Flying from Darmstadt to the Omega 11 jump hole, Wesley's contemplative mood meant that he didn't notice anything unusual until a transmission broke through the lulling static of space, followed by a thought not his own.
Dread iced the inside of Wesley's stomach, yet still he called for it to show itself. A Wilde, here. He did not know why he felt so, as he had bested them numerous times before, but something told him this would be different. Continuing on course, the abomination came into view, blocking his way. A Scorpion Gunboat.
Words were exchanged, then a fierce battle ensued. Wesley fought valiantly, and acquitted himself admirably, but down he went regardless.
As he floating in his pod, he felt his escape pod move, come into the Scorpion gunboat... he had never known such fear as before. The radio speakers of the escape pod emitted only the background lullaby of space, but in his mind was something different.
With a jolt, the man woke up, head laying on top of the console of a ship. He had no idea where or when he was, and after a startled moment, he didn't know who he was. Panicing, he cast about for something to latch on to. He looked at the unfamiliar controls of the ship, unsure what to do. He viewed the sensor readout and saw unfamiliar runes that told the tale of surrounding space. Looking out the cockpit, he saw an orange cloud.
Not knowing how or why, he started the ship and engaged the cruise engines, destination unknown, on a quest for answers.
The controls were second-nature. He knew that much, and it was a fact that he filed away for future examination. The transponder read 'LWB', though he hadn't the faintest idea what it meant. Another fact. He accessed the database and started reading. The LWB was obviously a farmer's rights movement that had gone violent (maybe he was a farmer?), and operated in Rheinland. Rheinland was a sovereign nation consisting of the systems New Berlin, Stuttgart, Dresden, Frankfurt, and Munich, as well as a few other lesser ones.
Each fact he learned he cross-referenced, eventually dredging through a large part of the database, and yet his thirst for knowledge did not slake. Indeed, it grew. Then he got to the personnel database, and immediately began looking for himself. The name-plate on his flight suit said 'Wesley Richter', so that's what he entered.
He poured over every word of it, seeing that he had a mother and sister, no information on his father. He had been part of the Rheinland Military until defection due to 'classified reasons'. His head swam at the information. Then he looked up.
He was surrounded by orange, and in front of his ship was a station. Autopilot had carried him... home?
Wesley had been gone for some time, apparently. Almost a week. Getting worried, the leader of the LWB himself set out to look for him. However, once they exited the cloud and started their scanners at full power, Darmstadt Control called back, informing them that Wesley had just returned. The comm silence from the Wrath was worrying, however, so Johann and Franz, flying his wing, returned as fast as they could. As Wesley's comm began working, it became apparent that there had been no mechanical malfunction. The conversation became increasingly odd, as it became quite apparent that Wesley wasn't himself...
"... I don't remember a thing." Wesley said. Shocked, static-filled silence was all the comm channel held. Then:
"How could you not remember? You're a hero, Wesley..." The tone of his voice indicated that it was the honest truth. The word 'hero' echoed in his mind. Johann's voice, so familiar... the voice of his sister, of his mother, blending into one. Sounds.
Wesley Richter woke up in his ship, slumped in his chair. Outside the viewport was the orange mist of the Ostnebel, and over the comms was the voice of a worried Johann. In a firm voice, Wesley reassured him that he was quite himself. He remembered. Well, mostly... what happened after his ship was destroyed by the Wilde Gunboat was still uncertain, as it was all a haze from that point until he woke up. But for the most part, he remembered, and to prove it, he swung his ship around and docked with Darmstadt without using autopilot docking procedures - a most dangerous thing to do, especially for the unskilled.
He was back. Now, he just had to figure out what the damn Wilde had done to him, and get those missing days of his life back...
It was an ordinary day on patrol, until he decided to stop by to have a chat with Wesley.
Josef Bauer had once been in the LWB, but no longer - he was now infected by the vermin Nomads, and one of the Wilde that haunted Wesley's thoughts. Was he going paranoid? Was he winning or losing? He knew not, but so obsessed with destroying that which intruded on his thoughts was he, that Wesley set a course for Omega 55 - the belly of the beast - to put an end to it, to kill Josef.
He couldn't do it. He sat outside the jump hole, poised to strike, but he still fought the battle for his mind which he had not won. How can you win a war when you could not wear them down, nor retaliate in an offensive? You cannot. You can simply hold on and hope. Soon, he turned around and returned to Darmstadt, still fighting. He refused to yield, but he also refused to attack physically. Some other time, but not now. Not when he knew he would lose.
Wesley's paranoia became a legend that snowballed to the size of the overall myth surrounding him. He spent more and more time in the Biergarten, the bar of Darmstadt, drinking without really getting drunk. Usually. One thing he had long-since learned was his "addiction" to the Wrath was gone, but he still felt a sense of preserving it as he felt like keeping himself alive.
Time passed. Any non-LWB member was infected. Some Kusari chick that came by Darmstadt looking for Udo while he was in prison was infected, though she damned herself in Wesley's eyes by playing into his paranoia, talking like a Wilde. No one to trust but the other LWB, except... Josef infected, Johann gone...
A hand shook the slumbering form of Wesley, slumped in a comfy armchair in the Stuttgart Biergarten -- Darmstadt's finest bar. Groggily, Wesley came to.
"Dammit Wenzel, what'd I say..."
He couldn't quite remember what he had said. Something about not waking him up. Or letting Udo sit on him.
"I am quite sorry, Herr Richter. I know you are die Hero of Stuttgart," he said to Wesley's growled protests that he wasn't any damn fool hero, "but you've been in here for the past 28 hours."
Anything Wesley had been saying was caught in his throat, and in a rather high octave, he inquired:
"Twenty-eight hours?" Wenzel nodded gravely.
"But... but..."
"What is wrong, Herr Richter?"
Suddenly, in a burst of surprising -- given his previous lethargic state -- stamina, he was out of his chair and bounding around the bar in a flash.
"I'M FREE! FREEEEEEEEE! Wenzel, get a round for everyone, on my tab!"
"But Herr Richter, you drink free..."
"Then everyone gets a free round! I'M FREE!"
To Wesley, it seemed as if the curse of the Wrath addiction had been lifted.