Sunday, 26 June 2011

Journal: YC113.06.27

They're Amarrian. Pilgrims, in the Republic on a religious mission of Reclamation. Not a good way to make yourself popular in Minmatar territory.

Which immediately makes me suspicious that there's more going on here than simple negligence. I employ a lot of Minmatar personnel, many of them former slaves.

I can just imagine being too far from home, surrounded by people who are at best cold, and at worst openly hostile. Being turned away from every hotel and apartment block in every station, probably turfed off every station in short order. And then somebody offers a glimmer of light among all the unrelenting cruelty. "I know somewhere secure you can sleep the night. Our little secret."

It's a miracle none of them are dead. All of them have been exposed to chemical, radiological and xenobacterial hazards and are suffering for it. One of them is going to need weeks of cell regen and months of rehabilitation and physiotherapy before he can walk again.

And frankly, all of them look malnourished, dehydrated and unhealthy, like they've not seen a doctor in years. Which is why they're being treated by medical staff off my ships.

Maybe I can be their real glimmer of light.


A Capsuleer.

I'd laugh, if it was funny.

Save. End.

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