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+--- Thread: Imperfection (/showthread.php?tid=89006)
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RE: Imperfection - Saerieve - 11-04-2012
Part X: The Gold Rush
For the Mollys, there was no day like the "Gold Rush" days. With all those miners rushing to Dublin to mine the system dry, who cared for the liberation of the system? All they cared about was the money they could make off those miners. Just like a bunch of vultures claiming to be freedom fighters.That's what made them more miserable than their Rogue siblings. They both were vultures, but the rogues at least didn't hid behind the liberation flag. They just went straight out pirating every single moving thing they could find.
Dublin, the once rich and now nearly-dry system in southern Bretonia was no longer a system worth fighting for, and the fact that Mollys still acted like nothing had changed was the simple proof of the fake 'goals' they hid behind just to justify their miserable existence. Maybe his stance toward them was nothing but a bare diplomatic tolerance, because if he wanted any trouble with Mollys, he'd sure get into some unwanted trouble with Rogues and Hessians as well, and that definitely was the last thing he wanted right now.
Keeping a blind eye on the incompetence of some, was essential for his survival at the state he was in, and with all those groups with black and white diplomacies it was hard to do the right thing and still have enough allies to survive... After all, no matter how much of a fighter he was, he still was just a human, and there was no way he could last long being hunted by every single group out there. That's why he needed 'friends', even if those friends were worse than his enemies. Still, it was hard to resist the urge of pulling his handgun and wasting a bullet on the wasted Molly babbling his head off on the other end of the bar.
Dublin, the once rich and now nearly-dry system in southern Bretonia was no longer a system worth fighting for, and the fact that Mollys still acted like nothing had changed was the simple proof of the fake 'goals' they hid behind just to justify their miserable existence. Maybe his stance toward them was nothing but a bare diplomatic tolerance, because if he wanted any trouble with Mollys, he'd sure get into some unwanted trouble with Rogues and Hessians as well, and that definitely was the last thing he wanted right now.
Keeping a blind eye on the incompetence of some, was essential for his survival at the state he was in, and with all those groups with black and white diplomacies it was hard to do the right thing and still have enough allies to survive... After all, no matter how much of a fighter he was, he still was just a human, and there was no way he could last long being hunted by every single group out there. That's why he needed 'friends', even if those friends were worse than his enemies. Still, it was hard to resist the urge of pulling his handgun and wasting a bullet on the wasted Molly babbling his head off on the other end of the bar.
RE: Imperfection - Saerieve - 11-04-2012
Part XI: Filth of Sirius
Thieves.. Every single freaking one of them. Rich people steal more than anyone else, and yet, no one dares messing with them because they are rich and money means power. Here they are in their disgusting planet, all the filth gathered in one place, with vast seas and green landscape, but with every inch of it stinking of all the dirty money they've poured into the place, to pay for the disgusting habits they call 'fun'. Every hotel, every yacht, every single whorehouse, funded with the money they stole from the good, honest people who slowly killed themselves trying to make a living.
Having too much money defeats the purpose of being alive, enjoying the life, and they really aren't, really don't. With their disgusting planet filled with filth, one could easily smell the stink of all that dirty money even two jumps away from Cortez. Everyone who show those disgusting pigs no mercy are right, no matter what they actually believe in and what they really shoot those scumbags for. One doesn't need to be a saint to feel the rotten nature of anything and everything that happens on Curacao, and yet, those filthy animals enjoy every bit of it, wasting all their cash on it knowing there'd always be more in their wallets. Dirty, stolen cash.
He had to kill to make a living for two whole years, so he wasn't much better than those rich dirty pigs, but he at least worked for the money he made, took the risk, the guilt, and all there was to it. Even back when he pirated, he took the risk of being in space, the chance of meeting someone who'd be able to fight back... Not like these rich bastards who stole from everyone, but didn't have the guts to actually do it face-to-face, knowing there might be someone better than them, someone whom they couldn't rub. All they did was to hide in their filthy planet, doing things no human could live with, and still getting away with it, because money is power, no matter where it came from.
