The Fox's Shield

Though I would never say so publicly, I've come to resent the Caldari, somewhat. 

Not for the reasons I wrote about earlier, mind - I'd consider that whole affair more the fault of a single, deranged individual then that of an entire culture, although I suppose the two might be slightly related - but for far more general ones.

I'm not really quite certain how and when it exactly occurred. I've always felt and said that I wasn't really much of one - I've always identified as an Achura in pretty much all terms, instead of one of them - But I never really had any negative sentiment. I simply took it as a given that the protection and economic uplifting that they provide was, if wont to cause a few small problems, ultimately an unquestionably good thing.  

Lately, though...

 I've begun to notice things I did not in times past, or perhaps that were simply not highlighted to the same degree before I became a Capsuleer. Little things; Nothing that I could rightly point to and declare my distaste for without appearing a bit of a fool, which perhaps only makes them all the more frustrating.

For instance. A few months ago, I didn't know a word of Napaani. Well, I suppose that isn't strictly true - I knew my haans and my haani's, and a couple other odd phrases I'd picked up just from pure observation over the years. But my knowledge was (and still is, really) minimal to the point that I felt actually trying to use it in conversation would be a little crude and disingenuous, perhaps even a little insulting. I mean, truly, what measure of respect could I hope to gain by forcing out the occasional word or two, likely mispronounced to the point of butchery? From a half-dead ancestral tongue not even of my kin? I might as well have relieved myself on the Kaalkiota peaks.

So I made no use of it. And for a while, it never came up. And just as well - I mean, why would it? No one would spare thoughts on such a trivial difference between myself and my peers.

Yet, someone did.

Trying to think back, the exact circumstances sort of escape me. I remember that it was in the Heiian College channel at some ungodly hour, and that I'd just finished with some incredibly stupid argument in the Summit about shoes or not liking animals or some equally inane nonsense. It was back when Tibus Heth was showing only the first symptoms of his at the time not-so-blatant decent into madness, so slow debate about the direction of the State in the near future was taking place.

I can't recall his name, now, but I was weighing in my opinion casually (and probably making a fool of myself in the process) against one of the participants, when out of the blue, he took offense to the fact that I did not use his "proper title". Of course, I apologized profusely, not wanting to cause any offense, and explained that I simply did not know the tongue. But rather then leaving it at that, he went on to give me a brief lecture about how Napaani is something "every Caldari ought to learn", how it "shows our unity", and is "a proud part of our heritage" (as if it isn't essentially a vanity project by the upper class).

Disrespectful, no? Likely the work of a simple bigot, trying to misguidedly foist his culture onto one it doesn't truly belong? It surely could not have been my heritage of which he spoke, of course, since my ancestors feet never for a moment graced the icy surface where the tongue knew it's inception. At the time, I went along with his sentiment without a thought, and even begun trying to correct my use of language in response. But the more I dwell on it, the more absurd it all seems.

Yet what was he? Civire, perhaps? Deteis? Ah, but here's the twist in the tale - He was an Achur. A little fox cub calling itself a wolf, offering critique to another for the shortness of it's fangs and the brightness of it's fur. Forgetting itself, utterly and completely.

...

Gods and spirits. Reading over what I just put to paper... I suppose I didn't realize how much it'd come to upset me, even in deciding to write this. To scold the Caldari, and one of my own kin in turn, with such rampantness and inconsideration - It hardly shows much wisdom. One could even call it a bit unachuran of me, ironically enough.

Blaming him is pointless, anyway. If one takes water from a stream into the mountains, it will harden and become ice. He was likely only speaking as he was taught to believe.

But the fact that it is so is troubling. It evokes a deep seated sorrow from me, to see one of my own identify so completely with another culture, of which they share no blood. And they are hardly unique in such a regard; Almost all Achur Capsuleers I see are the same. Talking of the glory of the Caldari, of the need to reclaim their homeworld, the legacy of their people. Praying and paying heed to not their own Gods, but those of a distant world. Speaking of the Way of the Winds, not of the Creator and the teachings of the sects. Really, I can only name one happy exception.

Of course, one could say that blood does not define who a person is, and that is true, for sure. But have we really been served by their uplifting of us? They speak so often of their own ancestors, but what would my own think, to see so many of our people praising the ways of others alien to us?  Would they have wished so many of us to die, fighting a war that really should be none of our business?

At the time I'd thought it simple formality - a standard continuation of the usual hyperpatriotic white noise one see's in a lot of the State - but considerable encouragement was given to me in the academy to take up "traditional Caldari values". To seek honor and wealth for the glory of the State, to take up their customs... I'd dismissed it at the time, but in retrospect, it all seems somewhat sinister. Manipulative. Uncaring.

It is often said that the Caldari are our shield - That they defend us from the cultural assimilation and whitewashing of the Gallente, or the outright conquest of the Amarr. But is the fate they offer any kinder? Will the steel towers they have raised in what were once our greatest cities one day expand to cover all our world, without a thought spent for the hypocrisy of one who cares so much for their own past, eradicating that of another?

That's if the warmongering of our distant leaders doesn't destroy us all first, of course.

...At least I'm safe for now, in that regard. With Ishukone pushing for peace, and whole State on the cusp of civil war, participating in the militia conflict could be said to be almost anti-liberal - A label my Father has made quite clear that he doesn't want on our family name. So I continue to do as I will, for now, while he considers the affair. Hopefully I'll get through it without needing to shoot down any Provists.

Though, all things considered, I suppose there are far worse enemies. Even if I'd much prefer none at all.

Descent

I'm a fool.

I should never have gotten involved. It is one of the lessons of the faith, and simply the way of the Achura, to leave the affairs of others to others. To not meddle in things simply because one believes they can somehow improve things through such an intervention, or worse, that their outlook is more worthwhile then that of the parties actually involved. To do otherwise is egotistical at best,  and utterly destructive to both ones self and those one cares for, at worst.

Yet I ignored this, even as it stared me right in the face. It takes a special kind of imbecile to find wisdom in walking into a dragons maw.

In what little defense I have, I came close to averting it. I had lingered in the system for days trying to decide what to do; For a time, I had even resolved to depart. I knew what may well-- No, what was likely to happen, and wanted no part in it, even if such made me a coward. I longed to scurry back to Saisio, to lie in my bed once again, to drown myself in familiarity and small comforts. And I would have been right to. Almost more right then I've ever been about anything.

Gods, why did I not? What possessed me?

I... Suppose it was for father, really, as so many things are. When I awoke on the morning before it happened, everything seemed so clear, so obvious beyond reason. Surely, participating in the battle would bring great honor to us, great recognition from the State and the Caldari people as a whole. Much more so then I would gain by simply fighting over border systems in the militia with no clear objective or end, as he wished.

