Vrain Matari
Mikramurka Shock Troop
Minmatar Republic
3190
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Posted - 2016.06.04 23:02:00 -
[1] - Quote
Pokey Dravon wrote:True Adamance wrote:Y'know I'm not convinced TACNET is actually off line preventing cloning in the event of death. That would be terrible customer support from Genolution. You lore people just love to ruin everything don't you?
Nice work, Pokey.
True takes an unholy glee(how predictably Ammarian) in such things ;)
I'm thinking your swan song scene still happily fits the lore tho: we will each have faced the death of our last 'free' clone and the loss of the (nebulous) independent cloning infrastructure to which we had unrestricted access.
Presumably before that final incarnation as a free merc we negotiated with the NPC corps for long-term contracts and use of their cloning facilities. Of course they had us over a barrel and we are no doubt being paid absolute sh!t - once-free mercs now a race of immortal slaves indentured to our various corporate masters.
Dropsuit. Dropsoldier. As a mortal soldier the idea of dropping from orbit in power armor to hit the battlefield like some mythological avatar of old was an alluring vision. The reality of the clone program turned out to be less romantic, however, a giant years-long clusterf*ck of epic proportions. That was over now, and the only game in town was indentured servitude to some mega-corporation or other entity. It was beginning to look as if the price of immortality might be dealing with consecutive periods of major suckage.
For now, however, that could all go f*ck itself: he had a plan for his last drop as a free man.
It had taken surprisingly little effort to find a willing pilot - the things that Lavo, his Gallentean bartender, could dig up on short notice were impressive and occasionally disturbing.
An Empyrean, a tricked-out interceptor with minor cargo bay modifications and 50 million ISK got a merc a ride to Jove space, where it all began. Mordu had been amused at his proposal and had graciously provided hidden gate coordinates and access codes to one of his old mercs. A week later, leaning on Lavo's polished obsidian bar and nursing a glass of 20 ISK whiskey, a grin slowly, irresistibly overtook his matari features: this was going to be glorious.
to be continued...
PSN: RationalSpark
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