When I return to the docking bay, I might wink at myself, a scar'd minstrel man, in the mirror. Later, going to sleep, I would feel the fiery smile still gripped by my face muscles, in the dark. It never went away, that smile, it never ever went away, as long as I remembered... those flames.
Describing my devotchkas, gives you a crash course in dystopia: dressed in the height of fashion, chrome and green Tech II ships with some officer moduals strapped to their hulls. Each one not costing less than three or four weeks wages, I should reckon, and implants to match. Long black, very tight overview. The groovy part of them was little kill badges, like silver, each with different war-target names on them.
Planet MMMDCCCLXXXVMMMDCCCLXXXVIII - Moon 404 - Belt two.point.two www.Broadcast.gif *******
Dashboard
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Active TimezoneUSTZ
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Intel Profile
PlaystyleSolo (0 kills)
Avg Fleet: -
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