Having too much money defeats the purpose of being alive, enjoying the life, and they really aren't, really don't. With their disgusting planet filled with filth, one could easily smell the stink of all that dirty money even two jumps away from Cortez. Everyone who show those disgusting pigs no mercy are right, no matter what they actually believe in and what they really shoot those scumbags for. One doesn't need to be a saint to feel the rotten nature of anything and everything that happens on Curacao, and yet, those filthy animals enjoy every bit of it, wasting all their cash on it knowing there'd always be more in their wallets. Dirty, stolen cash.
He had to kill to make a living for two whole years, so he wasn't much better than those rich dirty pigs, but he at least worked for the money he made, took the risk, the guilt, and all there was to it. Even back when he pirated, he took the risk of being in space, the chance of meeting someone who'd be able to fight back... Not like these rich bastards who stole from everyone, but didn't have the guts to actually do it face-to-face, knowing there might be someone better than them, someone whom they couldn't rub. All they did was to hide in their filthy planet, doing things no human could live with, and still getting away with it, because money is power, no matter where it came from.
RE: Imperfection - Saerieve - 11-04-2012
Part XII: The Guild
Spread all over the sector, they seemed to be the one group actually following their goal. Maybe it was because their goal wasn't that hard to achieve - Survive. The only group who didn't hide behind massive flags of patriotism and idealism. All they did was fighting to make a living, daring to start a long-lasting mining operation right at the Outcasts doorstep, managing to hold the raiders off and actually defend their turf. It was the same thing many others did, but a group of like-minded people coming together and making it their goal, then sticking to it long enough to establish and expand, definitely deserved some respect.
Thinking about it, he didn't really know why he wasn't on good sides with them. Maybe because space was black and white after all. Tolerating the Outcasts meant being hostile to the miners in Taus, no 'if's, no 'but's. He had shot and pirated them more than he'd admit. He had even used their miners as nothing but his personal "punchbags" whenever he was in Taus and needed to cool down. Nothing he was or could ever be proud of, but that was a fragment of his past, like many other things he couldn't change anymore, but now that he looked at it, that group needed more respect... Or maybe it was just another one of those groups who seemed more noble from the outside but were the same crap as anyone else deep inside.
He was close to Liberty now, the house with no real nationality... People from all over the Sirius coming to the house, seeking fortune. Hispanic, Kusarian, British, every homeless bastard freelancer. Some coming there to make a run from their past, others to make a past to run from, and in the end, no one would find anything in there but disappointment and regret. The only house with three major pirate groups lurking around its space, and supposedly the best house police and military - Making life a living hell for both lawful and unlawful outsiders alike.
Thinking about it, he didn't really know why he wasn't on good sides with them. Maybe because space was black and white after all. Tolerating the Outcasts meant being hostile to the miners in Taus, no 'if's, no 'but's. He had shot and pirated them more than he'd admit. He had even used their miners as nothing but his personal "punchbags" whenever he was in Taus and needed to cool down. Nothing he was or could ever be proud of, but that was a fragment of his past, like many other things he couldn't change anymore, but now that he looked at it, that group needed more respect... Or maybe it was just another one of those groups who seemed more noble from the outside but were the same crap as anyone else deep inside.
He was close to Liberty now, the house with no real nationality... People from all over the Sirius coming to the house, seeking fortune. Hispanic, Kusarian, British, every homeless bastard freelancer. Some coming there to make a run from their past, others to make a past to run from, and in the end, no one would find anything in there but disappointment and regret. The only house with three major pirate groups lurking around its space, and supposedly the best house police and military - Making life a living hell for both lawful and unlawful outsiders alike.
