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Post by nightrader on Mar 27, 2015 7:36:49 GMT
Personal Log: Title: The Logs of a Self Proclaimed Ace - 2 AM Ramblings - Attached Music Entry 1 - 3/27Heading: Maybe I should be using this PADD and not just acting like I'm doing something with it. So here goes nothing. Hi. I'm talking to myself via text, isn't that great? Really good use of free time when I could be, you know, sleeping or... Sleeping. Yeah. My life right now. Introducing myself to myself is also a good concept, so here goes nothing. I'm 'Nicholas Farseer, fighter pilot' as I tend to try and introduce myself as. Some people go along with a big old rank slapped onto the top of their introduction, formal and all, or add some cute remark that people can remember. As by my title that apparently I've been giving myself, you can see I'm a fighter pilot. I shoot shit with explosions and phasers while doing barrels in between frigates. It's what I love to do. Shitty introductions to myself aside, good morning. Apparently it's the next day even though I've been staring at the ceiling for the past three hours or so. So damn glad I don't have to be sleeping in these pod-bed things up in Deep Space 9. So glad my mothership's arriving in the system and docking. I'll have my whole little room of sorts, music playing, beautiful view of the stars, comfortable bed. It's modest, but, it's what I love. Current events might be something to ramble about too, eh? Seriously, when did I start typing 'eh' into my fucking journal. Well, apparently today is when it starts. Probably should audio blog this if I actually do plan to use that shit. Topic? Right. Current events. Well, frankly, whole lot of fuck all. My day has been planned out like this. 9 AM: Wake up, assuming you've slept. 10 AM: Get out of bed, assuming you've woken up. 11 AM: Actually wake up and get out of bed. Eat a replicated egg bacon and cheese sandwich because that's all the damn hotel has for decent food. 12 AM-3 PM: Talk with the squadron over in the medbay, maybe even bring the coffee if I am awake enough to remember. 4 PM: Finally get morning coffee. 5-?: Sit in the Quarks bar and hope for something slightly interesting to happen. Segway. Shit's actually interesting. That was actually a really shitty segway. How does one even fucking spell segway? It's not on the database. Fuck it, so that was
segway. Woo. Interesting shit! Right. So, names are probably a great place to start. First of, and arguably the most exciting, Nishalla. By fucking God, is she one crazy woman. She's got that cheesy friendly spunk to her, yet beautiful and seductive at the same time. She has personal struggles of her own that hopefully I'll be able to help out with. Just have to keep the lass sane-ish. Attempt to, at least. Only problem is, I'm shit with women as a whole. 100% shit. Already am stuck with being friends. Not like that doesn't happen all the time. Right? Right. Great. Isn't all that bad. Not the worst thing to be happening. Continuing on. The Borg Lot. Not sure how I constantly make friends with women who are A) Inhuman in personality B) Have shit to overcome C) Ends up with me failing to 'help'. I mean, by christ, I really need to stop thinking I can fix everything like it's some fucking magical wand. Not sure what 'it' is that's the magical wand though. Who knows. They go by numbers, for how those damn Borg decided to program them. Twenty-Six, Thirteen. Those two, then Twenty-Six's daughter, Lhian or something. Not much coming to mind to really ramble about for another twelve thousand fucking paragraphs though. Now we've got an essay in the first entry. Side-notes, Likah forgot I was apparently, and Chandra's all happy. More to come. Maybe. Farseer Signing off- Ok, now that's just stupid. -END LOG-
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Post by nightrader on Mar 28, 2015 0:10:42 GMT
