It has been some time since I've addressed my personal logs. Sadly, an old habit of mine that has seemed to fall by the wayside since leaving the empire. I intend to reestablish the practice, here and now.
I may as well bring these new logs up to date from the ones I left behind in Empire months ago.
The months leading up to the the present have only been marginally eventful. I assumed work under the Angel Cartel, within a capsuleer division named Ghost Festival. Small, though far more experienced in the low-security spacelanes than I. Competent pilots, though I did not take the time to extend my association with them than that beyond a fleetmate. Only one really interested myself enough to have any remote inclination of social interaction. She left shortly after I joined, and I've heard very little of her.
It would seem I had joined a corporation and alliance in the state of a quiet boil. The directorship and its declining number of followers seemed to be at odds. Needless to say, sparing the details, much of the corporation and its associated alliance are now moving in their own directions. As such, Ghost Festival is being placed in stasis by the directorate until someone is willing the take the reins again.
There was a direction offered offered from another corporation. They were willing to take on some of Ghost Festival's employees being as both corporations are in the same trade. I've this with many other avenues, from following a handful of the Ghosts who left before the stasis to an offer from one of my old intelligence contracts in null-sec. Given this offering corporation's ... reputation ... I've chosen to take up their offer. I am still waiting to see what comes of it at present.
I do wonder though. Moving from one organization to another. Survival has my loyalties more liquid as of late. Quite against from how I've been programmed. In the past I would have stayed regardless of how many others were present, unless directed to leave by higher authority. Perhaps the forced engrams are breaking. That I can even talk about them now is another thing. I am wondering what further changes survival will impress upon me.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Ghosts of the Past
#establishing connection ...
#securing transmission...
The video recording starts. Rol is seated in front of the camera with tools in hand working on some sort of long, mechanical apparatus. He glances once to the camera and begins speaking, attention held on his work of the unknown device.
"Mister Deckhard Aura, I was hoping to relay this information in person but circumstances at the moment seem to have declared otherwise.
I took your offer, in a sense, and have begun working with the Ghost Festival. Though, Mister Aura, it appears you have moved on into other venues."
Rol looks to the camera briefly.
"The reason for the prerecorded message both an act of penance for my own duplicity and to bring a certain ... equilibrium between us.
As we are both keenly aware the last situation under which we spoke brought the attention of certain organizations upon us, ultimately driving many under your employ out of the Amarr Empire and into lower security space. Your actions and missteps brought ruin to your corporation and upon those under tenure. A betrayal of incompetence.
Given your background and what I know of you Mister Aura, I doubt guilt will take hold for long. I am not one to fault the mechanization's of the past as they have molded you. That would be ... hypocritical of me. You recall when I was put into your employ as a Religous Advisor to your corporation? That is the moment I betrayed you."
Rol sets the tools aside and diverts his attention fully to the camera.
"I was not only working for you, but as an agent of the Ministry of Internal Order. I did not only give the standard audit logs, but internal reports of activity, associations, operations, and more critically ... the placement of your clones and related transmission data. You were being watched, Mister Aura. You could not be trusted working for Empire and Sarum given your previous failures and associations. Should you have chosen to act entirely out of hand ..."
Rol raises an eyebrow just slightly as he returns a small tool back to his hand.
"Betrayal for betrayal, Mister Aura. We are now even."
Rol resumes his attention to working delicately on the device as the recording ends.
#transmission closed
#Save? (Y/N)
#securing transmission...
The video recording starts. Rol is seated in front of the camera with tools in hand working on some sort of long, mechanical apparatus. He glances once to the camera and begins speaking, attention held on his work of the unknown device.
"Mister Deckhard Aura, I was hoping to relay this information in person but circumstances at the moment seem to have declared otherwise.
I took your offer, in a sense, and have begun working with the Ghost Festival. Though, Mister Aura, it appears you have moved on into other venues."
Rol looks to the camera briefly.
"The reason for the prerecorded message both an act of penance for my own duplicity and to bring a certain ... equilibrium between us.
As we are both keenly aware the last situation under which we spoke brought the attention of certain organizations upon us, ultimately driving many under your employ out of the Amarr Empire and into lower security space. Your actions and missteps brought ruin to your corporation and upon those under tenure. A betrayal of incompetence.
Given your background and what I know of you Mister Aura, I doubt guilt will take hold for long. I am not one to fault the mechanization's of the past as they have molded you. That would be ... hypocritical of me. You recall when I was put into your employ as a Religous Advisor to your corporation? That is the moment I betrayed you."
Rol sets the tools aside and diverts his attention fully to the camera.
