04-03-2011, 01:03 AM
====> Access criminal record: G-9AA0B
Accessing..
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Criminal record retrieved,
Copy, y/n?
"No, computer, delete files."
Insufficient access, Clearance level 5 code required.
====> *******
Processing...
Files deleted.
"That should do it. Now, about those creds..." The man murmured, glancing at the youngster before him from behind a pair of overtly thick shades.
The young man, barely out of his teens, handed over several Sirius Credit cards.
The deal was done, and the shaded man ushered the youngster out of the office fire-escape as someone came knocking on the door. Gin wasn't hesitant to comply. Getting himself out and away as quickly as possible. He'd made quite a few bad choices in his life already. But this time, he was old enough to suffer arrest. The streets weren't uncommonly littered with orphans, but he figured himself lucky. He'd at least escaped 'the services' for quite a few years, until he grew old enough.
He had a penchant for dirty work, small things, until one day the opportunity he'd been waiting for came along. He pulled off a small heist against a landing transport one day, sneaking aboard and managing off with several million credits worth in goods as the transport he'd hitched a ride on was about to land on Manhattan. Safe to say not all of them was illegal, and when he tried to pass them off, slightly drunk on his own achievement, needless to say he was immediately busted.
He'd just spent a full three months in a box in some corner police office on the planet, when some guy he didn't rightly know offered, not only to get him out of there, but an offer to wipe his slate clean, or at least as clean as possible.
Gin, paranoid, but wise for his age, took the man up on his offer, and soon found himself free.. and a million credits poorer. At least he had enough of a coin left on his neural account to buy a wimpy ship and get off the planet. Which went all together as quick as something of the kind ever did.
That's where it really started. A foolhardy young man, wise, but overconfident, if not paranoid, soon found himself in yet another jam.
Work.
But not any kind of work, the boring, long haul kind. Staying up for long trips just to squeeze out enough money to get out of his new pile of junk. Which went all together well until his trade lane got disrupted and a wing of rogues made short work of his ship, and his payroll.
A few weeks pass and he finds himself waking from the cryosleep of his escape pod.
He didn't quite know who, but someone had funded him a ship, and told him to go do whatever it is traders do to make money. And make regular payments, in return for having his life saved.
Gin thus takes to the skies in his new, moderately leaking, yet shiny transport.
In order to work off an unwritten contract, and make a fortune.
He's happy enough about it, but it figures noone gives him any contracts for alcohol shipments anymore. It has a tendency to get lighter, especially the rum.
Accessing..
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/
|
\
-
Criminal record retrieved,
Copy, y/n?
"No, computer, delete files."
Insufficient access, Clearance level 5 code required.
====> *******
Processing...
Files deleted.
"That should do it. Now, about those creds..." The man murmured, glancing at the youngster before him from behind a pair of overtly thick shades.
The young man, barely out of his teens, handed over several Sirius Credit cards.
The deal was done, and the shaded man ushered the youngster out of the office fire-escape as someone came knocking on the door. Gin wasn't hesitant to comply. Getting himself out and away as quickly as possible. He'd made quite a few bad choices in his life already. But this time, he was old enough to suffer arrest. The streets weren't uncommonly littered with orphans, but he figured himself lucky. He'd at least escaped 'the services' for quite a few years, until he grew old enough.
He had a penchant for dirty work, small things, until one day the opportunity he'd been waiting for came along. He pulled off a small heist against a landing transport one day, sneaking aboard and managing off with several million credits worth in goods as the transport he'd hitched a ride on was about to land on Manhattan. Safe to say not all of them was illegal, and when he tried to pass them off, slightly drunk on his own achievement, needless to say he was immediately busted.
He'd just spent a full three months in a box in some corner police office on the planet, when some guy he didn't rightly know offered, not only to get him out of there, but an offer to wipe his slate clean, or at least as clean as possible.
Gin, paranoid, but wise for his age, took the man up on his offer, and soon found himself free.. and a million credits poorer. At least he had enough of a coin left on his neural account to buy a wimpy ship and get off the planet. Which went all together as quick as something of the kind ever did.
That's where it really started. A foolhardy young man, wise, but overconfident, if not paranoid, soon found himself in yet another jam.
Work.
But not any kind of work, the boring, long haul kind. Staying up for long trips just to squeeze out enough money to get out of his new pile of junk. Which went all together well until his trade lane got disrupted and a wing of rogues made short work of his ship, and his payroll.
A few weeks pass and he finds himself waking from the cryosleep of his escape pod.
He didn't quite know who, but someone had funded him a ship, and told him to go do whatever it is traders do to make money. And make regular payments, in return for having his life saved.
Gin thus takes to the skies in his new, moderately leaking, yet shiny transport.
In order to work off an unwritten contract, and make a fortune.
He's happy enough about it, but it figures noone gives him any contracts for alcohol shipments anymore. It has a tendency to get lighter, especially the rum.