Entry 2 - 3/27 Heading: Still the same day but I actually went to sleep. Probably a good plan to get a good night's sleep. Sleep's actually a useful thing every once and awhile. Some people can't get it because of lack of food, someone bothering them, or just insomnia. For me, it's just unrest. Ironic, eh? I'm tired and need sleep but can't sleep because I'm too rested, even if I feel sleepy. Reasons I'm not a science officer. Daily events: I met a nice lady by the name of Nex. Nox. Something like that. Some sort of Alien, and really, really, really fucking loves sandwiches. Specifically these sausage ones that taste like salami, no clue. Surprised she isn't 500 pounds. Alien stomachs or something, who the fuck knows. She seems nice and innocent, the usual star fleet cadet lady. Should probably find out which specialization she's going into. What else... Oh, I'm assmad. Literally. Had my ass slapped twice today for some damn reason. Nish and Nex/Nox, both of them. Still stings like a bitch, probably will leave a mark. Captain bought us a keg of beer for homecoming, since the squadron will offically transfer to the medical wing of the ship instead of the station. Axel will get drunk out of his mind, and end up wrecking the little decoration shit I set up for them. He's a tiny bastard, but he's got a big heart. Johnny might end up dragging one of the nurses along, and I'll have to make sure we don't annoy the shit out of the science officer across the hall. Good times. Old times. As much as the squadron's just a bunch of dumbasses, I love 'em. Hopefully they'll respond well to Nishalla... Saying 'hopefully' is like saying "1% chance of 50% success". They still think I'm gay for whatever reason. Bunch of punks. Sidenote: Some people sit in bed curled up with a person. Others sit in bed with a PADD writing bullshit. -END LOG-
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Post by nightrader on Mar 29, 2015 5:21:36 GMT
Entry 3 - 3/28 Heading: God damn it Farseer. Really have to not be so damn dumb all the time. Ok, maybe some preface would be in order. Maybe. So, not much happened during the beginning of today. Just a whole lot of -** The line would seem to be cut off** Shit, that was close. Anyways. Just a whole lot of the usual, waking up, coffee, squad, ecetera. Tried to get Nisha to meet the Squadron, only to have Nexoya tag along. I know, I know, she's a nice woman and all, but christ... I don't know. Jealousy, I guess. She has that instant cute innocent thing going on, and still manages to act slutty. I don't know, she's nice. I'm really just overly jealous about it. She's basically got Nishalla in the bag, I'm sitting her like a, well sitting duck. Metaphors? Wow, this is becoming a 14 year old teenager's diary. Great. That aside, visit was alright. Rather have to have just been able to spent time with Nisha but I mean, I'm a selfish bastard when it comes to this. Stop it Farseer.
Diary Journal shit aside. Plans. Yes, plans. Since I'll be on station for the next few months, I might as well be prepared to do -something- with my life. Prepared doesn't mean I will actually achieve this shit. Just for my own sanity, I'll be writing it up on PADD so I don't forget. ** Another line would be cut off** I fucking swear. Nishalla. Gah. Anyways. Plans? Plans. Right. Half of them went out of my head from her, but lets try and get a few down. - Explore the system a bit more, mainly Bajor's major attractions. I think it's spelled Bajor, anyways. - Attempt to do training sessions with the squadron, keep them on their feet.
- Nishalla.
- Replicator codes for anything other than bacon eggs and cheese for breakfast.
- Paint job for Dawnbreaker? Just a few concepts. Ideas. Probably not happening. Especially the breakfast. 100% breakfast not happening. I'll be insane by the time this shore leave is over. Every shore leave just ends up being a whole lot of nothing and failed lady friends. At least I'm alive, yeah? Sidenote: Paranoia is horrible. Try to keep from full on panic. Sidenote #2: Don't be so damn salty about shit. -ENDLOG-
Entry 3.1 - 3/28 Heading: Oh. Cuddled with Nexoya and fell asleep with her. Best sleep in years. Why. Should redact last log. Maybe. Jesus that was interesting. No clue. Friends probably shouldn't be sleeping that close.
