07-09-2008, 02:33 PM
Incoming transmission......
Decoding message......
.......opening message "'Frenzy' - biography".......
My first name is Julian. Thats all you're getting about my real name. I've had many pilots question me recently about my behaviour as a bounty hunter, so I've decided to come clean and send this message on all channels. Fellow bounty hunters, treat me as you wish. Criminals, this is what you're up against.
My parents met 32 years ago on the Battleship Hood. My father was a Molly, my mother a Gaian. Under normal circumstances such a union would be unheard of, but apparently my mother had a flair for breaking the rules. I wouldn't know, I never met her. I was born 9 months later in secrecy, and smuggled in a container of cardamine to Arranmore, where I grew up alongside my father. Neither he nor I ever met my mother again. My father used to tell me stories.....of his glorious battles against the tyrannical Bretonian navy, of his old racing days among the IMG on the Hood, and of my supposed ancestor, a hero in the pre-Sirius war who fought valiantly against his Coalition oppressors. I never really believed that last one, seeing it as a failed attempt to inspire me against the Bretonians. I never did see the point in our struggle.
Regardless, I by the age of 17 I was flying patrols out to Graves Station and the Leeds jump hole with my father. Not many people realise how young some pilots are out there, particularly when manpower is short. It was only when my father was killed in a Gaian ambush on the way home from New London that I realised the futility of it all. What does all this achieve? Why do we fight the Gaians, when neither of us stand to win anything? My mother was a Gaian too. Is the independence of Dublin really so important that we should risk not only our lives, but those of innocents? This is the true result of any criminal's life. No matter how 'just' your reason, how much you believe you are correct, your righteous cause will always end in the suffering of others. Even I have the blood of widows and orphans on my hands, but I could stand it no longer.
A day after my 19th birthday, I left Arranmore. I flew to the Hood under the pretense of entering a race, bought some basic supplies, and stole a civilian Starflier. And I left Dublin. I left Bretonia. I arrived on Manhattan in New York, sold the battered ship to the LSF and met a girl. But I'll save that one for another time.
I just couldn't keep away from the big black, though. When I saw the chance to return to the stars, I took it. And I can tell you, the first time I was contracted for a bounty it felt good. You always remember your first, they say, and William Douglas Jr. of the Liberty Rogues had it coming. I remember his final plea for life, to take his pod back to Fort Bush and sell him to the highest bidder, but I had been hired to kill him. The screams as his ship fell apart around him were so satisfying, I knew I had found my new profession. And as I sit here in my Hammerhead, scanning the contracts list for my next bounty, I spot one. Michael Banderas, an Outcast ace wanted for murder, smuggling of cardamine, and repeated attacks on civilian transports.
Criminals. They're all the same. If there's a bounty on their head, that's good. If there's not, then they'd better not cross me.
Decoding message......
.......opening message "'Frenzy' - biography".......
My first name is Julian. Thats all you're getting about my real name. I've had many pilots question me recently about my behaviour as a bounty hunter, so I've decided to come clean and send this message on all channels. Fellow bounty hunters, treat me as you wish. Criminals, this is what you're up against.
My parents met 32 years ago on the Battleship Hood. My father was a Molly, my mother a Gaian. Under normal circumstances such a union would be unheard of, but apparently my mother had a flair for breaking the rules. I wouldn't know, I never met her. I was born 9 months later in secrecy, and smuggled in a container of cardamine to Arranmore, where I grew up alongside my father. Neither he nor I ever met my mother again. My father used to tell me stories.....of his glorious battles against the tyrannical Bretonian navy, of his old racing days among the IMG on the Hood, and of my supposed ancestor, a hero in the pre-Sirius war who fought valiantly against his Coalition oppressors. I never really believed that last one, seeing it as a failed attempt to inspire me against the Bretonians. I never did see the point in our struggle.
Regardless, I by the age of 17 I was flying patrols out to Graves Station and the Leeds jump hole with my father. Not many people realise how young some pilots are out there, particularly when manpower is short. It was only when my father was killed in a Gaian ambush on the way home from New London that I realised the futility of it all. What does all this achieve? Why do we fight the Gaians, when neither of us stand to win anything? My mother was a Gaian too. Is the independence of Dublin really so important that we should risk not only our lives, but those of innocents? This is the true result of any criminal's life. No matter how 'just' your reason, how much you believe you are correct, your righteous cause will always end in the suffering of others. Even I have the blood of widows and orphans on my hands, but I could stand it no longer.
A day after my 19th birthday, I left Arranmore. I flew to the Hood under the pretense of entering a race, bought some basic supplies, and stole a civilian Starflier. And I left Dublin. I left Bretonia. I arrived on Manhattan in New York, sold the battered ship to the LSF and met a girl. But I'll save that one for another time.
I just couldn't keep away from the big black, though. When I saw the chance to return to the stars, I took it. And I can tell you, the first time I was contracted for a bounty it felt good. You always remember your first, they say, and William Douglas Jr. of the Liberty Rogues had it coming. I remember his final plea for life, to take his pod back to Fort Bush and sell him to the highest bidder, but I had been hired to kill him. The screams as his ship fell apart around him were so satisfying, I knew I had found my new profession. And as I sit here in my Hammerhead, scanning the contracts list for my next bounty, I spot one. Michael Banderas, an Outcast ace wanted for murder, smuggling of cardamine, and repeated attacks on civilian transports.
Criminals. They're all the same. If there's a bounty on their head, that's good. If there's not, then they'd better not cross me.