I thought that if I did, he might relent - Leave me to do as I please. And be thankful to me, grateful. In a way he never has been. That I might return home a hero, instead of the black sheep I often am, especially amongst my extended family.

With hindsight, I can see a thousand flaws, even in this. Why did I presume my participation would be so great amongst thousands to even be noteworthy? Why did I think I was capable of making a difference to the outcome, at all? And even if I had been, why did I presume that would somehow be enough to satisfy him, and put the matter utterly to rest, when there could still be even more to be gained?

It does not matter now. Regardless, the idea burned like a fire in my mind. A perfect solution, a final piece of an unsolvable puzzle. I could not let such a thing pass me by. There was no time to reason, no time to contemplate. I slid into my pod and into my Heron (though I'd later return with a Drake, before the actual battle itself) and left, without another thought.

...Above all else, I remember the screaming.

Not of the dying; No, those voices could not reach me, and I'm under no delusion that they could. Rather, that of the pilots in local comms. From the moment I connected to the channel, it was all I heard. An endless, unrelenting howl. For blood, carnage and death. They demanded it for other pilots. They demanded it for the admiral. They demanded it for the planet itself. Again and again, with the enthusiasm of children and the manic lust of hungry beasts.

Yet, for some idiotic reason, I didn't turn back upon hearing it. I somehow steeled myself and headed to the titan, which had already pushed into low orbit. There were so many ships there, more then I had ever seen. Clustered around the thing like a swarm of angry insects about to descend on the poor fool bold or unlucky enough to disturb their nest.

The Admiral spoke to me, in the Summit, before it happened. Imagine - All the cluster watching her, hundreds of billions, and she spoke to me. It made me feel strange, and the whole world seemed to suddenly grow small before my very eyes. 

But I quickly forgot it once she threatened to fire on the planet.

The time between that and the battle itself is a blur, even now. I'd hoped that in writing this down, I'd recall it, but I do not. I remember the rush of horrible fear that surged through me as I thought of what might happen, of all the people that might die, of all the terrible consequences that might come as a result. I almost broke down in the Summit and decided to disconnect from comms entirely-- One of the few good decisions I made that morning.

I had heard reports that the exits from the system, as well as many of the stations, were being watched my hostile ships. I felt trapped. Below me, I begun to see small flickers of fire dancing upon the skin of the world. Not delivered from space, mind, but simply appearing, as bubbles in a slowly boiling pot of water. Looking back, they were likely caused by ground fighting, but at the time I feared I was going mad.

And then, before I knew it, it had begun.

I still cannot believe they attacked CONCORD so brazenly. But once they did, they surely must have decided to make their wrath known simply in departing - For at once, they ceased engaging pilots that violated their laws. The Federation navy approached us. I prepared my weapons, and then... I...

I cannot even begin to describe it. I wanted to weep, to cry, to run. The Capsuleers attacked both navies and each other without seeming to even care what they were targeting, slaughtering indiscriminately in gleeful insanity. It was a bloodbath to no end. A battle that barely even had sides. Screams of joy and hate echoed in my local comms until the two became one and the same.

Even then, some part of me still clung stubbornly to my objective, and I tried to engage one of the Federate supercarriers. But my own ship was lost in moments, before I even knew what was happening. I barely escaped with my life back to a nearby station. My crew, who just a week ago I had been thinking so deeply on, were gone in instant. Their blood was on my hands...

I returned in a cloaked ship, but seeing it all upon my approach, I was so afraid, so horrified, that I dared not engage it again. But neither did I want to try to flee. Gods, how can I be so worthless? Such a failure, utterly and completely? Paralyzed in cowardice, I simply sat there, uselessly, and observed, my tiny form skirting the edge of the battlefield. Thousands upon thousands upon thousands must have died before my eyes. I wanted to throw up, or perhaps even to join them, myself. I thought I could even feel the metal of my ship trembling as the bursts of warmth from the endless explosions glanced upon it. Upon me.

And then, finally, I watched in quiet terror - for the world, for the State, and for myself - as the great behemoth of a ship was finally undone. What would become of the cluster? Would there be eternal war? What would happen to my family? The explosion was grander then any I had ever seen; It burned as bright as a star, a hundred thousand lives caught in it's unrelenting flames...

...Yet, at that instant, something strange happened. My horror faded, as if it had only ever been imagined, replaced by only gentle calm. The titan shattered into pieces and fell, but the bloodshed - now pointless - continued, capital ships falling by the dozen. The Gallenteans warped in more and more ships, and Capsuleers continued to pour in for what felt like hours...

But I cared not. I was simply floating there, watching the world change before my very eyes. Invisible, invulnerable - Apart from all the concerns of the people in the cluster, of the people no doubt watching the events from so many video screens, tears in their eyes. Apart from the thousands of years of history that had led to this moment, of all the hopes, ambitions, hatreds of the Caldari and the Federates. Apart from the millions dying below me, in space and on the the surface of the pretty swirl of blue, green and white (and just a hint of red) my camera drones fixated upon. Apart... And at peace, with myself and the Totality.

Like a ghost. A spirit of the dead, only beholding the affairs of the living.

I think I fell asleep, after that, odd though that may be. A strange, serene slumber, as all the screaming and missile and turret fire and explosions seemed to blur together into a perfect stream of low white noise. A gentle lullaby, of sorts, resonating through the stars. 

And when I finally woke, it was over.

...But I lost something, in that place. Something of great value. It slipped from my fingers, and fell from the heavens alongside that awful ship to the cold earth below. And I know, in this moment, that I will never touch it again.

The Rift

I have a crew that serves on my Caracal. 

The amount varies on a day to day basis, but there is usually a range between 110 - 160 people operating on board of it. Roughly 61% of the crew is male, and the remaining 39% is female. The mean age is 32, but the median is 27, suggesting a few irregularly elderly individuals skewing the results. About half of them perform only manual labor and basic duties, a quarter are engineers and others with technical skills, and the final quarter consists of a mix of officers, security personnel, cleaners and cooking staff. All of them have been fully screened for infectious conditions within the past 3 months.

I know this because I am reading it from a statistics page in front of me; I have never interacted with, nor even seen, any of them.

I could say that I'm unsure quite how this happened, but that would be false.  I have deliberately avoided them at every level from the moment that I begun flying anything larger then a frigate. When it was time to hire them on, I deferred the duty to a faceless CONCORD-supplied agent whom I do not even know the name of. When decisions had to be made regarding them (mixed or single gender, uniforms, recreation and food budget) I once again dismissed it. And when it was time for them to be paid, I switched over to an automated process without an instant of hesitation, which has continued since.

Why am I doing this...? There's a question I seem to ask myself a lot lately, about one thing or another. (Including writing rhetorical questions to myself, perhaps.) There are a lot of answers that dance around in my head, but one thing I am aware of for sure, without a shadow of a doubt.