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Post by nightrader on Mar 31, 2015 5:06:41 GMT
Entry 4 - 3/30 Heading: Probably should ramble today. Remind me not to try and comfort a borg who thinks she's a child. And on that note, good day myself. Shit's been alright the past few days, just the usual happenings. 26 and Lhian had emotional drama time in the bar, I seriously need to stop trying to act like I can relate and comfort those free lot. Seriously am not good at that shit. Been talking with Nex a bit. She's been growing on me. realized my jealousy wasn't relevant. Shouldn't be that much of a dick. She's pretty nice. Literally seduced a man and woman with the brain of four year olds who managed to become sluts. Actually happend. Am sitting here drunk out of my mind. Auto correct is saving me. Thank you Federation. My head hurts. Remind me not to drink scotch ever again. Why did I let her buy my scotch. Should sleep. Probably good plan.
Entry 4.1 - 3/31 Heading: Nex. Burn in Hell. Friends don't leave friends in the middle of Deep Space Nine while unconscious. I hate you so much.
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Post by nightrader on Mar 31, 2015 22:43:38 GMT
Entry 5 Heading: The Brig Blues: Day 1. I remember why I stopped drinking more than beer. Oh wait, I don't remember shit. Let's try and recap and not just type angry letters on a screen. Wait how big can the font get anyways? HUGE? Sorry, testing purposes. Still didn't fix my utter complete fucking piss attitude. In a fucking brig. Yeah. Probably should get a total recap. As you can see by angry title, yes, I'm in the brig of the Omaha. Just for a day, and being stripped of command. Squadron lead has been passed down to my Scottish bastard brother Axel. Better than the last, and myself. He has the guts, wits, and mentality to be a leader. I'm a damn good fighter pilot if I say so myself, but I am no leader. If you read this at some point, Axel, I've always got your back, and I know you have mine. Wow that got sentimental quick with how fucking pissy I am anyways. Not about the removal of command, but the complete lack of care for my damn well being from people who I thought were at least slightly decent friends. I could have been taken prisoner by Klingons, killed, or keelhauled by anyone who just stumbled upon my sorry unconscious ass. Oh right, explaining. Short story short, Nex bought me a scotch, ended up getting drunk out of my mind, next moment I know I'm in a brig. Why do I bother with people anymore. Fuck this.
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Post by nightrader on Apr 5, 2015 14:27:44 GMT
Entry Six - 4/5 Heading: Interesting People in Boring Places Ominous and useless title is useless and ominous. Finally decided to show my face in Deep Space Nine again this morning, met a nice little (well, actually really tall and scary strong) Andorian lady by the name of Nyrah. I keep calling her ma'am, she wants me to call her Zha, blah. For the record, Andorian gender shit is confusing. Reasons I didn't pass anatomy. Also met this Klingon general Ka'Vagjh. Not much to say about him, but he's just another respectable Klingon. Nyrah seems to be pretty nice, captain of one of the Andorian navy ships. She is a bombshell. if you know what I'm saying. Jesus christ, she has a body like none other. That blue skin tone, the hair, lips... Oh this is becoming a diary again isn't it. Summed up, damn hot. Should go into modeling instead of starfleet, for the record. Today things aside, still haven't seen Nishalla in awhile. Beginning to think she was serious about shit not happening. She is half Orion, after all. Who knows. Nex still hasn't been around, gladly. I'll try and keep the salt to a minimum. Met up with Nishalla and some Jesse bastard. The man seemed to be a ball of laughs, even if the thought of him fucking Nishalla was stuck in my head through the conversation. Awkward as fuck, was a short time anyways, Note to self, don't think of people fucking while trying to have a normal conversation. Bad vibes.
