Apathy

Vaden leans heavily on his desk, papers strewn about, an empty bottle of his favorite wine, Luminaire Red YC 73, lying on its side near the edge of his desk. He stares at the holographic image of his parents as he has often done.

Many times I wonder if my previous attitudes were incorrect. Have I chosen the right path? Or, barring the path itself, have I chosen the best way to walk that path?

I've spent some time reviewing my previous logs. Word of your death reached me months ago, and I claimed I felt nothing. Obviously, that was a lie brought on by over a year of Drop addiction. I do feel...responsible, if not guilty. It is an uncomfortably alien emotion for me. In the station, there is a small festival going on for some local holiday. It reminds me of the ceremonies we attended years ago, when I was a boy, before I went to the academy. I remember those times, times of faith and fellowship.

I miss that feeling. I have a family in the Ghosts, I suppose. But the ones that understand me are gone or unavailable. Vince left for Veto, something I have still not reconciled to. Yishal left, and joined the damned CVA, of all places. I wonder if the Cartel is leading her as a sleeper agent much as I had been in Laconian. Inara is busy being a... a whore, I guess would be best. She, and those two giggling brats Repentance and Morwen seem more interested in shopping than serving a criminal organization. The whole damn immorality of it stings my Amarrian bones. From Morwen I could understand, being a godless Gallentean. But Repentance and Inara come from more traditional cultures and should know better.

He sighs, setting the empty wine bottle upright as he reaches for a full bottle behind him.

What does it matter, really? I prefer to spend my time in seclusion here on the Immolation, time for recollection and study. I talked with Leo briefly, a much ado about nothing, before he promptly excused himself. I don't think he likes talking to a Sani Sabik. Seems thats all people see me as nowadays. Not that I really care what other people think. Just another sign of apathy.

Recollection

Vaden tiredly turns on a small cam drone next to his desk. It immediately focuses on him as he reclines into his chair, propping his feet on his desk as he begins to sip his wine.

I'd almost forgotten about this damned thing. I suppose now is good a time as ever to get back into practice. There's so much to catch up on.

Starting with my memory loss months back, which Mortis says was caused by tamperings with my memory augmentation implant, things have gotten a little crazy. It started with Larkonis disappearing. Out of the black one day, he disappeared. He was gone for a month, with nearly a hide nor hair seen of him. With the head gone, the body of the Neo Spartans quickly unraveled. My comrades left for other corporations. I was left with shadows and ghosts in Otou. Hmph. Ghosts... It seemed only natural that I return there. Unfortunately, the Cartel had other plans.

Shortly after Larkonis disappeared and my memory stolen, I was contacted by an unfamiliar representative of the Cartel. Whatever happened during the time of my missing memory obviously angered them, and they had decided that I was to be retired. Me, retired. Bah. But Bane and I talked it over, and agreed, considering the leverage the Cartel has. I argued with them, said that I wished to return to the Ghosts. After all, my mission in the Neo Spartans was over, it would be right for me to return. My handler felt otherwise. He ordered me that I could not return to PRETA. Unless I did one last job for them.

Stain. A blight upon the cluster. Filled with shattered remnants of a crazed man's fantasy. It was here that the Cartel sent me on my impossible mission. To find the Nation's top pilot, Chelm Soran. And kill him. I had no support, no idea of where he would be located, and no clue how long this would take. The Cartel obviously felt this was to be a task to keep me busy, or even worse, force me to accept defeat. Killing the top pilot in the region, by myself, would take forever.

One week later, I killed Chelm Soran.

I gave his tag to Nephilim. Or Anima now. They changed the ranking structure while I was gone. I preferred the old way. I didn't tell her that his death cleared the way for me to return to the family. A short time later, I was entered into Naraka, though I no longer hold the lofty position I once did. It is better this way, I suppose. The burden of command off my shoulders allowed me to focus on more private matters.

Then, out of the black, I get contacted by a rookie pilot straight out of the academy, one Cruenta Orexis. She was pretty, for a Khanid, and said she was a Sani Sabik and needed my help in teaching her the Sani Sabik ways. I was a teacher, years ago, and is a natural thing to me. I gave her a series of questions for her to study and explore, and then present her conclusions to me. Her answers were...questionable. I had suspicions from her previous behavior, but did not ask her directly. Her third question, about why the accursed Blood Raiders are wrong, finally revealed her true loyalties. We were in the Skyhook at the time and I...lost my temper. I don't remember much. But soon her blood will cover my stone.

I believe that is the bulk of what has happened recently, since my last entry. Maybe I'll make more frequent entries from now on. God only knows.

Vaden reaches to turn the drone off, but remembers one final thing before settling back down into his chair.

Some of the younger members of Naraka, particularly the ones that joined after my departure, have been referring to me as 'Gramps.' A peculiar sobriquet, one that I do not find insulting. As an Amarrian, I do find it a bit flattering. But whether it is to honor my age and experience, or a play on my typical irascible nature, I do not know. Recorder, off.