Status: [TERMINATED] — Ex-Asset. Ex-Slaver. Current Predatory Nuisance.
"In the Amarr detention centers, the guards don't talk about 'souls' or 'prisoners.' They talk about 'Filing Cabinets.' I spent eight cycles listening to the sound of those 'cabinets' being opened and shut in the dark. I was the one who hauled them across the Bleak Lands, stacked six-high in the hold of a Bestower, praying the Vitoc didn't run dry before we hit the next cyno.
I’ve committed atrocities that would make a Gurista seem like a Sisters of EVE humanitarian. I’ve blinded Caldari naval blockades just to slip a shipment through, and once survived a three-week 'silent run' through a black hole’s gravity well with nothing but a failing life-support unit and the screams from the cargo bay for company.
But the truly dark work? That happened in the light. It wasn't always chains and force; usually, it was a smile and a lie.
I remember a Gallente researcher in Luminaire. I played the part of the eccentric benefactor for three months, wining and dining her, listening to her dreams of curing planetary blights. I didn't kidnap her—I 'invited' her to a private laboratory in the Omist region. She walked into the transport crate herself, thinking she was going to save the world. I sold her to a Tash-Murkon holder before her first meal on the station was even served.
Then there was the Minmatar rebel I 'rescued' from a Republic prison transport. I spent weeks in a cloaked ship with him, nursing his wounds, gaining his trust, and learning the locations of his entire cell. I didn't just turn him over; I orchestrated a 'failed' jump into a slaver ambush. I watched thru the cockpit glass as they drugged him, his eyes locked on mine, realizing the man who saved him was the one who had already priced out his organs.
But the 'cabinets' eventually started looking like faces. Faces of people who loved me. Faces of the crew I left behind to burn when the Tash-Murkon Navy finally closed in on our operation. I almost died in that last breach, drifting in a pod for a month with the smell of ozone and the weight of every life I'd 'filed' away.
Now, I’ve stopped hauling. I’m the one who hunts the hands that hold the keys. I know the routes, the bribe-rates, and the exact resonance frequency of a slaver's hull. I don't care about your ISK or your 'divine right.' I’m just here to make sure that when you reach for a drawer, you find me standing in your way."
Slaver Hulls Repossessed: 0