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Post by nightrader on Apr 7, 2015 2:17:40 GMT
Entry 6 - 4/6 Heading: Stop it Farseer. Hi my name is Nicholas and I really fucking need to stop drinking. Today has been a day of realization, and among other things, I've realized how much fucking alcohol ruins me, and has ruined me. Lets take a step back, think over things. Today I talked to Nyrah when she stopped by in the bar. Regular conversation, and then another Andorian came along, blushing her ass off. At first, I was the prick I am and assumed her ass to just be some annoying blushing lesbian. Oh by god I was wrong, far, far wrong. We beam up to the ship, and we all get drinks. This is where my realizations come in. One, how Nyrah realized that the little andorian was basically her sister, and two, how alcohol really effects me. Anything bad happens when I drink, either because I'm drinking, or because of random chance and a drink is in my hand. Anything outside of beer is far, far too much it seems. I need to cut back on that. Severely. Might even see a doctor, or therapist... Or anyone I could talk to about that. I seriously need to fix some of my shit, I really am becoming a huge fucking wreck. So much for being the enthusiastic bastard. I hope someday I can make it up to Nyrah and the sister... I feel horrible for acting like I did. She keeps saying I wasn't doing anything wrong, but knowing what was going on in reality just makes it worse. I need to talk to her about my shit so I can explain myself better, or just talk to anyone about all this. Besides a damn logbook, for fucks sake. Haven't seen the Borg trio in awhile. Saw Lhian, apparently made her made and now she hates me like half the bastards around. Another wrong to fix. Hopefully her mother isn't gone again, or Thirteen even... In short, or too long didn't read, I need to fix my problems first. Right wrongs, keep slightly sane. The squadron hasn't been helping me with that either, just making fun of me and thinking I'm on along with the joke. In short again. Fuck this shit.
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Post by nightrader on Apr 8, 2015 3:34:58 GMT
Entry 7 - 4/7 Heading: Dead and back again. So apparently I should be a corpse now but what just happened? Oh I really need to explain right at the start of these logs. So today I was challenged to an Ushaan, not know what it was. By Nyrah, of course, your resident strong lady Andorian. Ice pick out, and all my systems shut down. Pure terror. Some get adrenaline, I lose all blood in my bones. Then we're hugging, and then she's in a dress, and then I'm on the floor looking like a fool, with her dressed in her usual uniform, as if nothing happened. When people use the remark 'mixed feelings', they should never use that again until they experience that shit. Ended with me beaming out with no conclusion. I am so confused. Wow she is beautiful.
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Post by nightrader on Apr 9, 2015 1:01:13 GMT
Entry 8 - 4/8 Heading: Status Report on Shit So lets do a little recap of what happend, with lists! Well, I'm too lazy to do a nice ordered list so fuck it, doing it with the enter button instead of the dots and shit. I don't do Engineering coding whatever to program that into this PADD. Bootleg PADDs are worthless. Should get one from Starfleet and not Star-Bay. Star-Bay wasn't a segway. I need to look up how to do segways. Close enough. Happenings: Lets start from current situation shit. Omaha is still carrying Reaper One on board, which is still lead by Axel. He's been having a real tough time with the leadership role. He may be a boasting bastard of a man, but he's more grits than genius. He's basically assigned me as XO. I don't mind it, it gives me something to think about in my free time other than my personal bullshit. The tactical planning and formations, all that gets me in a good mood. Sadly, being just a regular squadron pilot now, I don't get that much time to do it. Over this past week or so, I've been thinking on if I should transfer or not. I've come to realize that piloting isn't what I love, but the thought that goes into it. Something I'll mull over later. Personal life. Great. This'll be a long one. Plain and simple, people just seem to be disappearing. Borg trio, completely out of knowledge at this point. All I can assume is that they have cashed in for a final time, at least, Thirteen has. Twenty-Six's daughter, Lhian, seem to still be in a half decent mood, nothing extreme enough to warrant her mother passing. They are in the same ship, after all, but Twenty-Six hasn't been down on station. Probably spending time actually getting things done in the Navy, unlike myself. Speaking of getting things done, Nyrah and Nishalla. I've now really realized that I had one of two things when thinking about these woman: Possibility of relationship, and possibility of sex. That really is a depressing way to think about them, but it has been. Yesterday I took an hour to try and figure out my priorities, and honestly, I don't know. Nyrah would be the most likely to actually have a honest to god relationship with, butt he fact she already has a bondmate throws me off. How could I love somebody who shares the same love with another? It's just a concept that doesn't hit me in the right way, Maybe over time it'll come onto me, who knows. Nishalla, on the other hand, just hasn't been around. She's gorgeous, a great talker, but a friend at that. Jeese seems to already be with her, so trying to get closer would just ruin my friendship with him. Oh shit I haven't talked about Jesse have I. Well, he's about the best dick fucking cunt lover in the world. Somehow we're like brothers or something, the brother I never had. We fuck around, give each other shit, and laugh it off. First good actual buddy I've had around here, it'll keep me sane. Good bastard he is. Besides that? Not much else. I'll save my mental bullshit for later. Another time.
