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::Data Entry 0000000001::
I was released from chains. From where? I have no clue really. Why? Thats an even better question. My facial features ressemble the people I mingle with but I do not feel like I am a part of them. My sight registers things I'm familar with but its like the function in my brain that defines them is not working. The data registers and confirms what I'm seeing and gives it shape but never... meaning. Are they seeing what I'm seeing?
What are these things they are asking me to buy. Consumer goods stamped with subliminal messages. Giant vessels full of them fly past my window each night keeping me awake.
To my left I have a self proclaimed pilot of "law". I'm jaded from any sense of of thier seemingly lawful manners but thier path is intertwined with the same madness they seek to rid themselves of. Matter of fact I do belive hes the person responsible for me being in this situation in the first place. Yes, I'm quite sure it was him. Same scar. Same hat. Same fake smile.
To my right a simple person labeled as "independant" in an attempt to make themselves appear seperate from what society has created of the universe. I find this a strange situation in the least because they very much seem dependant on products created by these corperations. When you are growing your own food, producing your own oxygen, mining your own fuel and building your own spaceships, then you can call yourself that.
And here I am in the middle. Getting cold stares from this dark skinned figure across the room as I input this into a device I was given when I left my cell of confusion. Theres no other data left in it, but I feel as if I was meant to use it to collect my thoughts. I'm guessing there is a reason. I want to find out.
::Data Entry 0000000002::
That man in the bar claims my life will meet its end to his hands. As police were pulling him away from my body, which lay on the ground, he said "You're stupid to think we don't know you did it". Did what? I even asked the officer what this man was rambling about. He claimed he probably had too much to drink, but he was known as a Corsair. A Pirate he called them.
"If you are mixed up with these guys, you reak of trouble", the officer said.
"... You think Mr Detective? He had a knife at my throat. I'm pretty sure we were'nt about to play chess and discuss strategies in a civil manner", I replied as I brushed myself off. "Glad you guys are observant".
"Heres your ID card and Starflea key. Have a nice trip wherever you end up. If its here again I'm putting you right back in that cell", he says with a sense of authority that was sincere but more from perspective that this guy has a hard on for being in a powerful spot.
As I was coming to terms that he was probably correct in suggesting I leave, an explosion filled the sky and I heard a woman scream that a Xeno was attacking. I'm thinking to myself... It isnt safe out there either.
"So where can I buy a gun?"
::Data Entry 0000000003::
My first day as a "freelancer" was a total disaster. This spaceship while nimble has the firepower of a small child throwing a paper ball at a brick building. There has to be a better way to make a living. I'm seeing people flying in craft that have guns mounted in every possible direction and the military force here is seemingly strong, but when that Rogue was shooting my windshield out where were they? They were pulling over a trader that did nothing wrong.
I noticed people were collecting debris and taking it to stations for money and I tried to do it. I guess live humans trapped in escape pods are considered bad cause here comes that same policeman giving me some lip about carrying illegal contraband and asking me to hand it over. So I comply cause the gun mounted on the front of his craft is bigger than my entire ship. What does he do? He tractors the cargo in and lands at a base within viewing distance and collects his paycheck for what *I* worked for. This is no land of Liberty. This is land of fools if they can't see it.
I fear what might lie in deep space will just get worse, but soon as I can afford something its traveling time. ID and IFF regulations? I need an ID. I need this and that. I need bigger weapons. I know what I really need. I need credits. I need whatever the heck it was they were feeding me in prison. My hands won't stop shaking. I can't aim. I can barely drive my craft. I feel robbed of life. I guess thats what a city does.
::Data Entry 0000000004::
Its been many cycles since I wrote. I've ventured into new lands and seen civilizations, but it just seems the same everywhere I go. Good guys. Bad guys. I've had my craft torn apart by all of them. I've been towed back to the cities and rescued from my escape pod an embarrising amount of times. The guy that repairs ship in Juyno has started giving me discounts cause he said he feels sorry for me.
I wonder if I keep flying will I ever reach the edge.
::Data Entry 0000000005::
I've entered incredibly hostile space. I was chased by Corsair pilots into a jump gate that lead me to solid radiation fields. I navigated my way through asteroids and thick clouds when finally they cleared and I saw the most beautiful view I have encountered. Space without trade lanes. No commerce chatter. No police pulling me over for nothing.
My entrance wasnt quite welcomed. I explained my position and was allowed to enter Planet Malta under supervision after a lot of grief by locals about ID. Everywhere I go. ID ID ID ID ID. Ok I get the point. Stop shoving it my face. I have no clue whats going on. I'm a stranger in the universe and people assume the pieces of the puzzle are supposed to just magically fit. So a bit flustered I made my way into the bar and was greeted by the most hostile bartender I've encountered.
"GET OUTTA HERE THERES NO WORK FOR YOU!", he screams.
On my way out I run into pilot and I was kinda startled at first. He kinda resembled that guy that already tried to kill me.
"You look pretty banged up mate. Here have a little bit of this", he said with a smile.
"What is it?", I asked as looked at the pill in my hand.
What the heck. It really cant get much worse. I'm 10 million light years away from a home I don't even have. If it kills me I actually gain something. A way out of this crazy nightmare.
I swallowed the pill with a drink the pilot bought me and he looks at the bartender and says 'You know this guy right?"
The bartender replies "I've never seen the kid in my life. He walks in here like hes Trent Edison or something as if I got work for a NOBODY". He sticks his finger in my chest and pushes me back against the chair.
The pilot just starts busting out laughing and I went from feeling like I had met a friend , right back to the confusion that I had just been drugged and was about to experience something worse than death itself.
"Just relax kid. My first time.. Hell I don't even remember my first time. It does'nt do that much to me anymore, but without it I'm space toast. Just dust in the wind man. THATS ALL WE ARE!"
The bartender and the pilot start carrying a tune I had never heard before. The melody swept into a trance and I found myself singing along with a tune I had no recollection of. The bar dissappeared and I was gone. I mean gone. I feel at the point of insanity even typing this but I know it was real.
When I woke up there was a letter beside me on the floor. The white envelope had a word written in fancy gold writing on the front.
"Omerta"
I opened the letter and it asked me to report to the shipyard immediatly to start assignments. Great... I got high and joined the army...