I am afraid.

It is mad, of course. if I chose, I could lock the escape pods and vent the artificial atmosphere, and kill them all in seconds. Or simply open the airlocks and leave their ghosts to float in the abyss, without hope of reprise. ...Not that I would ever do such a thing - Gods, that would make me like other Capsuleers in truth - But it could be done. They do not threaten me, not in the least.

Yet there is a sense of palpable dread that rushes through my body whenever I even entertain the prospect of interacting with them to any degree whatsoever, like I'm peering over the edge of a very tall cliff, contemplating edging myself slowly off to my death. It is unthinkable, as if doing so would shatter my being, my very self, like a fine porcelain teapot.

It is self-deception, of course, if a "harmless" one. I want to forget they exist, and it is all to easy to do so. I don't know if I should permit myself such an indulgence, but there it is, nonetheless.

Perhaps it is because I simply do not like the idea of people crawling around inside of me when I am a ship, or maybe the reason it more spiritual - The teachings dictate that for one to place themselves above others in either thought or practice, or to become a figure of authority or reverence, brings great burden to the self. How can one hope to look inwardly objectively when their ego is constantly flattered by the sheer act of subservience from others? (Whoops - Did it again.) The idea of being someone "important" makes me uncomfortable, without a shadow of a doubt, as does the idea of peoples lives depending upon my own judgment.

But wouldn't it be nice if it were that simple? 

It isn't just the crew, in truth. It's all baseliners. 

In some ways, very, very subtle ways... Normal people, human beings like any other, have begun to become alien to me. It should not be so, since all that separates us is a little context and knowledge, but the way they make judgments, the way they perceive certain issues, the way they regard personal welfare and life in general - I can no longer relate. 

If they don't know that I am a Capsuleer, or if they knew me beforehand, and do not speak of such matters, it doesn't really stick out much. We can talk about books, or academic subjects, or food, or games - Whatever, really - And it's fine. Good, even. I feel like myself.

But when they know I am a pilot, when they see me for what I truly am, there is a difference between us that tears at my soul.

...Why do I keep writing "they"?... It is a rift that I must close, before it swallows me whole. I must discover a means to do so.

...I will reflect on the teachings.

On a seperate note, I've managed to convince Father to leave to myself - If only for a week or two. Told him that I wish to "think", but he knew what I meant, that I was failing him. I could hear it in his voice. I'll have to speak to him again soon, but that... Doesn't matter, for now. I'll think of something to say to fix all of this. I'm must.

Obligations

The Executors rule continues to fall apart at the seams. That is... Good, I suppose.

...

Father has been pushing me to join the Militia.

I've technically finished what I was asked to do. After completing enough work for Ishukone Watch, I was - a few days ago - able to call in a favor with my agent and get his "offenses", if you can rightly call them that, stripped from the record, alongside an offer for a position of equal influence and pay to the one he originally held. So my family can now once again leave Saisio without fearing for their lives or getting thrown into a corporate cell.

But that is not enough for him, I suppose.

In many ways, in the State, the standing of ones family is more important then money, which has never been even remotely a problem for us even during our "exile" (Though that certainly doesn't stop him from reminding me to send a fair bit of ISK home whenever I have some spare). Father wants me to get involved in the war to catapult us to a position of notability and influence, far beyond what we held when I was growing up.

He told me this was the perfect time  - With the mass resignations and the likely impending collapse of the provist government, it'd be easy to fill the void. He told me how much everyone was depending on me; How what I was doing now would influence our lives for generations upon generations to come. How just I, and I alone, could secure our future, and our rise to prominence.

The whole thing is quite... Surreal, really. I told him that despite his faith in me, I wasn't a very good pilot and couldn't possibly meet his expectations, but he said that even being a Capsuleer was more then enough. And that even if I wasn't particularly skilled, the training software would eventually take care of that problem, alongside the fact that I... Well, "Don't need to worry about getting killed", in his words.

He chuckled after I said that. I'm not sure he really understands.

Regardless, for a while, I was mostly set on doing it. I'd even written up a few applications to various different corporations involved in the protectorate. I'd convinced myself it'd be wise to serve the State, and to protect the Homeworld.

But, well...

I've been talking regularly to another pilot privately, lately, which hasn't happened in quite a while. She's a member of the Sansha's Nation aligned Capsuleer alliance - Natalcya Katla. We get along rather well. I'd almost say we're friends, though the Creator himself would likely cast me into the void for such an appalling naivety, considering she's both a Capsuleer and a member of faction that quite literally abducts people and scoops out their brains, lest I forget.

We talk about a lot of things, though most concern my own neurosis and self-obsession in some manner (Gods, I don't know how anyone can stand me). Philosophical outlooks, a bit of politics, and one... Other subject, but I'll write about that when I'm not already feeling in poor spirits. She has a very interesting outlook, if one I don't quite understand - That the zenith of human societies is the one that exists in space, where people from all origins exist as one culture, under single unified law. While I don't quite agree, it is clear that she has great love for her home, as I do mine. And that brings me comfort.

In any case, I brought this up to her, and her reaction... Well, it's been haunting me, sort of.

She told me that the entire war is a farce. A petty, artificial facade - constructed by those in positions of power to line their pockets - that will never have any true resolution or impact in it's current state. That despite what the media and all the pilots involved in it say, it is pointless, and my homeland is not, nor will it ever be, in any danger.

And when I pointed out the argument that Jenneth-haani made in it's favor to me months ago (that it harms far fewer then any other form of Capsuleer work, in the sense that it is only fighting amongst our own kind) she said that it could not be further from the truth. She told me that the conflicts true victims are not the ones flying about in ships, nor the people who suffer from supply disruptions in the high security regions.

No. The people who suffer the most, in reality, are the ones who were simply trying to make a life for themselves in border space. Who's existences have been torn apart by this war, and who's lives are claimed every day as the territory constantly changing hands. Who have been utterly cast aside by civilized society to facilitate the desires of the populace at large, who blindly desire death and retribution against their enemies,

She said it was bloodsport, if not in those exact words. A daily sacrifice to the gods, to bring about a short-lived harvest, with a price that will only grow.

I... Had never even thought of it so. It's given me enough pause that I don't feel truly feel comfortable proceeding. I would rather just continue exploring, and trying to understand what being a Capsuleer truly means. I've made a fair amount of wealth, now, and I can almost fly a covert operations frigate. I almost wish to simply wander, for a time, abstaining even from the minimum of bloodshed I have been required to commit in self defense.

But, in truth, does it matter what I think? Father tells me this is right. He tells me it is best for the family. I would not be a Capsuleer at all, were it not for him. What right do I have to question?