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Post by nightrader on Apr 10, 2015 13:07:27 GMT
Entry 9 - 4/10 Heading: Quote "We should have done this ages ago." Wait what? No really, wait for like five hours for my brain to not sorta melt into a pile of 'what', I'd end up literally forming the letters 'W H A T' out of brain goo. Well that's getting a bit fucking weird, but seriously, holy fucking jesus christ. So either I was really, really high on something not made for humans, or dreaming, because my god. Wow. That was a thing. I mean, I really am not complaining here, Hell, I'm loving it here, but how the fuck did that happen? Alcohol? Yeah. Pretty much. The big old bottle of ale and I have an interesting relationship. At least, now we do. Previous it was more of a shit throwing fest with a piece of candy sprinkled into the shit. Sure, it was shit and ruined everything, but it had a nice relieving effect, even if everything bad that has happened was either rooted in the drink, or ironically happened when I had a drink in my hand for no reason, but guess what? Last night was different. My head still really fucking hurts, but it was really worth it. I might as well just redact that last log, because I don't know what to think anymore. Reminder: Buy a huge pink and black sharpie that works on PADDs. I'll write more later when my brain un-fucks itself. Literally. Ha. Haha. Ha. Yeah. No. Jokes. I just hope it wasn't a thing for the sake of being a thing. Hope for the best?
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Post by nightrader on Apr 13, 2015 17:02:47 GMT
Entry 10 - 4/13 Heading: This Journal is going far. Lasted 10 entries without dying from a lack of sanity, or domed by a fucking anti-fighter missile barrage. At least there's that. The Squadron and Omaha have been in a bit of rough patch as of late. Like, seriously, why does Starfleet need to have drama. I fucking swear, politics and religion aren't things to talk about at meals, or with your crew chiefs. It's like trying to explain to your grandmother why Andorians aren't Satan's children or whatever. Come on now. We're adults, and (mostly) act like adults. Don't start a shit fight over opinions, and hold off the campaign for another month while we get a whole new bridge crew. Our men need us out there, another Carrier could change the tide of the war on this bullshit being spewed out of their mouths are killing lives, basically. The Squadron is getting restless, Axel is probably going to grab a battle axe and mutilate half of us. At least I'll only be losing an arm from the axe, not my entire head. Or my spine. He probably could just cut us from top to bottom with that thing. Well, at least if he could get on a step stool. Does Axel jump high? I don't think I've seen him jump. Jesus christ that would be a show, seeing him jump off a stool and slicing O'Conner in half. Ok, now that's just morbid, Farseer. Maybe a Gorn instead. Fuck yeah. Dead Gorn cut in half via Axel's axe. That would truly be the day I'd be happy to die... Me personally? I'm doing alright. So many loose ends to tie, but at least the pairs of ends are sort of being here. What was that metaphor? Was that even a viable metaphor? See, this is why I don't use metaphors. Speaking of confusing metaphors, I saw Thirteen. Fuck yeah, actually did a decent segway! Kinda. Fuck it. Yeah, Thirteen. She seemed... Normal, for how she usually is. Always that sort of aggravated look to her, but she's... She's definitely looking more human. Even if she just looks more pissed than usual, that's better than looking monotone as always. Emotion is there every once and awhile. Overall, she's doing what she does. On the war path, most likely, but she's doing what she likes. Wish we could talk more, I always feel bad for her even if I shouldn't. Twenty-Six is still gone, so is Lhian. Who knows with those two. Hoping for the best as always. Well, 50% of the time. Other 50% is just trying not to panic. Last log was confusing as shit looking back on it, yet, so was that night. I won't write on it until I get a definitive answer from her. I want to make sure it was either what I hope and think it was, instead of just being... Pointless. Pointless seems like such a harsh word for what happened, but it might've just been that. All I want is that to have been a stepping stone for something, anything really. Once again, hope for the best. More like 1% hoping, 99% panic, though. Good job Farseer.
