[color=#FFFFFF]Logan Willows, which was not his real surname, was given to him by Sarah Willows who during that time served the Liberty Navy at the rank of Lieutenant. Prior to Sarah's orphanage, Logan had spent most of his time in the slums of Hudson. Having lost his mother at birth and his father killed by a criminal gang at the age of twelve, he resorted to thievery in order to survive. Logan along with several other underage criminals were captured by the local police enforcement at the age of thirteen. Being parentless, he was quickly sent to Hartford Care Taking Center, during the same year he was introduced to Sarah Willows.
Sarah Willows had since that time raised Logan as his own son. The strong affection which she had for Logan provided him with a new meaning to life and as a result of that he was persuaded at the age of seventeen to enlist himself to West Point Academy Flight School. There Logan was recognized for what seemed to be natural flight talent and was swiftly transported to the Fighter-class training. The following years Logan improved with a rapid pace and at the age of nineteen graduated as the best fighter pilot of his class.
Three months later Logan decided to apply for the Liberty Navy in hope to redeem his illegal past and reach for a brighter future. However, it seemed as the longer Logan served in the Navy, more of his younger rebellious attitude returned. Showing continuously disrespect towards Admiral Hale himself as well as several other key-members of the Navy such as Vice Admiral MacTavish and Commodore Robinson, he was known for being a "pestering annoying little prick." But in the end, he got the job done. Perhaps that was always the reason why Admiral Hale never decided to boot him out, one thing was for certain though, it wasn't for his personality.
During Logan's later years flying for the blue-colored justice bringers known as the Liberty Navy, he decided to write a dairy, just for the heck of it. Well... you couldn't really call it a diary, more like a personal log that reflected his persona in its truest form.
[font=Palatino Linotype]December 17, 817 AS
Second entry.
[color=#FFFFFF]Dear diary,
Bah! This stupid cardamine is givin' me a real hassle I tell ya' that. Just the other day I was frickin' black-mailed by a Mercenary who had caught me carrying around that crap. Had to cough up like a mil' just to shut him up.
Wait, why am I even writin' this down? Am I an emotional poet or something? Hahaha. At least I'm nowhere as close as that sissy boy Tom Preager who has to cry for back-up every single time he stumbles into some real action. Pshh, you can't call yourself a man until you have flied solo.
P.S. Is the next shipping of cardamine tomorrow or in two days? I'm runnin' out preeetty fast.
[font=Palatino Linotype]January 5, 818 AS
Third entry.
[color=#FFFFFF]Dear diary,
Hahahaha! Oh this is just too funny... oh man.
So I was strollin' around New York doin' the usual stuff, ya'know, blasting baddies and whatnot. Suddenly, this fella' named Roger-something starts yapping off in the comms tellin' me how I should do MY job. Then he has the frickin' guts to call me an Ensign. Being nothin' below the standards of a good man, I ask for a simple apology. Do I get one? NO!
So I find this chicken-shi* hiding close to the vicinity of Planet Manhattan, and then I ask him again. Only this time, face to face. Well all of a sudden', he wasn't Mr. Tough Guy anymore and decided to walk away, without an apology. Now to me, that sounds like some heavy show of disrespect. By now that fella' asked for it and he got what he deserved.
Smoked him good. Now I just have to deal with that sissy boy crying on high-command's shoulder.
[font=Palatino Linotype]January 11, 818 AS
Fourth entry.
[color=#FFFFFF]Dear diary,
Holy frickin' hell! Talk about Liberty drama goin' on.
Big-shots from both the Liberty Security Force and the Liberty Navy are havin' a go at each other.
And the worst part?
My own frickin' mother is in the middle of the firin' line.
Now I don't even know half the story of this conflict that resembles a drunken brawl between two morons but I tell ya' one thing, if this shi* ends up on my table, I ain't gonna be a happy guy. 'Cus ya' see, I'm a simple fella'. You point me at the enemy and I smoke' him. End of story. Capisce? Yeah, well if only everyone thought like me we would end this frickin' war at the very same day it started. It's not like the strudel-munchers have a shot.
Hah! I tell ya', ever heard of the expression "Like stealing candy from a baby."? Well pal', smokin' Rheinlanders is more easier than that.
[font=Palatino Linotype]January 23, 818 AS
Fifth entry.
[color=#FFFFFF]Dear diary,
More problems with the Willows family, or my mom to be more exact.
Today's events could be called "traumatic" to say the least.
It all actually started quite frickin' dandy if you ask me. I was havin' loads of fun smokin' a couple of cardamine-sniffers who were gettin' dirty with a trader. And just as the last fella' bit the dust, I quickly exclaimed my victory with a "Boom goes the dynamite!" Ya' know, gotta keep the crowd entertained an' all.
Now ya' see, the funny thing about this was that a strudel-muncher out-of-the-frickin'-blue screamed, "So said your mother last night." Now first thought that crossed my mind was to find this jerk and teach him some manners. But for some weird reason, which at that time made less sense than Chrissy gettin' it on with another fella' than myself, I answered: "Ironically, what ya' said couldn't be more closer to the truth."
Reflectin' on that now, I just frickin' admitted that my own mother was screwing aroun' on a daily basis. And now we ain't talkin' just one guy. See, bein' her son an' all, that's frickin' messed up.
Oh man, I seriously need some of that cardamine right now.
[font=Palatino Linotype]February 1, 818 AS
Sixth entry.
