EVE: Day 2

A bantam frigate

Edit: For some reason, my intro keeps getting deleted anytime I throw captions into an image and then edit my text later. It’s baffling me, and quickly approaching the level of pissing me off. 

In any matter, yesterday I continued my winding, treacherous route up the hill that we call the learning curve of EVE. After finishing the “crash course” tutorial, you’re given the option of talking with any of a set of agents who will give introductory missions on typical careers in the world of EVE. I went against the grain of my typical ways and chose exploration for my first lesson. The missions were definitely different, no combat, or enemies, no mining done as of yet. It was purely a go-see type of situation, with one where I grabbed some evidence. For all my “work” I was awarded with a low-end Tech 1 frigate, some isk, and some drones. I have a feeling that my next mission is going to have me getting my hands a bit dirty, in that I’ll actually launch some probes, seek out anomalies, and harvest the crap out of them. We’ll see, but it should be interesting. My plan is to do as many of these career tutorials as possible to build up a good starting fund of isk, and a strong handle on the game itself. 

Relatedy, I found a really cool app for my iPhone called Capsuleer. It lets me keep track of where I am, how my training is going, how much isk I have, and what my skills are. There’s a lot of other little features like server status, blog updates, and some buttons that are greyed out to me still. I imagine for bounties I take, or other similar thigns I have yet to experience. I can see it being a great tool for any player already, as I can see that the server must have gone down last night, and because of that, I’m no longer training any skills. 

 

Ezekeil Rage, Log Book, Day 2 

I arrived at the station in what my computer told was the early hours EST. My sleep had been fitful, and all my dreams seem to be nothing more than wisps and clouds. Obscure, half-rememberd images flitting across my mind, never settling or forming cohesiveness, like the plasma of a jump gate that never connects with its partner. I gladly crept my ship into the docking bay, and was thrilled at the concrete reality of comparative safety and purpose. I had successfully made my first step, and was energized with the idea of being whole again. 

The station was cramped, dark, and carried a general feeling of wetness about it. As if condensation had built up everywhere, and no one had bothered to prevent it from being the breeding ground of mold, moss, and other algae that can be found in the most inhospitable of environments. Ductwork, and tubing lined walls full of monitors and displays, glowing with incessant need to inform and sell. I pulled my jacket tighter about my body to stave off the cold, and took a step forward.  

After finding a banking terminal, and seeing that I had a meager savings that could be used for repairs and some basic services, I scanned a layout for the station. Spotting a bazaar of sorts, I headed towards some food vendors, and literally let my nose guide me. The entire corridor was covered with ramshackle huts, constructed from spare parts discarded from ships, lashed together with electrical wire, and covered in tattered cloth from discarded tarp or clothing. Dirty faces, and matted hair stood behind each booth, calling out wares and doing their best to entice the traffic of new arrivals to spend some isk. The first thing I came across that smelled mildly appetizing and triggered some sort of physical response, I purchased. It turned out to be some kind of meat and vegetables dripping juice in an edible wrap. It filled the stomach but other than that I can’t say much else positive about it. I can’t help but wonder, if this is what my mind recalls as being better fare, what would any of the other foods I passed have been like? 

With the basic necessities of life in hand, I focused upon my immediate concerns of my situation. My Ibis definitely needed some repairs, and I needed to get work if I wanted to have a hope of making it very far after that. I was lost in thought as I made my way back through the slow crowds towards my hanger and ship. Perhaops, if I had been paying more attention to my surroundings, I wouldn’t have been surprised to see two men standing outside of my docking bay. However, I wasn’t, so I failed to notice them until I looked up to palm the door open to the platform leading to my ship. 

Both men before me were dark of hair, and light of eye. Physically, both were in clearly good ship, fit and strong, attaining the posture of those who are sure of their physical capabilities. The man on the left was the shorter of the two, and wider in the shoulders and chest. Their garb was clean, crisp, professionally laundered and serviceable, if not high-quality. No colors or patterns adorned their outfits, and by all accounts their clothes could have passed unnoticed anywhere they went. Their demeanor, on the other hand, screamed of discipline that is found in the military and of professional armsmen in service to a corporation or wealthy individual. This type of appearance would most definitely stand out in these halls of the poor and destitute. Anywhere that the lower rungs of society gathered, the outstanding and successful became a symbol of their own failure or bad luck, marked and noted, in anger or envy. 

Of the two men, the one standing to the left addressed me first, in a deep baritone, “Are you Mr. Rage?” 

Taking a bite of my meal, I had to quickly decide how to respond. Usually, strange, well-trained men waiting for your arrival, and who know your name when you just found out yourself, aren’t the type of people you want to associate with. However, given that they DID know my name meant a possible connection, and it had been dropped right in my lap, a gift from the gods above it seemed. So, I gave one quick nod of affirmation, unsure of what to expect out of this sudden turn of events. 

The taller fellow to the right glanced at his associate then turned back to me, speaking in a voice as flat and devoid of emotion as ice, as if the consequences of what he was about to say could be of no interest to him, or anyone else, “If you would be willing, our employer would like a word with you on possible work you could perform for her. If you will report to the location we provide in three hours time, we believe that it would be mutually beneficial for all parties involved.” With the finality of a closing door, he bit off his last word, and both men pushed their way through crowds, away from the hangar. 

Pulling out my data pad, I saw the location of the meeting was to be held in the higher levels of the station, and the necessary codes to enter the meeting room. I had mere hours to use, and a ship to be repaired. If I was going to be able to do any work, that Ibis had to be in good working order.

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About Shadow
Making serious business out of internet spaceships.

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