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Post by nightrader on Apr 16, 2015 14:10:11 GMT
Entry 11 - 4/16 Heading: My Will and Arbitrary.These may be the last words I'm writing in this log. Not because I'm a lazy bastard, but because I might not be able to even write in the log. Let me explain before I become a philosophical egghead. As you probably know, Delta quadrant is Hell right now. Dozens of ships being lost by the day, and they've had to pull in reserve forces. Now, as I've said previously, I'm apart of an anti-piracy fleet of carriers. We all signed up to do just that, banish those damn thieves. That is the only thing we signed up for. We are experienced, trained, and know almost everything about counteracting piracy. We aren't even a combat group most of the time. Sure, we get in dogfights, have our moments of glory, but we aren't anything special like the rest of the task force. Imagine a tactical officer who works on the armory being sent to fight on the ground just because he's a redshirt. That's like us and our anti-piracy carrier being sent to fight alongside the elite bombers and gunships of the actual navy. The most battle-hardend of Captains and Admirals are coming back from Delta with half their leg gone, a missing lung, and their ship destroyed. Imagine that. The most advanced and efficient space craft, thought to be invincible, just totally demolished. Then you have us. Fucking starfighters. I ship out in two days for 'supposedly' a two week operation. Knowing the Brass, I will probably be gone longer, assuming the squadron and carrier are wiped out. The squadron literally just came back with almost 25% casualties and 50% wounded no more than a month ago, and they send us on another fucking suicide run. Saying morale is low is about as much of an understatement as possible. Axel looks like he's about to break, and if he does, the entire squadron will too. I wouldn't be surprised if we had deserters within the next day. Me? I don't know what to think. Just... The knowledge that I will probably die isn't even remotely equal to the thought of having my body just mixed in with all the slaughter. MIA, I'll be listed as. They know I'm dead, but it looks nice on the records to have 500 MIA instead of 500 KIA. It's not like people will miss me anyways. The entirety of the carrier hates Reaper just because we're fighter pilots. My family hasn't seen me in years, they'll just think I'm being a war hero. There is one that will make my heart wither, though, thinking that I'll have to go without her. Nisha. They'll be no conclusion with her and I if I do end up being blown to smithereens. No definitive answer, no yes or no, no three words or lack there of. It's come to the point where my mind is just a mush. Like a husk. I don't know what to make of it. People say to not be scared of death, but when death is staring you right in the face, it might just be better to run the other way. Skeletons aren't a pleasing sight, after all. Will:
- If my remains are in fact found, bury the ash at my family's plot, with any scrap left of my fighter as a tombstone
- Shipment of my Metallica record to Jesse.
- All other physical possessions should be donated to the less fortunate.
- All monetary units should be sent to Nishalla.
- My uniform should be given to Axel, or buried with myself, if he is not alive.