Father, why do you ask this of me? You know I'm not a fighter - You know I've never wanted to be one. When I was a child, I dreamed of being a monk, dreamed of spending my days only seeking truth and understanding as our elders passed have, in the ways you have abandoned. To live without material desires, and leave only the lightest of footprints on the ground I walk. I do not want renown, I do not want glory. I do not want to destroy the worlds of others.

You know that I cannot refuse you. That it is to you that I owe everything; My life, my good health, my years of enjoying almost the highest quality of life in the State. My ability to have spent the first twenty-five years of my life doing nothing of value, without a days work...

Yet you sold these pieces of metal carved into the back of my skull on the promise that I would only need to mine a few rocks over the course of a spattering of weeks to bring an end to all of our troubles. That I would never need to be a warrior, or a killer. That I could be myself, even amongst the stars.

Why did you deceive me?

A Small Loss

I... I don't know why I haven't written about this sooner, really. I suppose I was trying to pretend it didn't happen.

I was podded, a couple of weeks ago. It was the second body I lost in total, after they took my first one at the end of my training. (Well, I suppose they didn't take it, per se. But I'm not in it anymore.)

To be honest, I don't even... Quite remember how it happened. I recall the circumstances. I had headed up the Inoue system to do scan for sites to explore, but hadn't found any, and decided to head back to Malkalen to do more shipping work for Ishukone, like my father needs me to. But I wanted to leave my Heron there for later, so I went to look for a shuttle to travel back in. 

When I couldn't find any in the area that weren't ludicrously overpriced, I decided to simply fly back in my Pod. What could go wrong, really, I thought? It was high security space. No one there could attack me without being destroyed by CONCORD, nor would they have anything to gain if they did. It wasn't worth fussing over. I set my destination, activated my autopilot, brought up the Summit and some contracts to go over to keep me busy...

What system was I in? I feel like I might've gotten side tracked by something. I can't really recall the specifics.

I heard the sound of me being targed-locked, but barely even noticed. I recall a strange feeling, a brief flicker of worry and confusion, worry and profound discomfort. And then, an even odder one still. A sensation of, for a moment, being something profoundly different; Something utterly unlike anything I have ever been, in thought or form. Something I cannot understand, and only could, for that one second...

...And then I awoke in Malkalen, my forehead pressing against the cool glass, my eyes foggy, with warm fluid slowly draining below me. I stumbled out, washed myself, got dressed... Had something to eat. The food tasted different, like it did the last time, and my skin felt too soft, for a while. It was odd.

I did not believe it, I think, when it first occured. Not really. Have you ever spilled a glass, or dropped a plate of food, or something like that? And you have that brief moment, where you haven't quite processed it yet? Where you brain hasn't yet grasped the upsetting loss and shift in the status quo? And you're still thinking about how much you're going to enjoy that drink, as if nothings changed.

I make that comparison instead of a more serious one because it really didn't seem like much of an important affair, at the time. It seemed easy to move on. To forget it ever happened.


I...

I feel I've lost something. I must have.

I'd upgraded my clone far beyond anything I'd rationally need. It was a Pi grade - Certified human biomass and bone or high quality osteoplastic. It was more then fit - excessively so, even - to retain everything without any functional memory loss.

And yet, I can feel that something is gone. I do not know what. But something of myself, something very small, so small that i can't even perceive it in full, is utterly absent. And it has left behind only a cold, empty void that reaches out and chills me to my bones. When I gaze into myself, as the teachings compel one to do, to perceive the Totality- I see it. Burning. Clear as day.

I feel... False. Incomplete. A shadow. My skin does not rest on the bones as it should. Not at all.

...

I cannot ignore it.

Mister Hakatain mentioned in the Summit that the very, very best clones are grown organically, over the course of a human lifetime. They are completely natural, as much as any other person. Utterly without error, they retain the information transmitted from the burning scan flawlessly, leaving not such a copy, but an utter, pristine recreation; A perfect continuation of the self.

I still have the ISK mister Vikarion gave me for some bizarre reason. A hundred million. Foolish, needless as it may be, I will use this to purchase a contract for one of these.

I will never let this happen again. Not ever - For as long as I exist. I swear it.

Innocent Facade

(NEOCOM ERROR: Upload belated due to hardware overflow. Estimated desynch: 11 days.)

I've realized something. It's not a good realization.

Let me explain myself, first. At the risk of stating the obvious, I am not a bold person. I never have been. I don't take risks, I tend to stay in my comfort zone. I crumble quickly under... Well, any sort of pressure at all, really. I'll be the first to admit it. I am a coward; A flake, craven, whatever you want to call it.

So. Naturally, when I first became a Capsuleer, I was a nervous wreck. Almost everything about it terrified me. Sticking wires into the back of my spine and skull terrified me. Flying - Alone - into space, despite being trained to do so for months at the academy, terrified me. Not being able to feel my body terrified me. The idea that I might be attacked by pirates terrified me. Warping and Jump Gates terrified me. The prospect of bumping into other ships terrified me. The possibility of accidentally flying into the sun...

Well. You get the idea.

Most of all, though, other Capsuleers terrified me. I'm going to write this down again because I can sometimes almost forget, even after a few months: Normal people... Baseliners, rather... Are terrified of Capsuleers, and rightly so. And when I was myself, so was I. 

I still remember the first time I signed into the Summit, my license still warm from the proverbial press, at the recommendation from my first agent, telling me it would help me to learn to talk with "others of my kind." The thought of interacting with people who held such tremendous power at their fingertips - people who could single handedly tear apart whole colonies, defense fleets and all, alone -  made we want to run for the hills. And when I saw what they were like, that is, bizarrely immature, petty, and oblivious of themselves... Well, that made it even worse.

I acted a fool. I stuttered, I cowered, I broke into outbursts when something offended me. It was sad. Pathetic, even. I forgot the teachings, and allowed my heart to be ruled by nothing but fear.

In time, though, most of those fears abated, and what was previously horrifyingly unimaginable to me has become (though still somewhat objectively disturbing) routine. I am not so afraid of flying. And I am no so afraid of my... "Kin", anymore, except in the most extreme of circumstances, when they present an actual real risk of attacking me physically. I can, for better or worse, share company with them with only moderate discomfort.

But what I've realized (or perhaps always known, and only just had to courage to consider) is that, yet, I still find myself playing the part.

Why? ...I suppose, in truth, it's nothing more then a means of protecting myself. 

Perhaps I feel that it makes others pity me, and that this grants me some measure of safety from them; That they would be reluctant to strike down something so weak, so powerless, so much less then what they are, as even the most hardened murderer would hesitate to strike down a child.

