Trinkets and Baubles

[Geno]

//This is just a silly, stupid storytelling idea I'm going to be doing for a bunch of Freelancer items to get myself into writing longer posts. It's just an itch I had in the back of my mind for a while after spending copious amounts of hours playing Risk of Rain. Icons embellished by @Sombs.

CIGARS DELIVERY INVOICE SERIAL ID: PXM-RCRNL-CURACAO-TIN448192 MANUFACTURING PLANT: La Iglesia Manufacturing .ltd SHIPPING METHOD: SPACEBOUND SHIPPING PRIORITY: Medium DELIVERY ADDRESS: Milcreek Township, 25.3°N, 91.7°E, Planet Erie SHIPPING DETAILS: Alright, listen up. This is the last shipment of cigars I'm able to afford for your garrison. With the last bit of credits we managed to scrape together during our last raid on the Neon factories, we were able to resell a profitable amount of industrial machinery back to those hungry scrap-peddling Junkers. You've earned this - but keep in mind. The fight must go on, no matter what. I know our losses were devastating, and I know how many good people we've lost in the fight. Hope is bleak right now, but I know that eventually, someday, we will take back what is rightfully ours. We'll have a free Erie. And we will all be able to enjoy these in peace without having to spend all of waking hours starving and rotating our people constantly for firewatch. You owe me one, Radford. Going all the way to Curacao unnoticed was not easy. Enjoy these in good health, and enjoy every day as though it were your last. - Pilot Treccani

[Geno]

CARDAMINE I awoke with a gasp from the floor of my bathroom, drenched in various revolting pools of last night's dinner. A painful, throbbing headache manifested on the very moment I regained consciousness, like a million, billion sharp needles were simultaneously jabbed in my skull from every direction. But I knew why, I knew all too well, from the moment I foolishly decided to leave Malta. La mia aria arancione. Il mio ossigeno. My inhalant was out of commission, and I could not find a functioning cartridge anywhere in my apartment. It was far too dangerous for me to leave, so deep in enemy territory. This Freeport, so deep in the Omegas was no place for someone like me. And I should have known better. I should not have been so foolish. I stumbled across the tiled room, nearly slipping on my own regurgitations. I felt as though the very walls were threatening to close in on me, threatening to suffocate me if I could not find a aingle canister. A single whiff was all I needed to keep going, a few thousand molecules were all I needed to leave this place and finally reach my beloved. She was the air I truly needed in my lungs. But I had to fight the symptoms. I had to hold back my craving, the very lifeblood of my body and mind and soul. Eventually, I was able to stand on my feet with great effort. The urge was speaking to me - I've felt this before, I was no stranger to it. I knew all too well what would happen if I could not breathe my purified air at my earliest convenience. But this time, it was stronger than ever before. My tunnel vision was strong, almost nauseating. And I could swear I saw an iridescent hue in the corner of my deluded eyes. But I had to walk. I had to reach my ship. I had to leave this place and live on for her. I clenched my fists. I grit my teeth. Cold sweat drenched my forehead. And I walked out the door.

[Geno]

ENERGY SHIELD EQUIPMENT We were done for. Me, McDuff and Cullen had our backs against the wall. The Gauls had been encroaching from the plaza, from the skies, from their ships, from the ground and even from the mines for entire months. They were anywhere and everywhere, and they wanted to conquer Leeds in the name of their Kingdom. They were ferocious, and they spared no one as they continued to divide and conquer more and more strategic positions. There was nowhere we could run, but on the other hand, plenty of ways to die miserably, and hopefully, instantly. Be it at the hands of the sniper nests in the gored buildings, or by the ceaseless artillery shell explosions, or by the orbital attacks. Staying on the frontline of Leeds was indubitably a death sentence for all of us. Eventually, we came to terms with it - their advance was simply unstoppable. We could not win the war. Durham Border fell. Then Morley Falls followed. Many more regiments of marines fell with them. Regiments of good men and women, soldiers and brave volunteers. The Libertonians stood no chance against their onslaughts. They were picked apart, routed, bombed, sniped, and then bombed again. What chance in hell did we even stand? We made our peace. Leeds was a lost cause. As lost as the uncountable dead strewn across the streets and the walls. As lost as the carcasses of our capital ships, burning across the atmosphere, landing onto the martyred surface of the planet, and exploding into pieces. Eventually, our CO was caught in an ambush. A hovercar was rigged to explode, and him with it. There was nothing we could to to save the man. Though his wits were long gone, he loved his daughter very much. As we buried him, we could only do him a favour by taking the silver locket from his neck, in the hopes that if we were to ever escape Leeds we could return it to his wife and child. But in truth, we knew full well were left stranded. Left to die. I was next in the chain of command. We unanimously decided not to act as soldiers, but as scavengers. Survivors. When we finally managed to tune in with a long-range satellite connection, we had apparently been missing out on a planet-wide evac order that was sent out five days ago to every major starport on the planet - at this point there was little left on this cursed wasteland but us, more pockets of stubborn resistance, and the ongoing orbital bombardments lighting up the night in the far distance. It wasn't long before a lone patrol fighter found us running amok. It soared above our heads like a hungry carrion eater. It quickly soared in the sky and performed a U-turn and zoomed towards our position. We ran for shelter in the nearest building for cover as it rained the streets with scorching blue plasma. We stood no chance. This was it. This is how we die, we thought, buried in a ton of rubble in a dead world. The fighter's blue engine roared impatiently above our heads a few times. He was taunting us. Eventually, Cullen came up with an idea. One that wouldn't get us killed, but one that would at least would delay the inevitable. It was dubious at best, but we entrusted our lives with his plan. The white Lynx turned again as we emerged from our shelter. It quickly closed the gap between us as we provoked the pilot to attack us by opening fire with our laser rifles against its dark cockpit. As expected, the bird of prey was left unscathed. And that's when the mine fell above our heads - we could watch it prime and ignite and fall on top of us, like a small sun in the middle of the night. Every instant felt like an eternity. It was over. A flash of light, a roaring explosion, and the Fighter departed towards the skirmish taking place in the orbit of the planet. Clearly, dealing with combat capable targets was enough amusement for the pilot. And when the smoke cleared, the blue generator dissipated from Cullen's backpack, like a gigantic soap bubble retreating inside the tesla coil hanging by the side of his bag. We were covered in soot and asphalt, and we all laughed and wailed at the same time over the sheer absurdity of it all. We had bought ourselves time. But how much?