Dark, I know. I'm not even close to middle age and I'm writing one of those. Doubt those lawyer asshats will accept that one though since it's not formatted or whatever. If they don't, someone go shove a pike up their ass. Thanks. Alright, alright. Fine. Sure, I've got out of risky situations, like the classic crash landing in the jungle. We all survived that because of our wits and brains, or the last OP where we had to eject into the other's fighter. We did all that shit because we had a chance to think, to use more than just braun. This new threat isn't going to allow us to do that. If our cockpit depressurizes, the engines give out, shields go offline, we're dead. Simple. One phaser from the hundreds of battleships, bam, done, dead. We are fighter pilots, flying starfighter meant to destroy small craft and other fighters. We requested a requisition of bombers for this operation, but, denied. So we're basically firing stun rounds at a brick wall, while the brick wall is breaking our spine and fucking us in the ass. So, lets say we do manage to survive. Or, I do, at least. Most likely injured, the squadron broken up. People will resign, seeing as we all have completed our required tours, and we'll be disbanded. Who knows where I'll end up. Maybe back on Earth with airspace control, maybe with another Squadron all together. I could request a discharge as well. That is a very real option. Fix myself, fix my fucking shit. Fix my drinking problem, fix my friendships, fix my life. Something productive. Something useful. We'll see. We will see indeed.
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Post by nightrader on Apr 18, 2015 3:26:35 GMT
** The following entries would be stored on a new PADD **
Personal Log:
Title: The Logs of a Dumbass - 3 AM Ramblings
Entry 1 - 4/17 Heading: But at least I won't die on the outside. New PADD, old problems. I'm not sure what is worse. A broken heart, or a broken spine. In the end, they both paralyze you. They both make you question why you do what you do, and both have a less than fifty percent chance of recovery. By the end of the day, I managed the former. In the next two, weeks, I'll probably have both. I really want to use the far too big font, that's my situation. Just sort of spew shit at this junk of technology, but it won't fix anything. I thought confronting her would allow other problems to be fixed, but, no. Just had to reinforce them. At this point, I don't know what I'm fighting for here. Myself? Is that really a good enough cause? You know, asking for a discharge doesn't sound that bad. Go buy a wine cellar, live in there for a few years. We'll see how I fair after I go do this useless piece of shit mission. So long, folks. Be back in a week or two, either in the flesh, in an urn, or in a casket. Sadly not all three. Faking my death is too much work for this shit.
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Post by nightrader on May 3, 2015 22:04:54 GMT
Entry 2 - 5/3 - Attached MusicHeading: The Boys are Back in Town, with a few new scars. Hello, yes, hi, I'm back. Well, really, it's more like 50% of me is back. 25% kinda just bits and pieces, the other 25% not even remotely me. I don't think abomination is really the right word, but it's best one to choose. So as you can see, Delta went swimmingly. Just went fucking great. Recap? Recap. Last Friday or so, our carrier along side two other cruisers were doing a simple patrol. Previously, we were having battles every day or so, everything was going fine. Of course, during the simple patrol, we're ambushed. Axel, the rookie squadron leader who surpassed me, thought it'd be a good idea to try and do a bombing run over the lone frigate, because it's shields were offline even before the battle started. It was a ruse, and popped it's shield online right when we came up to it. He decided to pull out without any attack, not even one on the shields, and pulled us right into another hostile ship that just uncloaked. Now, it was our three ships versus their five, four of which uncloaked along side the one we ran into. So, yes, we ran right into an enemy ship. Not just any ship, though. A frigate with dozens of phaser turrets, made to shred fighters into bits. Basically, the squadron just breaks. Since we are literally meters away from the ship, no one even bothers to ask what the orders are, or what we're suppose to be doing. We all just haul ass out of there. Unfortunately, the head of the formation is ripped apart. The new recruits, replacements, and Richards, who was third on the right wing. Total of four out of the seven, blown to pieces within the first five seconds of the encounter. There's not much I was thinking at that point. Mostly just don't die. Don't fucking die. That's about it. And adrenaline. A whole lot of that too. So, how's I manage that? The 'not dying' thing. It's a hard thing to do. All it requires is luck. Simple