But I know this to be provably false. Though there have been rare acts of kindness and compassion, in general, capsleers care little for those beneath them, if they even recognize them as existing at all. And in fact I have suffered from such a perception, in the form of threats, hate, outright assault - It does nothing for me in this regard then make me appear a plump hare in a garden full of very, very hungry foxes.

So what is the true reason? The answer is obvious. For myself, of course.

Because it helps me to... Still feel apart, from them. It helps this world, the world of Capsuleers, of maddened war and death amongst the stars, feel alien. It helps me feel like a newcomer to it all, still, even though that status is fading. It keeps me from fitting in, and that pleases me. It pleases me too much.

By the Creator, why do I feel the need to do this? To harm myself so, by embracing such self-deception? I should not need to embark on such ridiculousness to convince myself of my separation. I know in my heart that I am different. I'm not like them - Not at all. My heart isn't filled with hate, filled with a desire for blood and death, or worse yet, simply the cold and hollow apathy of the void. I do not lust for wealth, for power, only for knowledge and understanding. 

Yet... It seems so easy, to forget this, at times. To talk as they do, to mimic their thoughts and words, like some household bird-No. Not like a bird. Like a child, desperately trying to elevate itself through emulation and imitation.

It is foolish. I am foolish.

Out Of Place

I... Should write about politics. Politics is easy.

The trouble in the State is getting worse. The attacks on planetary targets are continuing, and most sources are now reporting that they're going for military targets. Lots of pirate factions are getting involved. The Executor is throwing around his power like never before, scorning the CPD and CEP's judgment. I've heard from other pilots that he's gone mad. It's almost starting to look at though he might be deposed.

Father is, as one could expect, thrilled, on account of it being the Provist uprising that essentially killed his career and credibility. (Well, and perhaps some of his own more... Harsh decisions, but it is not right for one to question their parents such.) I delivered the news to him myself, since I had picked it up well before it started to become widespread by listening in to Capsuleer gossip. Within minutes, he was talking about getting in contact with some of his old associates in the corporation and perhaps seeking a means to wiggle his way back into the structure, and of course going on about the the Executor was finally "Getting what he gave" for almost destroying my family. 

It'll be funny if it ends up panning out in such a manner that my family can return from it's relative social exile, in the sense that it will mean there was no need for me ever to become a Capsuleer to repair our reputation at all. (And I mean "funny" in the least funny was possible, here.) My father asked about my progress in that regard as well, of course, which I informed him was coming along.

I'm still not sure how to feel about the whole thing, myself. I mean, I make no secret of the fact that I hold extreme distaste for Heth. (Well, no secret of it in private, at least.) The man is a racist thug, yet he's essentially Emperor of the State, at the moment. Never mind the fact that a concept like that shouldn't even exist. And in more personal sense, his actions did make life very hard for me, for a few years. 

But I'm really worried about all the things that could happen. What if people I know get hurt? What if it ends in civil war? What if the Executor gets desperate, and has the fleet in Luminaire burn Gallente Prime to dust, or something equally hysterically destructive?

Gods, I don't even want to think about it. Why am I thinking about it? I don't even know why I am. It's not as if it's any of my business - I'm barely even a citizen of the State. I've spent most of my life on a planet nothing like the rest of it that most ethnic Caldari would likely consider a backwater.

I tried to play at being politically minded in the Heiian College the other day, but I felt disingenuous even as I was doing so. Saying things like, "The only thing we have is our technological edge", or, "The economy can't sustain another massive downturn". Hah. I felt more and more ludicrous the more serious I attempted to sound. Who on earth was I trying to fool? I don't know anything. And even if I did, I'm not anywhere near important enough to change anything. Everything I said was a petulant and childish observation, said only in the interests in self affirmation and a desire to feel equal amongst "peers".

Like I was just a child in the schoolyard, trying to fit in. 

...Speaking of which, I guess, I've decided to attend Silas Vitalia's party, out of some likely horrendously misguided desire to befriend more Capsuleers. Though I still remember mister Shutaqs... Unfortunate account of the last event she held (The one where he set himself on fire in protest of her conversion), I do not fear too much for my safety, since so many others will be here. 

And though she was cruel when we met - And likely still is, in intent - Miss Vitalia has been oddly kind to me lately. So she's likely to not rip out my still-beating heart, or anything of that sort.  

...Well, at the very least, it's unlikely. I'll have my softclone updated, just in case.

Though I've already been doing that every night. I'm probably getting a little paranoid.

Decay

I had another strange dream, tonight. This one was a little more coherent, though equally offputting, I think. I awake in my bed, on Saisio. It is as if it is any other day. The gentle morning sunlight pours generously through the window, it's timid, yet resolute warmth spreading over my body. The birds sing softly in the trees, which expand endlessly over the hills and mountains, their snowy tipped peaks reaching aspirationally for the heavens. Blossoms weave between each other in the soft, spring wind... I rise, and for a moment, something feels wrong. The bones my heels seem to push too harshly downward into the flesh, and for a fleeting instant, I feel a foul, bitter sickness deep in my belly, and the stirring of bile rising in my throat. But in an instant, it is gone, as if it was never there. I feel perfect, wonderful, utterly rested, and somehow very clean. Like a child. I stretch my arms and legs, finding no measure of the aches and pains I am used to, my form seeming utterly weightless. I toss aside my pajamas and throw on some proper clothes, taking a quick swig from a glass of water by my bedside. It tastes fresh and rich, like from a spring. Feeling eager to go out and enjoy the day, I practically rush out the door and hop quickly down the stairs, feeling full of energy. The house is very, very quiet, and empty - More so then it would ever be in reality - But in the dream, I do not notice this, for whatever reason. I slip into a pair of boots lying where I usually leave them, and head out into the garden. I smile, my heart light as a feather. I smell flowers and fresh grass. Everything seems ideal. I walk through our garden and out onto the pathway to the town below, a skip in my step. The wind blows in my hair. All is as it ought to be. I almost want to sing, like something out of a really bad holovid. Have you ever had those moments where you feel furious at dream? Where it is so perfect, so much kinder then reality, and suddenly it is snatched away from you, like a child robbed of a gift she has just been given? Suddenly, without warning, something changes, and everything is now very wrong. I feel frail, weak. There is a coldness in the back of my head, and I smell something out of place. A sickly sweet, foul and bitter rot. I try to catch my breath, but there is some manner of fluid in my throat, and I can only take short, sharp gasps. I look down... ...And see my legs, which I suddenly realize I cannot feel, twist and snap, making a horrible creaking moan as they do. The flesh on them rends, blood splattering all over the ground. Shards and warped splinters of osteoplastic, their reflective surfaces glimmering in the sun, scatter over the street below like tiny jewels, artificial marrow oozing out of them, becoming black and fetid as it does. I fall. I try to reach out with my arms and stop myself, but they shatter, as well. I attempt to howl in agony; My entire jaw dislocates and falls loose, the "bone" crumbling into dust and the flesh sliding off eagerly, metamorphosing into a dismal red slush , reduced to raw biomass. In horror, I plummet downward, my head striking the earth with the most awful of wet crunches. I feel my innards drain out of my chest, organs falling from my stomach and popping absurdly, like balloons. My eyes become grey and lifeless, my own mind rotting as I still dwell within it. My skull collapses in on itself... But I feel nothing. At some point, I simply... Left? I seem to drift, formless, from my body. I watch it below me, slowly reducing itself back to it's base components; Decaying until nothing is left but foul, black liquid and bitter dust, in a puddle around my clothes. I feel cold, exposed in a manner worse then I have ever felt. I feel free from all bonds, but unable to exercise it, whatever remains of me now seemingly paralyzed. As the dream ends, I am carried away by the wind, unable to do anything but accept it my fate. My home, and all that which is known to me, falls further and further into the horizon. I think I'm going to start sleeping less.

