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.

Forgotten Opportunities

Vaden sits at his desk, his head propped on his arms as he stares at the holo of the Amarrian couple.

What did you think of me, at the end? Did you blame me? Did you blame the Empire? Does it matter? Are you even in a position to care right now?

The holo starts flickering, the telltale sign that his Archangel handler, a woman known only as 'Seraph,' was about to make an appearance.

Well, Mr. Khale, I trust your mission was successful?

The apparition apparently startled Vaden, as he jumps fearfully from his seat.

Stop the theatrics, Vaden. What did you learn?

Her question goes unanswered, as he simply says, "What?"

Losing patience, Seraph replaces her apparition with a star map similar to the one she showed Vaden previously.

Our on-board tracking computers pinpointed your location a few days ago. You didn't fail the Cartel, as I told them you wouldn't.
Now, tell me, what did you learn during your time in Jovian space?

Vaden stares, not comprehending, before finally letting out one soft spoken question.

Who are you?

Seraph

Vaden lounges comfortably on board his Revelation, lazily sipping from a glass of wine. The holo of the Amarrian couple on his desk falters momentarily. Vaden quickly taps a button under his desk as the holo is suddenly replaced by the form of a woman, her face obscured. If her posture didn't belie her irritability, her tone certainly did.

Mr. Khale, what exactly do you think you're doing?

Chuckling absently as he continues sipping his wine, Vaden doesn't heed her irate voice, taking his time before forming a response.

I'm enjoying the luxuries my status as a capsuleer have afforded me. It's really quite nice, to relax once in a while, and a well earned one, I might say, after major campaigns in Omam and Bosboger.

Despite her apparition being a projection from a holo interface, the tap of her foot was still obvious, her impatience wearing thin.

Mr. Khale, you were not assigned to the Laconian Syndicate to idle on your ass. You were sent for a very specific job.

Vaden finally turns to face the holo, smirking slightly to his Archangel handler.

But, dear Seraph...How am I to know the best manner to perform in service to the Cartel if the Cartel doesn't tell me what they want me to do?

Seraph, not amused by Vaden's flippant attitude, disappears from the holo momentarily. Her visage is replaced by a starmap, the VVA-F4 region highlighted.

Do you know what this is, Mr. Khale?

Well, Seraph, it looks like a map.

Her voice, talking over the image, responds in shrill anger.

I am not talking about the map! I am talking about the fact that members of your organization, the organization that we placed you in as a sleeper and as an eye on their operations, was sent to uncharted space, space likely controlled by the Jovians, and you did not go with them!

Vaden sighs, perhaps having expected this call.

I tried to go. Leadership was tight lipped on the entire thing, and I was told my services would not be required for that mission. I'm not incompetent, Seraph...

The map disappears, the woman's figure replacing it. Her voice is much calmer, although it still belies some stress.

I know you're not incompetent. But I have superiors I have to answer to as well.

Vaden's voice adopts an almost concerned tone.

Archangel superiors...or Dominations?

It's none of your concern. Just...do what you can. Don't disappoint me. And always remember whom your loyalty belongs.

The holo cuts out momentarily, quickly replaced by the Amarrian couple. Vaden returns to sipping his wine, smirking as he taps the button under his desk.

Omam

Vaden turns on the camera drone, and it immediately begins hovering around. On multiple holos are displayed news feeds and pictures of the Battle of Omam. Millions dead for the wealth of one moon. The Scope displayed it as the second largest destruction of capitals in the history of the cluster.

By God, the destruction...Beyond anything I have ever seen before. I do not relish doing that again.

New Orders

Vaden sits solemnly aboard the Immolation, reviewing yet more personnel files and other corporate plans for Ghost Festival. The holo of the Amarrian couple on his desk stare silently at his work, an empty glass of wine set to the side. The holo of the couple flickers momentarily. Vaden glances at it, paying it little heed, until the holo is replaced by the figure of a woman, her face shrouded.

Captain Khale, how nice to see you again.

Vaden smiles as he recognizes the woman's voice.

Hello, Seraph. And what name shall I call you by today?

The woman laughs lightly for a moment.

Let's go with Katarina. I like the sound of that name today.

Vaden shakes his head, still smiling.

And what news from Curse?

The woman fakes a pout, adopting an insincere hurt tone.

Oh Vaden, you never call, you never write. What's a girl to think?

He sighs, understanding it's all part of her game, her way of warming him up before giving him bad news.

What now?

The holo is replaced with the corp logos of multiple pirate organizations. Beyond Divinity, Invicta, Neo Spartans...accompanied by corporate statistics and public records. The woman's voice continues over the display.

There are numerous reports of increased activity from some of the largest outlaw capsuleer corporations in the cluster. The machinations of capsuleers in null sec regions are easily understood and manipulated, but the psychology of outlaws such as these is much more difficult to manipulate. We could throw ISK at the problem, but the Dominations don't wish to spend that much when we have the much cheaper options of available sleeper agents. That's where you come in...

Vaden's smile disappears as he starts to understand what she's asking, replaced soon by anger and rage.

What are you telling me?!

The woman's shrouded figure reappears, her voice much sterner and not leaving any room for negotiation.

You are to join the Neo Spartans organization, ingratiate yourself there. If we ever see that your activation is required, you will be notified. Otherwise, consider yourself a fullfledged member of the Neo Spartans. Ghost Festival is behind you.

Vaden slams his fists on the desk, spilling the wine glass to the floor.

What of Inara?! What of Myrhial?! Or Vince, or Milo, or Mortis, or-

Captain Khale! This is not up for negotiation. You are the one that decided to serve us. Your personal feelings are not part of the equation. You can either do as you are told, and leave the Ghosts, or you can disobey our direct orders, and force us to have them expel you, or they can choose to keep you and lose our protection and blessing. The choice is yours.

The holo fades, replaced once again by the Amarrian couple. Vaden slams his fist once again into the desk. He holds his head in his hands, breathing heavily. He finally opens comms.

Myrhial, I need to speak to you. I'll meet you in the Skyhook.

Vaden sighs once as he opens up comms and submits his resignation from Ghost Festival to the Concord dock authorities.

Bones and Blood

Vaden activates the camera drone, rubbing his jaw gingerly.

Recorder on. That little Brutor child can throw a punch. Rattled my implants. But no matter, at least she finally grew a spine and stopped cowering around me. Percruor, going so far as to punch the man interviewing you...that takes guts.

Vince already seems to be influencing her to be a female, Brutor version of himself. She even cracked my jaw, just like Vince did to Ilias months back. Granted, Vince did it with a walking cane and shattered his jaw, where as mine was a slight fracture the AIMEDs were able to quickly fix. I don't know what he's planning, but he has something in mind for the girl. Whether it's good or bad remains to be seen.

Myself, I am curious as to how her hulking friend will respond to her joining our little family. She said she would refuse to follow my orders and open fire on him if ordered to do so. All I know is the addition of that young Brutor is going to make things very interesting here.