| Forums | Chat | News | Contact Us | Register |
PSU Social
|
 |
PSU: Where pants are always optional.
| Forums | Chat | News | Contact Us | Register |
PSU Social
|
|
2013-07-18, 09:12 AM
|
[Ignore Me] #1 | ||
|
Private
|
This is gonna be a mini-series I'll be working on. I've been quite lax with the lore and the writing might be a little erratic but if you guys are interested, I'll continue the series and improve on it as I go along. I've written it the way a guy might tell this story in a bar or something, so its very informal. Anyway here it is.
Chapter 1 When I was growing up, the only thing I ever really cared about was money. Watching those Terran officers and Terran aristocrats (none of which had ever seen Terra, I might add) strutting around all high and mighty instilled in me a sort of… determination to make a name for myself. At the time, there weren’t really any options for a punk kid like me. “Fight for the people” the Terrans would tell me. “Fight for your freedom” the New Conglomerate would say. “Fight for knowledge” the Vanu would say. “Fuck that” I would say. I wasn’t interested in dying for a cause that meant nothing to me and frankly, regardless of the ideology, they’re all a bunch of assholes. They can say whatever they want about their “causes” but when push comes to shove, all anyone really cares about on this godforsaken planet is money. Do I blame them? No. Money is what’s driving this war. Without money how would either side train and equip their armies? Most people don’t realise it but you can make a killing in war. I learnt that one day watching this drunk stumble across a bunch of Terran soldiers who’d been ambushed during a patrol. I don’t think anyone cared about who’d done it, and neither did I. What I found funny is that the scientists in charge of the whole “rebirthing” thing hadn’t taken into account the weapons men had left behind every time they died. Some of these soldiers have been fighting this war for… I don’t even know how long. Think about the amount of times they’ve been killed. Think about the amount of times they’d dropped their weapons in combat. Have you ever wondered how many of these things go in and out of circulation? They have to make a new weapon every time a soldier is killed… You might think this is pretty expensive but they sure as hell have enough money to afford it. Anyway, back to the drunk guy. So yeah, this drunk guy stumbles up to one of the dead soldiers, already in the middle of disintegrating, and picks up his gun. What he did next surprised me… “Hey Hank, how much booze would this thing get me?” is what he said He was trading in a perfectly good weapon for some booze. “Genius” is what I said I guess I have to thank that old drunken bastard. He inspired me to do what I did next. I picked up this battered looking pistol lying next to this poor bastard who died with a dumb looking grin on his face. I remembered Jimmy Martinez saying something about wanting a gun in school a couple of days ago, something about needing a gun to join the New Conglomerate. I gave him what he wanted and I got what I wanted: 16 Terran credits and a night with his sister. Those 16 credits are what bought me a second night with sweet ol’ Sarah Martinez. Having that money made me feel powerful, like a God. It wasn’t a lot of money at the time, but knowing I could pay for a piece of ass like Martinez’s sister… damn. If I could buy two nights with her, what else would I be able to buy? And that’s how it all began; my… foray into gun running. It’s a pretty humble beginning wouldn’t you say? Considering who I am right now... I’d go rummaging through abandoned outposts after school, picking up as many weapons as I could carry. I’d sell the weapons to roving bands of AWOL soldiers looking to make a quick buck, to gangs in some of the shittier towns, to kids looking to join the NC, you name it. Sometimes I’d sell the older weapons to these guys who’d take them apart and build these messed up, homemade weapons with the salvageable parts. Here I was, some punk kid acting like a big shot. Looking back, I laugh at the way I conducted business. I sold the weapons cheap because I wasn’t sure about how much money I was supposed to be making from these things. I didn’t care, just seeing the credits flooding in made me a feel so… alive. This is a feeling I became addicted to. The thrill, the addiction, the need for more money is what drove me. Eventually my greed caught up with me though. I attracted the attention of a less than reputable Terran official in my home town. He noticed me walking around in clothes that “weren’t befitting my station in life” and automatically assumed I was some kind of delinquent. Of course he was right, but I wouldn’t tell him that… I kept my business going with the usual crowd of people I sold my wares to. I was stacking credits, spending them on shit I didn’t need. My reputation followed me everywhere I went. I never really told anyone about what I did, but they all knew somehow. I guess gossip spreads pretty quickly. This is what led me to being arrested. I was out doing what I normally did; only this time I thought I’d go scrounging in one of the larger bases a long way out of town. I got an anonymous tip from some brothel queen who told me the base was full of discarded equipment. She was bagging some Terran sergeant who liked to talk a little too much when you put some liquor in him so I trusted her intel. I drove my homemade dune buggy out of town, getting high off the feeling that there was a crapload of creds to be made. I pulled up to the base and stepped inside. What greeted me there wasn’t really what I expected. “Well, well, well. I had a feeling I’d find you here” It was that Terran official, standing there like the tall, uptight asshole we was. Along with about 15 Terran grunts aiming straight at me. How he knew I was coming here was beyond me. I can only assume that he’d been monitoring me and paid off that whore to sell me out. I laugh at all this now because I was small fry back then. I didn’t know it at the time and this is what scared me the most. Pride always comes before a fall right? I guess what happened next was to be expected; I was taken away and locked up in jail awaiting trial. It was a couple of weeks before my saving grace, one of the people I owe my fortune to, busted me out of there. But that’s a story for another day. Last edited by Bored; 2013-07-18 at 09:18 AM. |
||
|
|
|
|
| Bookmarks |
|
|
.
Linear Mode
