Chapter One(?)
A lovely, sunny day in Curacao is being enjoyed by the many vacationers who visit her every day. One of which whom enjoys her luxury every day, albeit not a vacationer - but a Dockmaster. Isaac Darlington, a simple Bretonian man who thought he succeeded in life by having the fairly mundane job. Escaping from the tall, demeaning slums of Planet New London to such a vibrant environment changed his life, but little did he know that Sirius is a goldmine of surprises and opportunities.
It was a fairly average day at Isaac's landing pad. Luxury Yachts, Tauruses and the alike come through everyday, with the occasional Freelancer hitting the bar to refresh themselves in their seamlessly mundane journey they all tell about. "This is Freelancer, dash one-four-four..." Silence. A moment later the Freelancer frantically requests immediate docking permission to Isaac's pad. "This is airspace-traffic-control, Freelancer. Head to landing pad zero-four, over." The soaring Eagle comes down the atmosphere and lands elegantly upon the landing pad. Isaac steps forward to greet the Freelancer but the cockpit door does not open, he waits a few moments until the door hisses frantically, releasing gas and opens to reveal a bloody man, barely grasping air. "Sir! Are you okay?!" Isaac rushes up to the man but he already fallen flat, with a keen mind he thought to himself to quickly perform CPR on the unconscious man. Chest compression after another, he's trying his best for a solid ten-seconds when suddenly he got frustrated and pushed a tidsy-tiny-bit too hard on the man's chest and heard a crack, "Shit". No pulse.
After hopelessly botching up his CPR attempt and technically murdering an innocent person, thinking he should've called the paramedics instead to save the day. "I ain't going to jail for this" He thought to himself, he passed so many hardships, lost many friends and backstabbed many just to get where he is right now. Isaac looked around and saw nobody, he dragged the man's body into the ship and closed the door. Wandering into the ship he notices nothing out of the ordinary, except for one strange glass bottle with writings he could not understood - it was definitely of Human origin though. The bottle is filled with only a few drops of pink fluid, with a small shine to it. Isaac figured the man drank something and didn't react well to it, he tossed aside the bottle and took control of the ship. "This is Freelancer... uhhh..." He fiddles around to see what's the ships transponder code. "This is airspace-traffic-control, please repeat that, over". "Uhh... This is Freelancer dash-hundred-forty-four, I just had a minor hiccup with my ship. Requesting to undock, over." "Copy that Freelancer, head over to the docking ring, over."
There was no going back for Isaac now, he quickly thought of an old buddy that he parted ways when they both got out of the slums of New London. A short trip to Barrier-Gate is all it took. Fast-forwarding to Coronado, Barrier-Gate, Isaac met his old buddy at his apartment-complex.
"...So yeah, now I'm here" "Y'know, you could've handled it better - but I don't blame ya'." "So can you help me get rid of that corpse in my cargo hold?"
A heavy sigh is heard, but Isaac's buddy owed him a favour. Although...
"What about the ship?" "Huh... haven't thought of that." "You got yourself a darn good ship, not gonna lie, she's even outfitted with the latest reinforced plating, and she can kick a punch with six forward guns." "What are you suggesting? I become some Freelancer or Mercenary?" "Why not? People say it's the most extravagant lifestyle out there, and you pretty much have a mobile home with you. Just make sure to keep maintenance of the ship so she don't tear apart in space." "I'll think about it..."