"I was not only working for you, but as an agent of the Ministry of Internal Order. I did not only give the standard audit logs, but internal reports of activity, associations, operations, and more critically ... the placement of your clones and related transmission data. You were being watched, Mister Aura. You could not be trusted working for Empire and Sarum given your previous failures and associations. Should you have chosen to act entirely out of hand ..."
Rol raises an eyebrow just slightly as he returns a small tool back to his hand.
"Betrayal for betrayal, Mister Aura. We are now even."
Rol resumes his attention to working delicately on the device as the recording ends.
#transmission closed
#Save? (Y/N)
Saturday, December 5, 2009
Prologue to Exodus
... Deckhard's expression twisted into that of slight disgust. "Thanks Rol, I appreciate it."
Rol flicked off the com display and leaned back in his chair, staring at the now blank vid-screen. His finger traced slowly along the line of his jaw as he reviewed the previous conversion just moments before in his mind's eye. One thing he had stated about Deckhard's particular predicament resonated with his own situation as well.
"As I see it for you, Deckhard, survival is your new priority."
Rol sighed and looked slowly about the spartan room he had set aside for his personal office. He did not favor the display of opulence that the other capsuleers seem to relish having in their personal domains, and his personal space reflected that attitude. The few things that were present in this room all had a specific design and function. Sitting, working, communicating, nothing more. The only passable aesthetic was the low, amber lighting and perhaps the subdued, dull song of the battleship's engines.
Rol closed his eyes and listened to the muted chorus the ship's engines. With Deckhard's capture and the slander run against him through the Amarrian intelligence channels, Rol knew soon they would be coming for himself as well. To scrutinize, dissect and rebuild. Or to destroy and start again. Rol knew they would not chance the possibility of their project falling out of line. Of him falling out of line after all the time and resources to convert him from the tainted, twisted being they perceived him to be.
"...survival is your new priority."
A part of Rol naively hoped they would not come, but he knew better. In highest probability, the MIO was most likely en route now. His assets would be frozen and once in range a particular control would be used to ensure the least amount of resistance. There was an alternative. But it was not alternative he had hoped to use so soon and not for this particular situation. But if he didn't use it...
"...survival..."
Rol knew he had no choice. Opening his eyes, he slowly stood from his desk. He tapped several keys on the on its command console, bringing up a holographic display of the Abaddon class battleship. He observed the floating holo-image as he keyed in several more commands with the command console. Parts of the hologram began flashing red, indicating a catastrophic loss of pressurization in those areas as the breathable atmosphere was venting out into space. Rol's vision focused through the hologram towards the door. His hand hovered over a key on his desk just for an instant before pressing down.
The doors slid open as Rol felt the air rush out of the room.
Rol flicked off the com display and leaned back in his chair, staring at the now blank vid-screen. His finger traced slowly along the line of his jaw as he reviewed the previous conversion just moments before in his mind's eye. One thing he had stated about Deckhard's particular predicament resonated with his own situation as well.
"As I see it for you, Deckhard, survival is your new priority."
Rol sighed and looked slowly about the spartan room he had set aside for his personal office. He did not favor the display of opulence that the other capsuleers seem to relish having in their personal domains, and his personal space reflected that attitude. The few things that were present in this room all had a specific design and function. Sitting, working, communicating, nothing more. The only passable aesthetic was the low, amber lighting and perhaps the subdued, dull song of the battleship's engines.
Rol closed his eyes and listened to the muted chorus the ship's engines. With Deckhard's capture and the slander run against him through the Amarrian intelligence channels, Rol knew soon they would be coming for himself as well. To scrutinize, dissect and rebuild. Or to destroy and start again. Rol knew they would not chance the possibility of their project falling out of line. Of him falling out of line after all the time and resources to convert him from the tainted, twisted being they perceived him to be.
"...survival is your new priority."
A part of Rol naively hoped they would not come, but he knew better. In highest probability, the MIO was most likely en route now. His assets would be frozen and once in range a particular control would be used to ensure the least amount of resistance. There was an alternative. But it was not alternative he had hoped to use so soon and not for this particular situation. But if he didn't use it...
"...survival..."
Rol knew he had no choice. Opening his eyes, he slowly stood from his desk. He tapped several keys on the on its command console, bringing up a holographic display of the Abaddon class battleship. He observed the floating holo-image as he keyed in several more commands with the command console. Parts of the hologram began flashing red, indicating a catastrophic loss of pressurization in those areas as the breathable atmosphere was venting out into space. Rol's vision focused through the hologram towards the door. His hand hovered over a key on his desk just for an instant before pressing down.
The doors slid open as Rol felt the air rush out of the room.
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