[color=#FFFFFF]Dear diary,
This is just frickin' perfect!
I swear if it ain't a family curse it must be somethin' even worser. 'Cus every time one of us Willows fellas' starts gettin' it on with another person, it ends up crashin' into a ditch, if ya' get my drift. It sure as hell has crashed into somethin' this time, I tell ya' that. Looks like this place is some sort of an underground cellar, whatever it is, scares the hell outta' me. And I ain't a guy who gets scared easily, ya'know, bein' a man of the Willows an' all, comes with the package.
The whole freakish scenario leads me to two conclusions though, either Chrissy is a torturin' maniac or she has a crazy fetish in the pain area. To be honest, I don't know which one I would prefer the most.
Oh, an' it gets even better. Apparently, durin' the whole "Chrissy-gone-crazy" shootin' the livin' daylights outta' my Guardian event, my own mother stepped in and decided it would be a fun idea to strip away the Orange Juice stash to save all the hassle. Now, I wouldn't give a - if it wasn't for the fact that I'm frickin' locked in a crazy woman's cellar.
Just like a ship: No juice, no go. Breakin' it down for ya'. It basically means, if I don't get that cardamin' anytime soon, I will be a goner.
By the way, where did that- OSHI- I can hear Chrissy comin' clos---
[font=Palatino Linotype]February 12, 818 AS
Seventh entry.
[color=#FFFFFF]Dear diary,
Booyah! Now that's what I'm talkin' 'bout.
So, got myself out of this frickin' cellar and back to ol' stinkin' Liberty.
Oh Liberty! With your Navy-suckups, your Civilian boy-scouts and of course, your retarded Admirals. How great isn't it to come back and fight for a piece of shi* house who needs twenty nannies to screw a light bulb.
But 'nuff of the bad stuff, today was actually a great day. Or shall I say, an Orange day? Hehehe!
That's right, I just hooked up with my ol' cardamin'-sniffin'-jackass named D. Jameson. D for "damaged in the frickin' head." Had a distress call comin' from Willard Station in the California system. Little did I know that I would find him or "it" to be more exact, sittin' there five clicks south doin' ... nothin'! Was juuuust 'bout to smoke him, and suddenly that machine-man-whatever thingy started yappin' 'bout how I could gain much more than just killin' him.
Thought it was just a bad joke at start but it turned out he was talkin' some sense for the first time. Ya'see, I did say it was an Orange Day right? Well, let's just say that whatever Orange Juice I had before, ain't nothin' compared to what I will have soon. I'm talkin' routine shipments, underground style.
Oh, I just loooove the smell of cardamin' in the mornin'.
'Cus it sure as hell will smell cardamin' every-frickin'-day now, hahahaha!
[font=Palatino Linotype]February 20, 818 AS
Eight entry.
[color=#FFFFFF]Dear diary,
Wooohooo!
I didn't frickin' realize this 'ole cardamin' thing was a real-deal until I saw it happenin' in front of my frickin' eyes.
Oh yeah! Those freaky things just keep comin' to me like it was frickin' raining cardamin'.
But I tell ya', today's shipment was a close one. The idiot, who now by the way demands me to call him "Doc", like he was a frickin' doctor! More like a goddamn jinx bringin' bad luck like it was his frickin' shadow.
Aaanyways, what I was about to say, is that "Doc" thought it would be a funny move to do the 'ole swap next to a frickin' trade-lane. Bein' the only guy with an egg for a head among us, it was my duty to inform Mr. Wise-Guy-I-know-everythin' that we ran the risk of gettin' caught more easily than me sleepin' with Chrissy-babe. And then it's pretty frickin' easy, I tell ya' that.
Ya' may be wonderin', so what the hell did Mr. Wise-Guy-I-know-everythin' reply? Well, him bein'
Mr. Wise-Guy-I-know-everythin' said in a I-know-everythin' tone that he knows everythin'! So I should just shut up and do the frickin' trade.
I just came for the juice anyways, so what the heck.
As usual "Doc" wanted a sample of my tissues. I feel sorry for all those manly Logan-cells bein' given away to a sissy-boy like him. But for the juice, even those Logan-cells would be willin' to take one for the team.
Hehe, as those cardamin'-sniffers say, even Logan is gettin' a piece of the "Orange Dream".
[font=Palatino Linotype]March 2, 818 AS
Ninth entry.
[color=#FFFFFF]Dear diary,
Landed a big one! Doc tossed out cardamin' like it was frickin' christmas!
Twenty units pal! Can ya' frickin' believe it?! That'll keep me busy for at least two weeks.
Talkin' 'bout big stuff, I'm startin' to get into trouble with the big-shots. Especially with that moron Sissy-Hale, who's nosin' around my Juice-business. The funny thing is tho', he already knows I'm takin' the Orange Juice an' he can't do jack-all 'bout it due to the sole fact that Sarah is my mother. Hah! I bet if that sissy-boy had his way I would probably be sittin' there in Sugarland eatin' some disgustin' grey substance which they have the guts to call "food".
Regardless, I gotta stay frosty out there. 'Cus I don't think even my mother's wrath will protect my sorry behind forever. An' if this shi* gets investigated I will be in a tight spot, 'cus they will find that I'm not just takin' cardamin', I'm also doin' deals with a pretty powerful criminal.
Perhaps if I get Chrissy-babe knocked up I might have another safety net, hahahaha!