RE: Imperfection - Saerieve - 11-05-2012
Part XIII: The Lane of Doom
Quite a few notable landmarks in Liberty, it seemed the locals had a nickname for everything around the place. He remembered this one sharper than any of the rest - The "Lane of Doom", running straight from Planet Mojave to many exploding transports and even Navy ships. It was like the hive of every type of unlawful ship around Liberty, maybe the one place in the whole house where every transport captain and its crew had to wash their pants if they made it out of in one piece. That wasn't the route he was taking, but could guess the possibilities if he did take that lane. Strangers, even unlawful, were not treated well through that lane, and even though he could dodge a whole armada and even take out a few in his Katana, he was in no mood for playing around. Ontario was his next stop, because after all, he needed to stretch his legs and he trusted the Junkers on Thunder Bay more than the ones on Rochester. Where Thunder Bay was one's typical Junker base, Rochester was more of a blackmarket and brothel hybrid, only known as a Junker base because it started as one. Even through his old days, he could barely stand the atmosphere of that place.
Being in that space again reminded him of the times they'd go "camping" on that lane, with a few friends he had made in the old days, among them the infamous "Banjos", the three brothers who were as reckless and at the same time as stupid one could be. He used to be at that lane every day, tearing up transports and not even taking a minute to think what would he gain from all that mindless shooting. It was sad how much a man could change, from someone who just did whatever he enjoyed, without the slightest worry about life and with no care of having an actual purpose, to someone who's been through a rough road, someone who had learned not to trust anyone anymore, and someone who cared about only one thing - Having a real purpose. A purpose worth fighting for, worth risking his life for, and even worth dying for. All the things he regret, were the same things he would've been proud of if he had not changed that much.. If the past few years hadn't treated him in such a way.
Pulling out of the lane before he reached Mojave defense systems, it all felt so familiar to him. It's been a long time he had used lanes in hostile space, because he couldn't afford the authorities knowing his location, but in Liberty he was a no-one. Maybe his name still rang a bell for a few, but the majority would've forgotten him long ago and it did give him this strange feeling to make himself visible again after a long time of hiding in the outskirt of systems far away from lanes and scanners. He was still tempted to take the next lane toward New York jumpgate, and if it wasn't for of his supplies running low he would've probably done so, just to see if anything had changed since the last time he was there, but he didn't have time to waste even though he had nothing to do either, so pulling the ship toward where he remembered Ontario jumphole to be, he activated cruise engines and hoped the hole would still be active.
Being in that space again reminded him of the times they'd go "camping" on that lane, with a few friends he had made in the old days, among them the infamous "Banjos", the three brothers who were as reckless and at the same time as stupid one could be. He used to be at that lane every day, tearing up transports and not even taking a minute to think what would he gain from all that mindless shooting. It was sad how much a man could change, from someone who just did whatever he enjoyed, without the slightest worry about life and with no care of having an actual purpose, to someone who's been through a rough road, someone who had learned not to trust anyone anymore, and someone who cared about only one thing - Having a real purpose. A purpose worth fighting for, worth risking his life for, and even worth dying for. All the things he regret, were the same things he would've been proud of if he had not changed that much.. If the past few years hadn't treated him in such a way.
Pulling out of the lane before he reached Mojave defense systems, it all felt so familiar to him. It's been a long time he had used lanes in hostile space, because he couldn't afford the authorities knowing his location, but in Liberty he was a no-one. Maybe his name still rang a bell for a few, but the majority would've forgotten him long ago and it did give him this strange feeling to make himself visible again after a long time of hiding in the outskirt of systems far away from lanes and scanners. He was still tempted to take the next lane toward New York jumpgate, and if it wasn't for of his supplies running low he would've probably done so, just to see if anything had changed since the last time he was there, but he didn't have time to waste even though he had nothing to do either, so pulling the ship toward where he remembered Ontario jumphole to be, he activated cruise engines and hoped the hole would still be active.
