she hadn't really been taught too much about anyone else besides the Caldari, so learning that there is more to the Amarr besides them being a bunch of crazy religious nuts and that the Minmatar have more to them besides making everything out of spit and prayer was a bit of an eye-opener for her, not to mention she barely knew who the Jove were. Actually, I don't know much about the Jove either, aside from hearing about how they once kicked the shit out of the Amarr right before the Minmatarr got in on the "beating religious ass wholesale" thing. Still, the privilege that comes from being so rich you don't have to care about other cultures was a curious thing to behold. I was never that rich, or at least I wasn't until I started killing people for money at which point it was a little too late, but...well, you learn about other cultures whether you want to or not when you're only a few runs below the bottom, mainly about their own attitudes toward criminal activity. Necessity breeds education when it comes to learning how to survive.
Anyway, it was nice to have such a casual conversation with another female merc, even if about eighty percent of its entirety was Chime talking. Not too many gals walking around murdering people for cash, or at least not too many of them that have implants that make them immortal and get contracted to do it by various organizations and businesses. It isn't as though chatting with regular civilians is awkward, but even at their most relaxed a lot of folks tense up when the topic of my occupation comes up. Not that I blame them, odds are I wouldn't have been too receptive if I were on the other side of discussing whatever with an immortal mercenary either, but it's still a little disheartening sometimes. Chime doesn't give two shits aside from taking the occasional tip and recounting her own contracts, or at least that was what I originally thought up until I actually contemplated her visit for more than three seconds. I didn't really notice it until I thought about her trip today, but there were a few signs that she isn't totally over the whole occupation swap just yet. A hug that lasted a little too long, a bit of a desperate note in her voice when she mentioned her contracts, her cup of coffee shaking (though that might've just been the caffeine) were all a bit of tip off... I guess this shit doesn't just go away, but given that I'm still seeing the Doc I guess I shouldn't be all that surprised. Ah well, I'll be glad to help her where I can, and pass her off the people far more qualified than me to do so when I can't.
-End Log
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