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A Mercenary
Well, here I am.
~3k from the Bractus-Pelatus Wormhole, my "brethren" floating away in their escape pod, with the purified xith transport down to 20%.
As the transport went terminal, I had an image of the patriarchs, back in Itan, trying to figure out where they went wrong in training a "clearly unstable youth" in the ways of combat.
Flash to my mother (thank goodness she's only at her bicentennial, this will probably come as a bit of a shock.)
And here I am,
Stuck in between the three worlds, a prisoner of grey, living swindle to score. Perhaps the ability to disappear into the vacuum doesn't come cheap, but it's available, and I need it.
I need it to escape these worlds of hypocrites. The itani, always waiting, waiting for peace, waiting for the serco to forget, waiting for enlightenment. They ignore the youth of our nation, forget their sacrifice in the litany of anti-conflict dogma. The Moral high ground is their only pursuit, no matter how many bodies they have to climb on.
Tired old men who let my comrades die, with talk of a better world that they will not pursue.
Or perhaps the peaceful traders.
Such peace, the traders mine their guns out of fear, not resolve. They are the veins of the conflict, back and forth. Power regulators delivered to every station underproducing fodder. Peace in the eye of the storm.
And the serco, those for whom I was born to hide my hate and show
only pity, are the only ones I can respect. They live life with meaning, and give of that life to their comrades, lovers, and friends. But though they may fear me, they will not share that love with me, or any other. To be serco is to guard what you have. And such guard brings a closed mind. They will forever push, until their muscles strain, and perspire blood. Until they contain everything, and are consumed by their lack of density.
I cannot abide this conflict, perhaps if I bring chaos, they will learn to bring order. Leaving behind the Purists, the Individuals, and the Warmongers. Who's to say which is which?
My guns spare no one. I will find my solace in your punishment.
~3k from the Bractus-Pelatus Wormhole, my "brethren" floating away in their escape pod, with the purified xith transport down to 20%.
As the transport went terminal, I had an image of the patriarchs, back in Itan, trying to figure out where they went wrong in training a "clearly unstable youth" in the ways of combat.
Flash to my mother (thank goodness she's only at her bicentennial, this will probably come as a bit of a shock.)
And here I am,
Stuck in between the three worlds, a prisoner of grey, living swindle to score. Perhaps the ability to disappear into the vacuum doesn't come cheap, but it's available, and I need it.
I need it to escape these worlds of hypocrites. The itani, always waiting, waiting for peace, waiting for the serco to forget, waiting for enlightenment. They ignore the youth of our nation, forget their sacrifice in the litany of anti-conflict dogma. The Moral high ground is their only pursuit, no matter how many bodies they have to climb on.
Tired old men who let my comrades die, with talk of a better world that they will not pursue.
Or perhaps the peaceful traders.
Such peace, the traders mine their guns out of fear, not resolve. They are the veins of the conflict, back and forth. Power regulators delivered to every station underproducing fodder. Peace in the eye of the storm.
And the serco, those for whom I was born to hide my hate and show
only pity, are the only ones I can respect. They live life with meaning, and give of that life to their comrades, lovers, and friends. But though they may fear me, they will not share that love with me, or any other. To be serco is to guard what you have. And such guard brings a closed mind. They will forever push, until their muscles strain, and perspire blood. Until they contain everything, and are consumed by their lack of density.
I cannot abide this conflict, perhaps if I bring chaos, they will learn to bring order. Leaving behind the Purists, the Individuals, and the Warmongers. Who's to say which is which?
My guns spare no one. I will find my solace in your punishment.
ay, a pirate be you, for those words, we congratulate, and honor the likes of yea.