Stray Kite

I feel a little lonely, sometimes. Well, quite often, really.

I hope that doesn't make me weak. Though it probably does.

I don't really have a good reason for it. It is not as if I don't have many friends and family who care about me back on the homeworld, or that other Capsuleers are utterly unwilling to speak with me. Many even treat me with more kindness then I likely deserve.

However, I... I confess that I often feel quite lost, in spite of this. Filled to the brim with worries, discontent, fears, such that they overflow and make me act a fool... Without anyone to whom I can relate, to whom I can trust in.

This world that I have entered, when these implants where placed in the back of my skull, is still very much alien to me. And I have never been good with change, not since the days where I would spend the first week of every school I transferred to skulking about during the day and weeping to myself in disgust of my failure to make friends at night. Many things about it make me very afraid, Things that I can do, that I am expected to do... It is all a little too much. No. More then a little.

And more then that, space itself, when I am out and alone, fills me with a deep and profound sense of solitude. The sheer vastness of it, the lack of any sense of scale save for that which is maddening, and utter absence of, well, anything, save for the light of distant stars.

Sometimes, when I am alone, so divorced from life as I have always known it, I feel a terrible feeling pouring into me, a gentle whisper flowing into my soul. That everything else is but a small and trivial thing, easily forgotten, and that this world - this vast and empty wasteland, without life, without laws, without all the little things that humanity has slowly built itself in both physical and mental terms over the years - is what it utterly true. What is utterly, totally real.

It is almost like she mentioned to me, back when... Well, that's something to think about for another time, I think.

The point is, it has left me feeling ungrounded, like a stray kite blowing in the wind. I am filled with questions that demand answers, and when the mind cannot find others from which it might receive them, it tends to try to answer them itself, in the worst of all ways. Constantly questioning, comparing, without any context of rationality and reason. Breaking down it's own framework until nothing seems indisputably true, any longer.

Gods and spirits, I just read over what I wrote, and it barely even made sense. What am I doing?

The point is that I have no one to whom I can relate to. My friends and family - Kind, yes, but they could not hope to understand any of this. Other Capsuleers... Most of them are as alien to me as anything else in this life. None think as I do, seeming to operate on a level I cannot even comprehend. The few that act truly like normal people seem largely disinterested in me, absorbed in their own, more important affairs, that I could not imagine how to penetrate.

And the few that reached out to me when I first became a Capsuleer, that seemed genuinely caring, have vanished without a trace, died, or in one case, simply forgotten me.

Perhaps even they only cared out of pity. And pity is much harder to garner with a 6 month old license then a fresh one, I think.

I do not know what to do, at times. I truly don't. There seems nowhere I can go, none to whom I feel right reaching out to. Perhaps I would have been better off staying where I was, in spite of my fathers wishes, and the... Call, I felt, to do so. I feel trapped, caught between being a Capsuleer, immortal, fearless and driven, and simply a normal person. The person who I have always been.

Spirits, when did I become wont to complain so much?

I don't even know what my problem is. I just need to focus, and think positively. Forget all this nonsense...

I really ought to lie down.

Denial

I mentioned a conversation I had on the Summit. I suppose I should probably go into it. Like I mentioned earlier, this sort of pertains to the thoughts I was having a few days ago, about how being a pod pilot makes everything you do have so much more of an impact, or something.

I was speaking to a few people - A DUST Operative, a very old Caldari pilot, and a some others - about how Capsuleers behave. (Well, actually, this was at tail end of a spectacularly and frustratingly long dialogue about who has more freedoms between Capsuleers and the Mercenaries (For reference, I was arguing for the ones who can fly), but that's a story for another time.) We were talking about how most of the people there seemed ludicrously laid back, casual, and unintellectual considering their occupation and the amount of power they have, and how bizarrely Capsuleers behave in general, when I suddenly realized something.

I don't consider myself a Capsuleer. Even though I am one. And have been. For months.

Why is this?

I talk to Capsuleers more then baseliners, as of late. I spend hours a day communing idly on the Summit and other channels, conversing with a couple over mail, and even occasionally bantering with some of the ones lurking about the system I'm in. (Better to know the sharks before they try to swallow you, right?) And, of course, I spend most of my time doing Capsuleer things, usually in-pod. In fact, I'd estimate that at this point I'm in the blasted thing for the better part of my waking life. It is the obvious reality.

Yet... I still do not count myself amongst their ranks, in spite of it. Despite my involvement, I feel like an observer, not a participant. Very close to their world, yes - To the point of pushing my hands and face against the glass, like a curious child immaturely peeking into the business of her elders - But still, utterly, in my own. In the one belonging to the rest of humanity.

I suppose the reason for this is that I simply cannot believe it. Though I know I am one, part of my brain simply refuses to accept it - Considers it so impossibly absurd that I could have risen to to such a level, as I spoke the other day. To possess such incredible power and wealth...

...No, that's not the reason. It might be a part of it, but it isn't the one that really matters.

I was about 15 - Give or take, I can't quite recall - When Capsuleers, in the modern definition of the term, first began to emerge. I already knew a fair bit about the technology (My uncle was a Capsuleer before they developed the cloning tech properly, and managed to last a couple years before getting killed) but still, the whole affair was... Bizzare. Chilling. I remember seeing the entire thing unfold from the perspective of a normal, if somewhat well-off and thus more easily privvy to cluster wide news, person. The first reliable cloning tech being perfected. The early stories of them devastating whole fleets by themselves. The tremendous booms of wealth as their efforts began to flow back in the State.

 And shortly following, the accounts of the first few turning to piracy, then more, and then entire alliances of outlaws being formed, carving empires for themselves amongst distant stars... The tales of bloodshed on such a scale that it would make Omir himself blush, perhaps.