RE: Imperfection - Saerieve - 11-05-2012
Part XIV: 0100110001001000
If there was one group of people in Sirius who knew everything there was to computers and systems, undoubtedly the Lane Hackers were that one group. They could practically rule the digital world with enough effort if they wanted to, but instead their pathetic existence led them to doing nothing but what any other pirate would, with just a bit more style. All they did was hacking into lanes and tracking traders, so they can fund what they claimed to be their fight against the Ageira, but in reality was nothing, just like many others. Even selling their ship designs to blackmarket ship builders, they valued nothing but their pockets, not even their own efforts and achievements. Keeping to themselves, thinking of it as a privilege, while the real effect of it was being left out of the real world. Pretending to be satisfied with what they've got, then why would they even fight anymore?
Thunder Bay was always impossible to miss once in Ontario. With the smallest planet in the system covering it from sight, it was not a hidden base. It was a real Junker base - Well out of police reach, but regulated from inside. Sheltering some of the best ship engineers Junkers had among them, and running its own commerce despite being far out of regular trade routes. One of the few Junker bases which didn't revolve around contraband trade, but still a safe shelter to whomever on the wrong side of the law. His stop at the base was supposed to be brief, with minor repairs and supplies refill, he was planing to move out to Liberty inner systems to weight the situation, even though he didn't really have any interest in the house anymore. Finding someone to hack updated charts of Liberty systems into his ship navmap was not hard on such a base, and despite his despise for Hackers, they always were the best shot when it came to deals such as this.
He had turned week. feeling tired and burnt out, he considered the possibility of renting a room for a night numerous times, each time reminding himself that he had lived on for months without visiting a base but to resupply his ship. It was funny and sad how his life had changed, and how much his life had effected the person he was. He never used to feel as an outsider, even on his first visit to strangest bases, but now... Setting foot even in places he used to go often, he felt nothing but an outsider, a complete stranger. Each day made him think more about the life he had picked with the Dragons, and every single time he had come to realize that this all was his own choice from the endless possibilities. A choice he had no right to regret.
Thunder Bay was always impossible to miss once in Ontario. With the smallest planet in the system covering it from sight, it was not a hidden base. It was a real Junker base - Well out of police reach, but regulated from inside. Sheltering some of the best ship engineers Junkers had among them, and running its own commerce despite being far out of regular trade routes. One of the few Junker bases which didn't revolve around contraband trade, but still a safe shelter to whomever on the wrong side of the law. His stop at the base was supposed to be brief, with minor repairs and supplies refill, he was planing to move out to Liberty inner systems to weight the situation, even though he didn't really have any interest in the house anymore. Finding someone to hack updated charts of Liberty systems into his ship navmap was not hard on such a base, and despite his despise for Hackers, they always were the best shot when it came to deals such as this.
He had turned week. feeling tired and burnt out, he considered the possibility of renting a room for a night numerous times, each time reminding himself that he had lived on for months without visiting a base but to resupply his ship. It was funny and sad how his life had changed, and how much his life had effected the person he was. He never used to feel as an outsider, even on his first visit to strangest bases, but now... Setting foot even in places he used to go often, he felt nothing but an outsider, a complete stranger. Each day made him think more about the life he had picked with the Dragons, and every single time he had come to realize that this all was his own choice from the endless possibilities. A choice he had no right to regret.
RE: Imperfection - Saerieve - 11-05-2012
Part XV: The Stereotypical Scums
Thinking about it, Rogues were so miserable and so bad that it was simply flawless. Like a group of good-for-nothing outlaws straight out of a science-fiction movie. Everything about them was the stereotypical boundaries of being a scum, and at the same time, nothing about them made any sense. They struggled to live a life that no one would pick on their own - A typical life of being a worthless miserable bastard, but all in all, what they did best was doing what they were supposed to do, and that made them better than many other groups who hid behind big goals and ended up doing basically the same things as Rogues. Managing to spread all around a house like Liberty was not something every group could do, especially if considered unlawful by the authorities, but the Rogues had managed to pull it off just fine. Doing anything they found necessary to survive was their trend, and everyone joked about how a Rogue would sell his own blood sister if he sees any profit in it, with the sad truth being.. It was not really a joke.
