02-19-2008, 05:17 AM
Thanks, Liberty, thanks a whole bunch.
I was a good citizen. I worked hard, paid my taxes, and didn't make trouble. An honest guy trying to make an honest buck.
But that didn't make no difference.
It was near Newark station. I was in my ship awaiting clearance to land. I was just minding my own business, delivering a load of polymers. Then a Navy patrol hove into view. A couple of Cruisers and fighters, flanking a massive Dreadnought. I watched as the pride of Liberty sailed majestically past.
I wasn't doing nothing.
Suddenly a warning comes over the comms. The law has ID'd some Bounty Hunter who's wanted, and he starts making a break for it. The entire patrol swings round and opens its big guns onto the scumbag. And I'm caught in the crossfire.
Tore my ship open in two hits. I was knocked unconscious almost immediately, and woke up in hospital. The doctors told me I was exposed to space for 3 seconds before my lifepod closed up. No permanent lung or vascular damage, fortunately.
But my leg was blown clean off.
Never did find that sucker floating amid the debris fields. I put in a compensation claim to the government. It wasn't my fault, I said. They gave me a payout. But thanks to the recent Wheedler Ruling, which puts a cap on claims not resulting in "actual death", the payout barely covered my medical costs.
To make matters worse, the insurance company didn't cough up for my ship. Because it was destroyed by the Navy it was deemed an "act of war", and therefore not eligible for payout. I had to have the clause pointed out to me, buried somewhere in the fine print.
I suddenly found myself in a most unenviable position: no ship, no job, not a credit to my name, and a prosthesis from straight out of the Pirate era. Arrrrr! *cries*
One minute I'm a respectable citizen with a good job and a bright future. Next minute I'm unemployed and broke, just another bum cripple. I was down on my luck and headed nowhere fast. I had no idea where to go from here. So I did like every other poor bastard who's ever been kicked in the guts by the caring Liberty system: I decided to join the Rogues.
Of course I hadn't the faintest notion how to get in touch with that scurrilous lot. Got talking to a Junker trader in a bar (I had enough money for a "painkiller"), who felt sorry for me. He offered to give me a ride out to Rochester, try my luck there. But those CSV's only got one seat up front. I had to ride in back with a load of hogs.
Rochester's a funny old place. Full of crims and shady characters who'd shoot you quick as look at you. Scumbags I'd probably call the law on if I was back at my old life. And yet I found more compassion and acceptance here than I ever did in "respectable society" after the accident.
I picked up a few odd jobs here and there. The guy who gave me passage set me up with a caper, scraping waste oil off junk metal for recycling. It was hard and filthy work, but I could do it sitting down mostly.
That went on for a few weeks. I made some chums and got to know a few people around the place. Man some of the hard luck stories I heard, made mine sound like a walk in the park. But my story must've reached the right ears, because one day I got a message to "meet someone" in the bar that night. I didn't know who I was supposed to meet, but the message said they'd know me...
//OOC: Those familiar with Rolf Harris would know that Jake the Peg had an extra leg, not one missing. Ah the tangled web...
I was a good citizen. I worked hard, paid my taxes, and didn't make trouble. An honest guy trying to make an honest buck.
But that didn't make no difference.
It was near Newark station. I was in my ship awaiting clearance to land. I was just minding my own business, delivering a load of polymers. Then a Navy patrol hove into view. A couple of Cruisers and fighters, flanking a massive Dreadnought. I watched as the pride of Liberty sailed majestically past.
I wasn't doing nothing.
Suddenly a warning comes over the comms. The law has ID'd some Bounty Hunter who's wanted, and he starts making a break for it. The entire patrol swings round and opens its big guns onto the scumbag. And I'm caught in the crossfire.
Tore my ship open in two hits. I was knocked unconscious almost immediately, and woke up in hospital. The doctors told me I was exposed to space for 3 seconds before my lifepod closed up. No permanent lung or vascular damage, fortunately.
But my leg was blown clean off.
Never did find that sucker floating amid the debris fields. I put in a compensation claim to the government. It wasn't my fault, I said. They gave me a payout. But thanks to the recent Wheedler Ruling, which puts a cap on claims not resulting in "actual death", the payout barely covered my medical costs.
To make matters worse, the insurance company didn't cough up for my ship. Because it was destroyed by the Navy it was deemed an "act of war", and therefore not eligible for payout. I had to have the clause pointed out to me, buried somewhere in the fine print.
I suddenly found myself in a most unenviable position: no ship, no job, not a credit to my name, and a prosthesis from straight out of the Pirate era. Arrrrr! *cries*
One minute I'm a respectable citizen with a good job and a bright future. Next minute I'm unemployed and broke, just another bum cripple. I was down on my luck and headed nowhere fast. I had no idea where to go from here. So I did like every other poor bastard who's ever been kicked in the guts by the caring Liberty system: I decided to join the Rogues.
Of course I hadn't the faintest notion how to get in touch with that scurrilous lot. Got talking to a Junker trader in a bar (I had enough money for a "painkiller"), who felt sorry for me. He offered to give me a ride out to Rochester, try my luck there. But those CSV's only got one seat up front. I had to ride in back with a load of hogs.
Rochester's a funny old place. Full of crims and shady characters who'd shoot you quick as look at you. Scumbags I'd probably call the law on if I was back at my old life. And yet I found more compassion and acceptance here than I ever did in "respectable society" after the accident.
I picked up a few odd jobs here and there. The guy who gave me passage set me up with a caper, scraping waste oil off junk metal for recycling. It was hard and filthy work, but I could do it sitting down mostly.
That went on for a few weeks. I made some chums and got to know a few people around the place. Man some of the hard luck stories I heard, made mine sound like a walk in the park. But my story must've reached the right ears, because one day I got a message to "meet someone" in the bar that night. I didn't know who I was supposed to meet, but the message said they'd know me...
//OOC: Those familiar with Rolf Harris would know that Jake the Peg had an extra leg, not one missing. Ah the tangled web...