luck. Well, not so simple luck, just really lucky luck. I'm at the back left wing of the formation, and have enough wing to pull out of the collision pretty efficiently. The problem comes when I'm sitting there, going as fast as my damn bird can go, getting shot at. Trying to maneuver around a hundred batteries firing on me really isn't that possible, but it's damn well good enough to try to. Firstly, my shields go down as my right engine's fried, followed by my tail wing. At this point, I've lost most control of my fighter, only to have the power go out a few moments later. So, my bird's nose is now staring straight at one of the main gun's of the Omaha, now I have my own friendly fire coming right over my head, and the enemy's right on my ass. As I try and knife edge my way in between the phasers, a shot tears through the wing, into the cockpit, and out the torpedo hold. The entire back half of the bird flies out backwards and explodes, but now I can't use my hand. Or my right eye. Turns out, I don't actually -have- a right hand anymore, and blood from a wound on my face blocked vision from my right eye as well. Before I could react, cry, panic, scream, do anything logical in that sort of situation, my ship is lodged in between the Omaha's hull and the main gun. Bam, blacked out. Some time later, I wake up in a medical bed, numb in every single bone of my body. At least there was a hot crimson haired nurse looking at me... With probably some of the most disgusted, worried, but caring eyes I've seen. Jesus Christ, man, the look on her face could have made me tear up if I wasn't numb and probably suppose to be unconscious. She sat me up, said some things here and there, but I wasn't fully awake and conscious yet. Finally, she decided to just put the clipboard she was holding infront of my face. About a dozen lacerations, a broken rib or two, punctured and ruptured left lung, impaired vision, severe concussion, and some other shit I couldn't read without going cross eyed. Basically told me I was fucked up. Two weeks of surgeries, drugs, and sleep did pretty well. Got most of the shit sorted out. They tossed a way too over sized respirator on my back, some stitches and other bullshit as well. One thing I didn't expect, involved the hand. They attached a robotic one onto the little stump. It works fairly well, it's terrifying how well it works. I certainly don't mind, but my biggest concern is that others might, since, you know... Borg. I'm still recovering, physically and mentally. I don't know what to think of what happened in the operation. I just got fixed up, and slapped with a purple heart. Medically discharged as well. I'll write more on it when I have a clear head, one not full of the drugs they put me on.
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Post by nightrader on May 11, 2015 6:03:36 GMT
Entry 3 - 5/10 - Attached MusicHeading: Interesting turn of events.More like a 180 round house back-flip kick of events, but you know. So, yeah, it's been awhile. Longer than usual, could have been of dying like my last break from the journal. Diary. Rambling place. Whatever. Bad jokes, moving on. Officially, the docs tossed me out of their care with two uneasy thumbs up and a half-assed lying smile. Business as usual, I guess. You know, minus the creepy metal hand replacement, dozen or so scars, giant chest gash, and discharge from the Federation. Obviously back to business as usual. Shitty moaning and groaning aside, I've been doing pretty good, Honestly, even better than I was doing -before- all the shit hit the fan. Yes, even better than before. I might be insane in saying that, but Hell, who knows, I might be. Jesse's been doing great, has a girlfriend and a CHILD of all things (not his biologically, but his girlfriends. Close enough). Since he's moved in with his girlfriend (assuming), he's allowed me to use his apartment. Permanently. That cheeky motherfucker gave me a whole apartment for free. God damn I love that guy, he's like the brother I never had, except better. Thirteen seems to be doing pretty good as well, all things considered. She's up on a new Klingon ship or something, being the bad-ass she usually is. Not sure what Nishalla is up to after I spooked her by coming back. All I can hope is that she is alive and well. Fucking sucks that hoping is all I can do. So uh, Pai? Probably should talk about her, right? Here we go, trying to keep this slightly sane. Well. New good friend. Like, really good friend. Not the 'implying' version of -really- good friend, but like a seriously really good friend. Without any benefits what so ever. Totally didn't become room mates. Might have changed the definition of 'room mates'. Ok, that was even bad for me. Lets just say -that-'s going well. I'm exhausted, I'll write more about tulaberry Pai later. Can I void that? Like, black it out? There.
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