Buffalo, where every soul from anywhere in Sirius would've heard the name of at least once, was a hellhole disguised as "the unlawful heaven", where no one was up to any good and anyone could run an unlawful business off that base like a classy commerce - Long as it didn't turn into a competition for Rogues. A base filled with the most disgusting of all uneducated miserable animal-like two-legged beings who lived off the loot they could grab from anyone they found, and not just traders.. Even Xenos didn't have such a community. Being in such a base used to be something he considered fun, but now, it had nothing but the feeling of insecurity for him. Back then, he had nothing to loose even though he had much more than now, but now, despite having nothing, he had everything to loose. Such a base was a land with no law, and common sight of bar fights turning into gang wars, something right on the station, sometimes out in space.. And many didn't come back from those. Their own way of wasting time, fighting like wild animals just for the sake of fighting, no matter if among themselves or against their actual enemies.
That base in particular ran on the simple rules of jungle - Kill or be killed, and everyone considered it a fair game. He still remembered that one time he ran into some trouble with the locals and had to kill one of them to 'solve' the problem, thinking he'd get in more trouble with the rest of the Rogues, but the Rogues didn't care. They just got rid of the dead body, cussing their brains out about how worthless and weak he was, and not even one of them really cared about the freelancer killing one of their own right in the middle of their own bar. It was one of the very few times he had shot someone directly rather than their ship, and the feeling was not comparable. It was one thing to target a flying heap of metal and blast it off the scanners then calmly cruising away, and another thing to shoot a man in the chest, feeling the recoil of the handgun and watching blood painting the floor red, having to bear the smell of burnt flesh even after the body is dragged away.
Buffalo, where every soul from anywhere in Sirius would've heard the name of at least once, was a hellhole disguised as "the unlawful heaven", where no one was up to any good and anyone could run an unlawful business off that base like a classy commerce - Long as it didn't turn into a competition for Rogues. A base filled with the most disgusting of all uneducated miserable animal-like two-legged beings who lived off the loot they could grab from anyone they found, and not just traders.. Even Xenos didn't have such a community. Being in such a base used to be something he considered fun, but now, it had nothing but the feeling of insecurity for him. Back then, he had nothing to loose even though he had much more than now, but now, despite having nothing, he had everything to loose. Such a base was a land with no law, and common sight of bar fights turning into gang wars, something right on the station, sometimes out in space.. And many didn't come back from those. Their own way of wasting time, fighting like wild animals just for the sake of fighting, no matter if among themselves or against their actual enemies.
That base in particular ran on the simple rules of jungle - Kill or be killed, and everyone considered it a fair game. He still remembered that one time he ran into some trouble with the locals and had to kill one of them to 'solve' the problem, thinking he'd get in more trouble with the rest of the Rogues, but the Rogues didn't care. They just got rid of the dead body, cussing their brains out about how worthless and weak he was, and not even one of them really cared about the freelancer killing one of their own right in the middle of their own bar. It was one of the very few times he had shot someone directly rather than their ship, and the feeling was not comparable. It was one thing to target a flying heap of metal and blast it off the scanners then calmly cruising away, and another thing to shoot a man in the chest, feeling the recoil of the handgun and watching blood painting the floor red, having to bear the smell of burnt flesh even after the body is dragged away.
RE: Imperfection - Saerieve - 11-05-2012
Part XVI: The True Patriotism
The one group that had always fascinated him were the Xenos. He found it magnificent how they managed to survive in a hostile environment such as Liberty, and still pose a threat despite running with a couple of small facilities and ducttaped civilian gear. They have always been under pressure, and that's when people show their true face, so there'd be no way they could pretend they're strong and actually believe what they want is worth fighting for, and that's what makes them maybe the most honest group of individuals in the colonies, who fight and die for what they want because they believe it's worth fighting for... And still, even such a group has its flaws and mistakes. Their unreasonable hatred toward any and all foreigners, and the extremely paranoid nature they had developed over the years against anyone outside their inner-circle, believing it was essential for their survival.