All while I lived as any other teenager did, more or less, keeping to myself and studying the teachings of the sect, idling my days away without true care for such matters. They seemed, and were, impossibly distant from me. As far and untouchable as the most distant and fleeting of lights in the heavens. ...Yet just as terrifying, were they ever to be close.

 I talked to Silias Vitalia today - The blooder woman who holds parties for people more important then I am, if I remember - And she spoke of how it is the nature of our kind to kill. She mentioned "Bodycount", casually, and said that such is not a result of Capsuleer Dementia. It is simply how we are. How we should be. That I should embrace this nature, just as a bird should fall from the nest to test it's wings. As if it was something inherent. Obviously inherent.

It is not just her, either. Everywhere I look, I am reminded that this is how Capsuleers are, as surely as the fish swim and the clouds crawl across the sky. The mercenary I talked about earlier (I can't recall his name, for some blasted reason) called me - Well, called us - "Gods of destruction". At the time, I thought it was absurd. Melodramatic. To the point it must've been a joke. And it hurt me, more then it should have.

...But, in truth, a few years past, I would likely have called myself the same, in perhaps only slightly kinder terms. Without a hint of irony, and with a great deal of resentment.

I do not see myself as a Capsuleer because I do not truly accept what it entails, what everyone knows it to entail. The power, the fear... The death, on a scale so massive that I cannot comprehend it on an emotional level at all. The callous disregard for life and the affairs of lesser beings, if not from ill intent, then from simple ignorance of their own actions.

I don't want to think of myself of that. I cannot be that. I may have killed, but I have done so only in self defense, doing everything I can to avoid combat. And I have counted every life I have been forced to take... Around 860, at last count... So that I do not succumb to the cognitive dissonance that seems to plague all pilots. So that I do not become as they are. What they are.

I am different to them. All of them. I know I am.

Or am I simply in denial? It's not as if I'm somehow obligated to keep doing this. I've almost accomplished what I set out to do, what my father asked of me. And I have seen much of the stars, enough to satisfy anyones sense of wonder and curiosity. People pointed out - If I was truly sickened by this life, I could simply stop. I would stop, rather.

Would I not?

The Skeptical Corner

I do not like the pod.

...No, that's a stupid statement. I wouldn't be a pilot if I loathed it, without exception. Let me start again.

I do not like how being in a pod feels.

When one's neural uplink is attuned, your conscious mind is supposedly locked, one hundred percent, into the starships CPU. To your brain - At least, to the part that matters - the body no longer exists. You are your ship. (Well, sort of. I'll get back to that later.) The science is very, very clear on this.

Yet... When I am in my pod, flying, I swear that I can still feel it. Just barely. Some part of me simply does not accept the "illusion" it is being fed. Though nine parts of my eyes might see my ship, see space, see everything as I am supposed to... The last tenth can still see the murky, near-black of my small, quasi-spherical chamber. A single skeptical corner, somehow standing in opposition to the rest of of those two deluded orbs.

 And, more then that, I can still feel the cold, thick jelly pressing against my bare flesh, hear the tiny vibrations from the far-off engines, and taste my own bitter filth in that grotesque, awful liquid. Not to mention sense the wires jammed deep into the back of my spine and skull. 

It is not something I like at all. It makes me feel trapped, and more then that, vulnerable. Too human to be floating amongst the void.

Perhaps I am being foolish. Perhaps it's all in my head - In fact, that's almost guaranteed, really. It's certainly easy to forget, when I'm fixated upon something in space instead of letting my mind wander, and there's really no rational explanation for it to speak of. I will be the first to admit that I'm pretty neurotic, and I could easily see myself imagining such a thing out of sheer obsession with how weird the whole thing - Capsuleering, rather - Still seems. But, still...

Sometimes I feel as though there is something wrong with me. Something wrong with how I interact with the pod, that somehow escaped the people who conducted the tests back at the School of Applied Knowledge.That my mind is somehow not quite as compatible as it should be, and that one day I'll try to get out, and end up with mindlock, or my brain fried and leaking out of my ears.

I was talking in the Summit earlier - This was actually at the end of a really odd conversation that sort of pertains to what I wrote the other day, but I'll talk about that another time - And I mentioned that, when I was fighting, I felt "Like a Starship", in the literal sense. That in the heat of battle, I could almost forget I was a person.

...The other pilots there found this strange. They remarked upon it, and even seemed to mock me, as though I was a deluded fool. It was upsetting, how distant and less intimidating their experiences were compared to my own.

I had never thought it strange, before. I assumed it was just how things were meant to be. To feel the ship as if it was your own... Body, to sense the capacitors energy surging through you from your burning heart, to feel the flicker of your sensors feedback like a gust of gentle wind touching your flesh. To see from the camera drones as if they were your own eyes, and at times feel the need to blink, it is so utterly real. But, in finding it is not, I suddenly feel a drowning woman amongst divers.

And that makes me feel as though I fit amongst them even less.

...I know this is all ridiculous. I know that people react differently to integrating with the technology, and that different minds have variable ways of "translating" the information they receive from their ship. I know that I am nothing special, save perhaps for my ability to make truly spectacular mountains out of the humblest of molehills. I know I am a pilot like any other. Like all others.

But... It is one more thing to bother me, I suppose. A small flicker of doubt. To add to the pile.

Footprints

I visited home today. After the news of military mobilization in the State, I felt, for some reason, compelled to return. I am not entirely sure why, but I suspect it was because I worried - If only slightly - That total war might ensue with the Federation, or the megacorporations might be at last turning to each others throats in some kind of violent coup. And I would have only this final chance to see Saisio, to walk amongst the endless hills and peaks, to sit and think in the monastery, and hear the teachings of the elders... Before it was reduced to bitter dust. To die amongst my people instead of live amongst my, well, more recent and less hospitable kin.

I never really believed that would happen, of course. It was a foolish, childish fear, a petty thing I idly entertained to spare myself the difficulty of disregarding it. Like when one gets a strange chest pain and quickly rushes to make a half-hearted repentance of ones misdeeds to the heavens, just on the off chance it's something serious.

...Well, perhaps I'm the only one who does that. I suppose we are all fools in our own little ways, if you will forgive the utter trite redundancy of such a statement.

In any case. It didn't lead to anything, of course, and I didn't stay for very long.

It was odd, though. While it has only been two weeks since I departed and returned to piloting, it seemed peculiarly... Unfamiliar. Things seemed to stick out more then they usually do. I was aware of the odd overgrowth in the trees, the creak as I walked upon the old, wooden stairs, the poor state and general untidiness of my own room...

Is it strange that I have a "room"? I am a Capsuleer, if still a fairly recent and very much unsuccessful one. I could afford a hundred homes of equal quality to even the rather locally spectacular one my father owns. Gods and spirits, I could probably build myself a skyscraper and exist there, with all the things one could ever need at my fingertips for my own amusement. (Ugh, I sounded Gallentean for a moment, there.)

