The best laid plans...

I have known how to fit and fly my ships at least relatively well for some time. Fitting a ship for the sole purpose of hurtling it right into a player's hull is where my experience lacks. I figured my best bet was to get a few cheap, easily replaceable ships and embark on some trial and error goodness.

That part was easy enough. I loaded up some frigates and cruisers with all the tech-2 modules they could fit. With the advent of 'ivention' some time ago, the prices on tech-2 goods plumeted. This meant nothing but good things for me. I could, with reckless abandon, bring to bear high quality equipment on anyone I cared to without regard to financial hardship.

I figured that I should set some type of ground rules for myself, a mantra if you will.

1. Honor all ransoms. (Probably going to be my best income source.)
2. Reach -10.0 security status, post haste! (Flashy red makes for a better 'ah crap!' factor.)
3. Resist all urges to hop into the expensive, overly large ships... (All things go poof out here eventually.) ...at least for now.
4. Never, ever, undock with a BAC of over .15. (Seriously, I've done some stupid stuff while at the helm where frosty beverages were involved.)
5. Buy ignition interlock systems for my ships, see above. (Want to start the ship up? Blow.)

Perfect. Now I'm ready to practice my best "Yarr!" on the first person I see in low-sec. Oh, right... I need to decide where to go. I figured I could spend countless hours compiling excel spreadsheets, chock full of nifty bar graphs and percentages, figuring out the most populated low-sec systems with all the desirable stats. Or... I could just get into the thick of it. I chose the latter. One, my head still hurts. Two, that doesn't seem very piratey, now does it?

Fortunately, I had lived in a nice little low-sec area some time earlier in my career. Back when the risks were worth the rewards of mining asteroids only found in high quantity in low security space. More for nostalgia than anything, I set a course for my old haunt. As the autopilot rocketed off toward the first stargate on the route, I wondered if the pirate corporation I became so familiar with was still around. They were probably on par with my skill point level still, but I knew that they had an extreme advantage yet: experience. They've been doing the piracy bit the whole time. I don't even know if they're still around, but that bridge will be crossed... later.

As my Vexor's console informed me, ever so softly, that we had arrived, I snapped up to retake the controls. Ah yes, I remember this space. My biggest losses, all received here. Hundreds of millions of ISK, donated to the local pirates. I did notice immediately how empty the system was. Good sign. In my haste, I had failed to employ my... 'associate,' to scout the system for me. Gate camps are not uncommon on the gates coming from high security space. It seems luck is with me tonight, I am free to go.

As I flew about, chomping at the bit for a ripe hauler, fat with expensive goods to lock onto and plunder, I came to realize just how empty the area had become. Nothing, abosolutely no one around in any of the five or six systems I was sticking to for now. Fitting... if I'm out looking for a fight, and it's barren. The minute I try to fly through here with a freighter, there would be thousands... no, millions of flashy red pilots waiting to melt my hull. Guaranteed.

Oh well. I proceeded to fly around for a good hour or two, seeing nothing but my sad face in the local communications channel. Perhaps it will be a better day tomorrow. I decided to go ahead and haul all of my ships and gear that I would need out here, since it was so empty. In the back of my head, I visualized the horde of pirates with foam rolling down their chins moving as fast as they could to intercept me. Tearing my poor defensless hauler to shreds, looting my goods like so much candy from a piñata.

The docking manger snapped me out of my daydream, "Right, shut her down, boss." he growled.

It appeared I made it, safe and sound. Tomorrow, we go looking for piñatas of our own.

The straw that broke the carebear's back.

What a hangover. This was not your normal, everyday hangover. This was the type of hangover you get after raiding Krull's Pleasure Gardens for the 500th time. Gallons of booze, myriad women of varying degrees of moral turpitude. My skull had apparently grown weary of my eyeballs' presence, trying to shove them out of my beleaguered face. The party in my stomach had quickly gone sour, guests of honor starting drunken fistfights. Yes, dear reader, this was a gen-u-ine hangover of the worst degree.

The ISK, the women, the fame and fortune. Everyone wants it, some get it. Most that do get it eventually realize what a drain it is, only far too late. For nearly two years I've been a poddy, running missions for the Federation Navy, flying the flag of a couple industry themed corporations. I made great friends, and enemies as well. But it had turned to madness...

The comm-link shook to life and made a horrible, screeching racket. I hadn't noticed before, but this sound... this particular frequency... the perfect fucking harmonic overtone to obliterate my fragile braincells, exploding them one by one. They tried to save me, the valiant braincells... "Caution: Aneurysm imminent! Smash the bleeding comm-link, smash it!" A familiar face snapped up onto the screen anyhow, before I could deliver the crippling blow.

My local agent in Aunia implored me, with much gusto and fervor, to run my 100th iteration of a certain level 4 mission. "Serpentis Extravaganza." God, I hate the Serpentis. Why don't they get the sodding hint that they just can't win? Why don't they all just self destruct, and save us all the trouble? Hell, I'd even give them a cut of the reward if they'd stage the rout. I could just sit here, comfy in the station's more than ample living quarters, sipping boat drinks. Ah, hell with it...

I delicately told my agent to shove it. I'm done. I've had enough of this bureaucratic crap.

"But we'll compensate you! Millions of ISK! Not to mention all the bounties and valuable loot you will get from the Serpentis scum! I will even, most graciously, raise your standings. Please?", she pleaded. I can't tell anymore if she's serious or not. It almost seems like she was programmed to spew the same crap, over and over again.

It was true. I had amassed quite a fortune over the years this way... billions in cash and assets. But what good is it all when you honestly want to send yourself to the biomass center, and the Pleasure Garden's friendly staff don't even do it for you anymore?

"Sorry, I'm out. Lower my standings if you like." I managed to choke out of my bone dry throat.

I blew her a raspberry, for some inexplicable reason. It sounded like a good idea at the time. But I digress...

She shot me a whimsical look, and with a "Hmpf!" the comm-link went dark. A few seconds later I noticed the standings hit pop up on my console. Whatever, screw her. In fact, the whole operation can sod off. I already have my jump clones, I don't need their precious standings anymore.

The idea had been running through my head for some time. I wanted to live on the other side of Concord. Those smug idiots in their shiny ships, always with their chests puffed out and their fists on their hips on the comm-link. That stereotypical hero voice proclaiming that they were, indeed, on their way to save the day. Only they never seem to make it on time, do they? I've seen countless innocent pilots obliterated well before Concord could wiggle their fat arses out of the Galactic Doughnut Emporium.

I am no stranger to pirates. Whilst living in low security space for some period of time, I had ample opportunity to interact with them. But this, friends, it a story for later... for now, I knew my destiny. I would don an impressive eye patch, I would befriend a chatty parrot, I would even lop off a lower extremity to install a rather menacing looking peg leg! Well, perhaps that last bit is the remnants of the get together in my stomach talking, but nonetheless, a new path shall be forged.

This, my confidant, is the day I embark on a journey. A journey of wildly epic proportions, to press down the path of lawlessness. To seek out infamy, fear, loathing, and an eye patch shop. To carve out my own niche in the dark, cold, rather cruel universe unto which we have all been strewn upon. I will fail at times, I will triumph at times, but I shan't look back. Today is the day I set out to become... (pause, drama) ..."BLAARRGH!!!"