It was ironic when one was forced to shoot the very same people he respected, but self-defense had no boundaries, and when it came to fights, he never gave up. Of course, to an extremely xenophobic group like them, a freelancer with Gallic accent and a ship of Kusari and Rheinland origins could appear as more of a threat than the Navy cruiser patrol barely outside scanner range. That was the biggest flaw of every half-decent group he knew - Seeing everything as pure black or complete white, with nothing inbetween. Still, no man was perfect and it was no reason to treat them like everyone else, while they actually weren't. To him, the Xenos - despite having the looks of one of the most primitive and least-progressed factions in space - were one step closer to his definition of perfection than anyone else in the galaxy.
For some reason, Xenos always reminded him of the Corse back in Gallia. Both claiming to be the same thing, but in practice, two whole different groups. Where Xenos fought for their home, even giving their lives for it, the Corse painted massive Gallic flags on their ships just to conceal their mafia-like nature of existence and all their dirty deals - Smuggling drugs, trading in girls, sheltering wanted criminals, and every sort of crap a man could think of. One thing he knew for sure, was that he might have ended up joining a group of real patriots back in Gallia instead of taking off to Sirius, only if Gallia really had such a group... And maybe then, his life would had never been anything like the life he now had.
It was ironic when one was forced to shoot the very same people he respected, but self-defense had no boundaries, and when it came to fights, he never gave up. Of course, to an extremely xenophobic group like them, a freelancer with Gallic accent and a ship of Kusari and Rheinland origins could appear as more of a threat than the Navy cruiser patrol barely outside scanner range. That was the biggest flaw of every half-decent group he knew - Seeing everything as pure black or complete white, with nothing inbetween. Still, no man was perfect and it was no reason to treat them like everyone else, while they actually weren't. To him, the Xenos - despite having the looks of one of the most primitive and least-progressed factions in space - were one step closer to his definition of perfection than anyone else in the galaxy.
For some reason, Xenos always reminded him of the Corse back in Gallia. Both claiming to be the same thing, but in practice, two whole different groups. Where Xenos fought for their home, even giving their lives for it, the Corse painted massive Gallic flags on their ships just to conceal their mafia-like nature of existence and all their dirty deals - Smuggling drugs, trading in girls, sheltering wanted criminals, and every sort of crap a man could think of. One thing he knew for sure, was that he might have ended up joining a group of real patriots back in Gallia instead of taking off to Sirius, only if Gallia really had such a group... And maybe then, his life would had never been anything like the life he now had.
RE: Imperfection - Saerieve - 11-06-2012
Part XVII: Old Habits
His whole body hurt thanks to having to sleeping in his Katana cockpit for past few days. It reminded him of the months he spent in his Roc, but he was used to it back then. Now though, bad habit of sleeping on a bed had gotten into him. Old habits die hard, they say, but for him, regaining those habits seemed to be much harder. He never remembered himself this weak, this vulnerable. Granting himself the liberty of luxury had taken all his strength, and he no longer was that thick-skinned freelancer flying around with not a single worry in his mind. He had gotten so used to the life Dragons had given him, the life he had accepted over desperation, and the same life that had betrayed him in the end, and now, right when he wanted, needed to start fresh and clean, he was just coming to realize he had no longer had the strength to live the life he was lived, before settling in Kusari.
Barrier Gate. It was the one place in the whole universe he could possibly call home again. It belonged to no one, and it was nowhere near any of the houses, and it was the very same place he had called home before moving to Kusari. If it was one place he could earn his fresh start, it would've been the Barrier; But he was not going to live the life he lived during his last stay on Barrier. Even if he wanted, he was not the same person anymore, so the same life couldn't have been anything but a pretentious gesture, a fake mask, just like everyone else. Instead of living a life with no reason, and living a life for someone else's reasons, he wanted to restart his life, but with his own reasons this time. Having his own rules, his own goals, his own plans, and living a life for himself, not unknowingly enslaved by people he'd never truly know.