And yet, for the past four months, I dwelled in this relatively tiny space, as I had when I was a child. I spent most of my time idly reading books from our library, in spite of the fact that I could have done this from my Neocom with much less effort, which is burned behind my eyes forever, easily summoned at a moments notice. When I was not here, or spending time with old friends, I was outside, strolling through the hills and woodland - When previously, and now once again, I had wandered amongst the stars.

Isn't that absurd? I know I am a creature of habit, but such a tremendous retreat into familiarity was all but pathetic. Something about being a Capsuleer, with all it's terrible grandeur, scared me to my very core, such that I wanted nothing to do with it, or to even be reminded, for a time. I cared not for glory, nor wealth. I only wanted to desperately return to the way things were.

Is it strange that it fills me with a strange sense of profound discomfort, and a small measure of shame, to write about this? Even though no one will ever read it, save for myself?

I spoke with my father briefly; He is well. He appreciated my efforts in assisting the mother corporation, thus returning dignity to our family name. I would be more frustrated with being forced to repent for his mistakes if it were truly any effort at all - But in all honesty, it is not. My fathers shame on our family was something that hung over the head, over all of ours heads, for years. But, as a pod pilot, it has only taken me essentially two days to evaporate it completely, and grant us more favor then we have ever held, even prior to what happened.

When I mused on this particularly hard, I felt weak. Ill, even. The concept was terrifyingly intimidating. That I, alone, could accomplish more then my elders did in years, and do so not in some great feat of intellect or bravery, or some other virtue; But rather in only following orders and completing what were, to me, trivial, mindless tasks. In baseliner terms, little more then delivering a crate... No, even that implies exertion... A gift, perhaps, to a friend who lives down the street.

That, by virtue of what is now my very nature, my deeds were worth so much more.

It is a shocking thing, to be a normal being, a little mortal amongst little mortals, and then stand within my own giant footprints. Or even to observe them from some distance, as the case may be. To be forced with a choice, to either see myself as something great and huge - Which violates the teachings of my sect more then I can even begin to speak of - or to begin to see the world as something smaller. Far, far smaller.

Why did I return, and not remain content in the comfortable, the little? ...I suppose I do not yet really know. Perhaps I will, soon. But I felt that I needed to do so.

When I got back into space, I bought some new skillbooks. I spent an hours earnings on one to learn cloaking. It cost about a million isk? I can't really remember.

I am trying very hard to not think of how many houses that could buy. Very hard. It is difficult.

A Fleeting Dream

Battle, is... Not in my nature.

But today, I shot down a cruiser while in an asteroid belt.

It is not the first time I have killed. I have chosen a very nonviolent, fairly safe career: An explorer. (Though I feel a little silly calling it a "career" at this point, considering I've been doing it for all of two weeks.) I do most of my poking around space with probes instead of in person, which averts a lot of danger, and I mainly stick to high security space, so I don't get ambushed while I'm working. I have been told by other Capsuleers that this is a cowardly way to make money, but most Capsuleers would probably step on the neck of an injured animal if it lied in their path, so I do not take it to heart. I also make a little money mining, which, too, is nonviolent.

But occasionally, there are still times where I have to fight. Even with the upmost caution, there are occasions where I am cornered; Sometimes it is an ambush in a belt, or falling victim to a surprise attack while going through some old ruins looking for artifacts. One way or another, it ends up being the only option, nature or not.

...Usually, the battle is over before it starts. I make a quick, reactionary flicker of will. My weapons fire... And in an instant, they are gone.

It was like that this time, even though it was a bigger ship. I should clarify - This was the first time I've blown up anything larger then a Frigate or Destroyer. That's why I'm making such a huge fuss. There were probably more people aboard that ship then I have killed in the past put together. Yet, in spite of that, it was no different. I had expected a proper fight or maybe even to lose my ship, but it still only lasted a few moments, and then it was over. All that remained was a faint feeling of disbelief and regret, a great cloud of molten rubble and shattered lives, slowly dissipating as entropy allows.

If I allow my mind to wander, I can almost forget it happened.

It is so easy, so utterly trivial, that it disturbs me on a level I cannot quite say. Firing my missiles is the oddest thing. It feels so natural. Far more so then I ever expected. Like I'm releasing something tense and heavy inside of me of me that desperately wants to escape. And it is not even close to an exertion, being more akin to taking a long breath.

Over a hundred lives, gone with only a thought...

My dreams have become different. I was told they would, but never experienced it in my first two months. But now, having returned, I have begun to.

I am a... Creature. A malformed, floating, ever-changing thing; A entity that cannot be described, not for the horror of it's nature, but simply the sheer abstractness. I swim in a vast ocean (or something close to it), my mind and body shifting as I do so, the water seeping into me as though I am a sponge. There is a thumping, a pulsing, inside of me, striking with every step. It is painful. It pushes, a terrible and bitter pain, against my skin, something akin to a headache, only all over my form. I feel sick - I want to fall, but I am not standing, nor is there any ground for me to hit. Thoughts I cannot quantify in waking hours rush through my mind like a raging storm. New, hard, cold instincts, and terrible primal urges. Inhuman ones.

There is a light - Or something comparable. A feeling of safety and warmth. I try to swim towards it, but I am slow, sluggish. My "limbs" are tiny, broken things, and my breast is fat and bloated. The light becomes fleeting. It fades, and the very concept of it seems unknowable to me. It is, itself, like a fading dream...

There is more, but I cannot recall it, save for flickering images and concepts. Anger, fear, manic lust. The sensation of being fixated on a terrible thought, an awful image, but unable to direct my mind anywhere else.

I am told that it is because of the implants. The skill training, and the like. The brain is receiving a great deal of new information in an inorganic way and is unsure how to process it properly, and wrestles to interpret in a manner that it is capable of understanding.

Still... I had been training in my first two months, as well, before my hiatus - Yet had not experienced it. Back when I was keeping mostly to stations and making a fool of myself in front of Capsuleers on The Summit. Back when I was fearful of leaving the station in my meager ship, and instead busied myself playing with Isk, not even truly considering myself a podder. Back when I hadn't killed...

The teachings of the Yumao sect say that to slay another is to burden oneself; To take the responsibility of the taken life into ones own heart, and thus, harm ones perception of the Totality, as it is through the self that we see the greater whole that we are derived from and to which we shall, at the very end, return.

Yet, that truth feels distant, at this moment. Perhaps even unrelatable. I took those lives, but I do not feel a burden. I do not even truly feel as if anyone has died. As if what happens in space is nothing but a waking dream itself, something alien and terrible, but ultimately fleeting.

Something has changed. And not for the better.