Pablo Amadeus Zekairra
Caldari State War Academy
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Posted - 2011.08.21 00:16:00 -
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"ZK-what you need!"
"Months of an interplanetary eclipse for the ages to come and the price of ice cubes rockets sparking a small gold rush and skirmishes amongst the local corps as they scrambled to deploy station after station in the orbits of the frozen over celestial bodies. Zela Kahn an aspiring CEO in charge of maintaining what was left of her fathers and forefatherÆs legacy has taken to harvesting the ice floating in space in order to avoid the majority , a sign that the gold of the old men were ever present even here. Zela didnÆt care so much for myth and the philosophy that had been hammered into her head. Instead she listened to loud music, drank from her fathers aged wine rack and when the decks had been scrubbed she spray painted a childish shark fin on a smiling face. The fleet grew and shrank, outriders filled many of the gaps left by incursions and in the time of great AFK Kahn would resort to solo mining regardless. The day came when mining in high security space meant very little, the Dust campaigns had been declared and it was rumored even Concord could not prevent weapons form being smuggled into stations. The outrider was named Woody and he was as ***** as any other of sellships and free lancing pilots with their Mohawk hair cut. He was a silent guy sober and loud a drunk, boasted a two year military run in god knows where bumb**** and claimed to be an expert bomber. He walked in to the cabin of the newly established captains quarters after Kahn had been told of the Guristas offensive, how her outposts had been destroyed and abandoned. Time slowed if just for a few seconds as the man in the navy grey trench coat grabbed the modified Desert Slug .50, irradiated shells with anti-coagulating heads. The maker of the weapon and fit-probably unidentifiable, these sort of weapons are the mark of an artist, a writer, a poet with his hands and mind he was able to craft a weapon so deadly it ripped the flesh of any organic thing clean off. He knew the bullet was meant to kill a rare person. The shot rang and the echo was hollowed out by the security breach alarm on board the station. A corpse lay mangled on flour, stomach half in and half out and all over the walls, the blood that had sprayed of the corps was charred black and splattered at a great velocity from end to end. The killer had been a professional privateer; a shot to the stomach to the later identified the face of the victim as due to some chemical in the round the body had started to decay at an alarming rate. The body belonged to a certain Ralph ôSigÆbootyö of the KahnÆs trade network, pronounced dead on site." House of Kahn on the Web-matrix
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