Space didn't feel the same with its confusing touch. Every single place he went to, felt like its first time despite having dozens of memories buried behind it. He knew all he needed was some rest, cause he knew no matter how much strength he put into restarting his life, he still wasn't ready for such a life, didn't have the strength to live it fully. Barrier was his next stop, he needed a room with nothing but a bed and a shower, and some real food so the actual taste of his meal could help him think more clearly, rather than having to such on a tube and pretend to enjoy it. Exhausted from his long flight, he did wish for another way into Coronado, but he knew he was not patient enough to take the Taus route, and between choosing Baffin and Cortez, the later was undoubtedly his choice, because the one thing he didn't want to get into was having to shoot some useless Zoners, simply because.
Barrier Gate. It was the one place in the whole universe he could possibly call home again. It belonged to no one, and it was nowhere near any of the houses, and it was the very same place he had called home before moving to Kusari. If it was one place he could earn his fresh start, it would've been the Barrier; But he was not going to live the life he lived during his last stay on Barrier. Even if he wanted, he was not the same person anymore, so the same life couldn't have been anything but a pretentious gesture, a fake mask, just like everyone else. Instead of living a life with no reason, and living a life for someone else's reasons, he wanted to restart his life, but with his own reasons this time. Having his own rules, his own goals, his own plans, and living a life for himself, not unknowingly enslaved by people he'd never truly know.
Space didn't feel the same with its confusing touch. Every single place he went to, felt like its first time despite having dozens of memories buried behind it. He knew all he needed was some rest, cause he knew no matter how much strength he put into restarting his life, he still wasn't ready for such a life, didn't have the strength to live it fully. Barrier was his next stop, he needed a room with nothing but a bed and a shower, and some real food so the actual taste of his meal could help him think more clearly, rather than having to such on a tube and pretend to enjoy it. Exhausted from his long flight, he did wish for another way into Coronado, but he knew he was not patient enough to take the Taus route, and between choosing Baffin and Cortez, the later was undoubtedly his choice, because the one thing he didn't want to get into was having to shoot some useless Zoners, simply because.
RE: Imperfection - Saerieve - 11-06-2012
Part XVIII: Home, Bitter Home
"What has happened to this place? Colonials? What happened to the 'free space' where no one ruled, no one enforced, and no one tried to control? A system - one system in whole Sirius - occupied by freelancers, with no boundaries and no 'government'? Where were all those people from Barrier when the Colonials decided to move in? Why didn't they do anything? They had to wait this long, till it's too late, to realize how the Colonial establishment ruins their freedom? Coronado deserved more than this, it was always meant to be a free system, with no one trying to rule over it, and how stupid could someone be not to realize the presence of Colonials or any other like them was against the basic nature of the system? Why didn't anyone stand up to protect the little bit of freedom left in Coronado? Did everyone really have to wait till it was too late..? Or was it actually too late...?"
Barrier was still cheaper than Zoner bases when it came to renting a room. It reminded him of the time he used to call that place "home", every single room in wing C looked the same, so he couldn't tell whether he was lucky enough to get the same room again or was it a whole different room which so strangely reminded him of the room he used to live in, and yet, couldn't clearly remember.. Just like how no one really seemed to remember him. The only person who did was the bartender, and even him, wasn't sure if it's the same person he thinks it is.. Or was he, still the same person? Less than an hour ago, when he was still in the hangar, he had noticed the ship dealer putting up a special offer for a brand new Roc. Seeing that one announcement on the news board was enough to throw him back to years ago, when he had docked on Barrier for the first time, flying his brand new Roc.
