Moves

Comments   Comments Off   Date Arrow  December 13, 2007 at 7:29am   User  by Kyoko Sakoda


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I’ve returned home.

I want to say I feel something like relief. Upon setting foot on our old headquarters in Airkio for the first time in… how long has it been… I felt a shiver run down my spine, at any rate. Too long have I searched for answers out in the black. I rode with Rabbits, Snakes, and Angels, and too often I felt out of place. I was a leaf adrift on the wind, being blown any way it pleased, circumstance dictating my every move. Now, once again I’m grounded. The exiles have returned home, with little fanfare I’m sure. Even still, these are my people - Deteis, Achur, and Civire - and I’m so damned glad to be back where I belong.

I’ve long since realized that I’m not quite charismatic enough, or perhaps strong enough, to be an instrument of direct change. The BoF movement was a complete failure, and I had my doubts about the extremes they were willing to go to. I do hope that, over the course of a couple years, I’ll be able to touch other Caldari in such a way that they’ll be able to see what I see in the State, so that they might lead the reform efforts it so desperately needs. I feel much better about working with the Cartel than I did with the Rabbits. I’ve come to the conclusion that the Guristas that would actually care to see change are misled. They are not bad people, but they are working for the wrong organization. Being a part of the Cartel I find doesn’t carry with it the necessarily inimical reactions I got from other Caldari when I was with the Guristas. That’s rather interesting. APEX even shows some interest in the Cartel’s affairs, and I’ve been asked about them several times in the past couple weeks.

I’m not faring too well outside work. I haven’t seen Nemesor in weeks, and I find myself moving further away from him. We got into a fight over my relationship with Aria. (Poor woman, I still feel that I owe her something for the trouble I caused her.) Fuck him, though - I’ll converse and socialize with the people I want to. I’m scared that I might have to call the relationship off if our arguments persist, that is, if I even see him again. I wouldn’t want him to see me the way I’ve been lately, either. More night terrors. Something to do with returning home, I’m sure. It excites me but makes me restless. Pill only works when I take it in risky doses, and of course I don’t want to go too far…

And, from all that I’ve soaked up the past three years, but especially these past few weeks, I’m starting to have my doubts about whether or not my nature is really… no… no, I can’t talk about that…

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an exerpt from Deks’ Journal prior to the CYI war….

Comments   Comments Off   Date Arrow  December 5, 2007 at 1:32pm   User  by Deks


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He sat there watching his reflection in the large glass topped briefing table, war was firmly on his mind, and the recent events in Empire space were a million light-years away from the time spent out in the Fountain regions. The claustrophobic atmosphere in the station at ******** was almost unbearable. The red tape of war was currently delaying the start of the Cyrene campaign, an annoying development but nonetheless a time for him to take stock and run through his inventory before the unpredictable madness of war consumed him.

He swivelled around on his chair and tapped a blank interface panel on the wall behind him, it flickered to life and the green characters of the greeting screen requested his thumbprint and access code. He pressed his thumb against the panel, “confirmed”  it announced in a predictable female synth voice, he tapped in “****** ***” and she again confirmed its accuracy “Welcome Deks” he thought about the irony of that statement then carried on, tapping the ships and inventories button he reviewed the impressive array of vessels and equipment he had managed to salvage from the Fountain-lands, he scanned down the list muttering to himself “Raven, ********, *****, *****, Caracal, *****, ****, ****, ****, Kestrel” listed amongst the ships were the various modules and ammunition each would carry and fight with.

He looked up from the screen and out through the viewing portal on the other side of the room, his thoughts wandered ahead to the glory of the battles that lay ahead amongst the stars that sparkled so innocently in the dark sky and the genuine possibility that some of the people he had now come to call brothers may perish in the weeks that lay ahead.

He gathered his thoughts, then with a gruff bark, ordered the terminal to shut down before leaving the room with a last glance back at the stars…

…The War had begun

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Picking scabs

Comments   Comments Off   Date Arrow  December 3, 2007 at 4:33am   User  by Aria Jenneth


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This is the first time I’ve written my thoughts here since the incident with Star Fraction. So much has changed that I don’t even feel like the same person writing here, and perhaps I’m not.

I made my first solo kill on a fellow capsuleer a couple of weeks ago, an Acheron Federation destroyer pilot who managed to weaken my Crow’s shields to about thirty percent before my missiles dispatched his ship and crew to the great beyond. A kid … a rookie … he must have been. I was struggling with flight control so much I could hardly maintain lock, much less warp scrambling; he had half a dozen chances to escape, at least, and never took one.

Or perhaps he was like me, caught up in the thrill of the hunt, of the kill. He came back moments after his first loss, only in a Thorax, which the rest of the gang jumped and proceeded to shred in about twenty seconds.

How many dead? … Ten to fifteen, maybe as much as twenty from the destroyer, another few hundred from the Thorax. Why am I even keeping count? The dead don’t bother me anymore, if they ever really did, but I still find myself trying to calculate the number of dead as though I’m picking a scab. The numbers are rhetorically useful, but the numbers on a capsuleer vessel aren’t even particularly significant next to the hundreds of thousands of dead from my assorted commissioned battles against conventional vessels. It might be a method of keeping track of my own contribution to eventual backlash and extermination, but that doesn’t ring true, either. I’ve known, ever since that first Armageddon, how much I enjoy this, the satisfaction of the hunt, the power to seek out, ensnare, and kill, the ecstatic glee of the successful predator. I seem to be fairly good at it.

Why am I trying to stop myself? What purpose can I serve by scratching at this itch, by constantly reminding myself how many people I’ve murdered? It’s not even as though I still try to keep anything like an accurate count. It’s not as though I care.

And now I’m torturing myself over torturing myself without giving myself the slightest ounce of pain. It would make more sense if I were actually in anguish, or numb, or some other dramatically appropriate state, but as it is I can’t even tell what I’m actually feeling from what I think I’m supposed to be feeling– it’s that faint.

Mostly, as I think over all of this, what I’m feeling is just anticipation. Tomorrow, or the next day, I’ll get to hunt, again, another capsuleer, and, by the way, another few humans will die because of it.

… by the way. Collateral damage. Death as byproduct. Pick, pick, pick.

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