Desperate Times…

My hands shook as I grabbed the controls of my pod. Not from fear, but from a sense of rage. A rage that I had only felt twice in my existence. As I hit my first gate it was apparent that patrols were at a minimum in Syndicate areas that evening. I had to hit 6 gates before I would even enter High Security Space. I passed through each gate one by one, though I never seen a sign of a single patrol.

I hit Stacmon at around 0500, and immediately docked up at The Freedom Extension Warehouse. This place was obviously not a trade hub, but it would do the job I suspected. I hastily exited my pod and put on a jumpsuit that was hanging in the docking bay. Moving as quick as I could without causing a scene I made my way to the Market.

When I hit the market I started checking prices on my favorite brands of Whiskey. Knowing that I didn’t have time to haggle over pricing I quickly paid triple the going rate for 3 bottles. Shuffling through a sea of people I grabbed my purchase and headed for the lodging hanger.

As I approached the desk of the lodging hanger I put my bag down on the desk and requested a room for 1 night, “Just need to catch a few hours of sleep” I said to the clerk.

The clerk looked at my bag, then looked back at me,“1000 isk a night”.

I grabbed the change from my earlier purchase and counted out 1000 isk and handed to him.

“Mind if I ask whats in the bag man?”

“Yes I do”.

“I’m sorry buddy but I have to know what is in that bag before I give you the key code”.

Reaching over the counter I grabbed him by the throat. “You will give me that key code, regardless of my personal belongings and you will do it right now!” “Because if you don’t, I will personally slit your damn throat and give your corpse to a friend of mine that would be glad to add a lowly clerk to his collection of pilot corpses, do you understand… Buddy?”

“Yyy-eeesss Siiirrr.” “Hanger 9, key code 987376″

“Thank you.”

Releasing my grip from his throat I grabbed my bag and headed down the hall. Looking left and right, practically running down the hall until I found hanger #9. It seemed with a greater purpose that I punched 987376into the number pad to the right of the door. The door instantly slid open and I ran inside.

As the door slammed shut I put my bag on the desk in the middle of the hanger and hastily pulled the 3 bottles out. With a fierce grip I twisted the top off the first bottle, threw it across the hanger and put the bottle to my lips. As I raised the bottle, the whiskey seemed to just keep coming out, easily sliding down the back of my throat. I pulled the bottle away from my lips and sat down on my bunk. I looked at the bottle, almost half gone after one drink and starting contemplating my life, past and present.

After what seemed only a few minutes I looked back at the bottle, “Damn, Empty”. “WAIT, WHAT, Empty?” I still felt enraged, more than enraged, I was just pissed off. Grabbing the second bottle I quickly twisted the cap off and tossed on the desk. Grabbing my pistol I sat down at the desk and released the clip. I un-chambered the last round and put the pistol near the clip and single bullet directly in front of me.

A single tear ran slowly down my face and hit the desk. It would be the first of many, one by one the tears seem to fall, creating a puddle of my sorrow in front of me. “How did I end up like this?” A proud capsuleer, a decorated soldier, damned to live a life of emptiness, a life of drunken rage”

I started to think about my father, Walter Michaels, how proud of a man he was. I remembered the little time I was able to spend with my mother and him at our home on Sivala IX. I remembered the day I was stripped from my family to be forced into a training camp for 10 year old pilots. Stripped away from my only childhood friend. Forced to live a life in space, forced to change my name and live a life of solitude,  a life of a soldier at the age of 10. Later forced to fight in a war that seemed to drag on for ages. It was during that war that I would receive notification of my families slaughter.

Seemed that a Gallentian raid on Sivala IX would take the life of my dear parents and leave me to live a life of solitude in space. Well until I met the love of my life, who was again taken from me before I was ready to say goodbye. Tears continued to run down my face.

“This is how I ended up like this” “A proud capsuleer, A proud soldier?” “PFFFTTT” “I wasn’t man enough to save the life of my loved one’s” “TWICE” ” I should have been there to save my parents” “I could have saved them!” “I watched the love of my life get murdered right in front of me” “Her blood is on my boots” “I’m not a man, I’m a coward”….

As I finished the second bottle I could barely hold my eyes open. Partially from exhaustion, but mainly because I was drunk. Tears still flowing and collecting on the desk in front of me, I grabbed my pistol and clip. I slid the clip into the base of my pistol. I knew what I had to do, I knew now more than ever what I needed to do. I was a lousy excuse of a pilot and even lousier excuse of a man.

I grabbed the third bottle and twisted the cap off, slowly this time, laying it on the desk next to the single bullet still standing on its end. I pulled the bottle to my lips and held it upright, not stopping swallowing until the whiskey stopped flowing from its end. I sat silent for a few minutes, no tears, no thoughts, just blank. Knowing that I couldn’t hold my eyes open much longer I put a firm grip on my pistol and raised it to my temple.

I started sobbing as I lowered my pistol and set it on the desk in front of me. “I’m not even man enough to pull the trigger”…. As I got up from the desk I stumbled, falling to the floor. Lying there unable to move I closed my eyes, and wished that somehow true death would find me in my sleep.