It was an unhealthy practice for a man who tried to forget, a man who didn't drink and smoke as much anymore, and a man who had decided to be the best he can be, for himself, not for anyone else. He knew one thing he didn't need was his past. He had learned all the lessons he should have learned, and there was no use in reviewing the past anymore. He was trying his best to leave his past behind, to stop every similarity from throwing him into his past, to live in the moment and never again bother with his past. But the more he tried, the more impossible it seemed. What was a perfect human then? Someone filled with fear and regret, afraid of living a life, with no real goal? That wasn't his definition of a perfect human, and that definitely wasn't the life he wanted to live for the rest of the time he had left.
Barrier was still cheaper than Zoner bases when it came to renting a room. It reminded him of the time he used to call that place "home", every single room in wing C looked the same, so he couldn't tell whether he was lucky enough to get the same room again or was it a whole different room which so strangely reminded him of the room he used to live in, and yet, couldn't clearly remember.. Just like how no one really seemed to remember him. The only person who did was the bartender, and even him, wasn't sure if it's the same person he thinks it is.. Or was he, still the same person? Less than an hour ago, when he was still in the hangar, he had noticed the ship dealer putting up a special offer for a brand new Roc. Seeing that one announcement on the news board was enough to throw him back to years ago, when he had docked on Barrier for the first time, flying his brand new Roc.
It was an unhealthy practice for a man who tried to forget, a man who didn't drink and smoke as much anymore, and a man who had decided to be the best he can be, for himself, not for anyone else. He knew one thing he didn't need was his past. He had learned all the lessons he should have learned, and there was no use in reviewing the past anymore. He was trying his best to leave his past behind, to stop every similarity from throwing him into his past, to live in the moment and never again bother with his past. But the more he tried, the more impossible it seemed. What was a perfect human then? Someone filled with fear and regret, afraid of living a life, with no real goal? That wasn't his definition of a perfect human, and that definitely wasn't the life he wanted to live for the rest of the time he had left.
RE: Imperfection - Saerieve - 11-06-2012
Part XIX: Grand Finale
No one dared to stand up and shout about the imperfection in the world. Just like no one dared to stand up against the Colonials who came in, claiming Coronado as their own, while there were thousands of freelancers who had been there long before the Colonials even entered the system for the first time. Everyone sat there, accepting defeat and misery, thinking one man could not change the world.. While they couldn't have been more wrong. If one man appears, who'd be willing to fight for what he really believes in, for making his own world the way he believes it should be, two more will follow, and dozens after them. One man cannot change the world on his own, but who says one man can't show the true purpose of being alive to the rest of the world, so -they- do what it takes to make their own world a better place.
No one could live forever, so what did it matter if he died twenty years younger, but died really fighting for what he wanted? What was the value of life if there was no purpose behind it? And what was the value of having a purpose, if it wasn't respected and treasured by everyone? What a man could do to make others see his point in life, if everyone were too busy just doing as they were told, or blindly following in their fathers' footsteps for generations, or doing nothing but struggling to survive? No man could create a perfect world on his own, but even one man was enough to trigger what it took for others to start making the world a better place... And what if he was that one man? What if he was the one who would willingly sacrifice his own life, and many others', to open everyone's eyes and make them actually see where their world is heading to... Even if it meant killing many, just to make a very few actually see and understand.
No one could live forever, so what did it matter if he died twenty years younger, but died really fighting for what he wanted? What was the value of life if there was no purpose behind it? And what was the value of having a purpose, if it wasn't respected and treasured by everyone? What a man could do to make others see his point in life, if everyone were too busy just doing as they were told, or blindly following in their fathers' footsteps for generations, or doing nothing but struggling to survive? No man could create a perfect world on his own, but even one man was enough to trigger what it took for others to start making the world a better place... And what if he was that one man? What if he was the one who would willingly sacrifice his own life, and many others', to open everyone's eyes and make them actually see where their world is heading to... Even if it meant killing many, just to make a very few actually see and understand.