There's several clicking noises before audio becomes clear and understandable for you.
I guess this is it huh? One day you're on top of the world, smiled upon by everyone in proximity. The next.. you're scum of the Earth, not worth a second glance let alone kindness. Is it worse that our heroes are all secretly counterfeit? Or the fact that all our lives are ruled over by invisible status quo's. My usual methods of talking to people are cut off, so I've resorted to leaving bits of my life and opinions on various public terminals scattered across Liberty, the observant or... bored individual might find these logs hidden along. And if you do, then it's nice meeting you and thank you for listening to me.
I'll be frank, being a combat pilot was never a real ambition of mine. I couldn't chase away dogs that were barking at me let alone space people. Funny how life has a way of making certain choices for you though. One day I was attending class at West Point, the next I was being shot at by a whole bunch of Rogues in Pennsylvania. Let me tell you, regardless of how beat to hell you are by the end of it, you wouldn't care if you were paid or not. You become one of those god-awful patriots people cringe at on the sly, so full of yourself and proud of your duty everything else is forfeit and doesn't matter, just the job and the people.
Some people stay like that, the rest shift over to obsessions, decorations, money... hoarding power. Between you and me, let's assume that life is all one massive game of cards, right? The people that play it dirty, swindle you for every darn chip you've got and then some. The people that play it straight go home without the shirt from their backs. Don't worry though, I'm not some conspiracy theorist or disgruntled ex-navy pilot like the rest, just trying to give whoever's listening a picture of how easy it is to have a dream, but how hard people will inevitably make it for you.
It's more than likely you've heard of me... that - that what you heard was probably a whole boat of propaganda and you know it. Remember about those poor saps I was talking about who play this straight? Well more often than not they fancy themselves as a white knight of sorts, a Paragon of virtue and integrity. I'll leave whoever's bored and listening with a metaphor, a white knight is the easiest to stain. We try to do everything right and by the book, but beyond the first few hours the book means nothing, nothing can prepare you or define what's really right or wrong, it comes down to you and what you think is right. And there will always be someone who wants you to be wrong and stained, nobody truly likes a white knight except the victims, why? The longer they exist the more heads roll. The more truth that was expunged is suddenly barfed out into communications streams, suddenly every skeleton we want to stay in our closets becomes an ornament in the Manhattan art institute.
There's another clicking noise and the audio becomes choppy again.
That's my cue.. maybe you'll look around and listen to the rest, I don't know whether you're that bored or even just interested. But whoever you are, good luck.. never be afraid to do what you think is right, that's all I can tell you.
The third and final click spells the end of this log and you wonder just how many of these might actually exist.
There's several clicking noises. just like the last time you encountered one of these hidden logs.
You're back! Well... you might not be the same person, just some other unlucky individual with nothing else to do but listen to this in hopes it'll make time pass quicker. If I've not forgotten basic code, it's probably obvious who I am from the User I.D, I'm not a celebrity of any sort so there's no need to be ashamed if you've never heard so much as a whisper of my name.
Putting aside needless rambling, you're probably wondering why there's a log buried in a public terminal on Los Angeles? Well, a while ago I was deployed here, along with a lot of other people to hold back the Gallic incursion. It was one of those office-type scenarios, where one of the big suits called you into their office after a job well-done and told you, you'd be picking up some slack and taking on more responsibility. Like a promotion just more self fulfilling and well, better. In my case it was a promotion to Lieutenant Commander and Command over the LNS-Integrity. Such a beautiful ship... the crew weren't used to full-on combat like that, but they managed. Sunk one of those pesky Valor class battleships, by the time the conflict ended and the adrenaline wore off, I felt like a walking corpse. I'm not entirely sure how I managed flying home, let alone keeping up normal conversation with the wife, heck she thought I'd died given how much time I spent away.
I think I peaked that month, people always met me with a smile or a sense of being proud of me. Funny how quickly they toss all that away the first thing you do wrong. Hard to say I really care what they think, people judge regardless of the facts. Can't say it doesn't hurt either, so there's a give and take to be honest.
I remember on the night we were being sent back, I had the Integrity moor on Los Angeles and the crew and I took a trip here to pass the time while waiting for the shuttles to take us home. None of us were really fans of Luxury or 'Fine art', but I don't think I'll ever forget the time we had, I forget who it was, but someone said that the saddest thing is to be unhappy and reminded of a time when you were truly happy and content. They were right, it's soul crushingly horrible... like a rock crushing you which you can't escape from.
I remember the day I swore my oath, I remember every day after that in perfect sequence. I still don't understand how I went from someone everyone had some amount of respect for to... this. Someone they think twice about, second guess regardless of how good my intentions might be and subject to merciless inspection and scrutiny. I'm not sure how you as a potentially oblivious third party to all of this feel about me. But maybe you do truly want to know. By the time you finish listening to this the court martial against me will be concluded, guess we'll just have to hope for the best..
You're almost startled by the sudden and relatively loud click, a glaring contrast to the speaker's soothing tone despite underlying emotion. Regardless, it's the end of this hidden log and you're unsure whether looking for the rest is worth it.
There's several clicking noises, like all the times you've encountered this before, after which audio becomes clear and understandable for you.
You know, as odd a combination as the following feelings are. This place has an odd sense of nostalgically euphoric sadness, at least for me. I nearly died here as an Ensign, funny how close I came to death's doors. Broke four ribs and nearly bruised one of my eyes out of commission. Pray you never have rock fragments wrenched out of your chest WITHOUT a sedative.
That event pivoted around one central point though, then again most of my mind pivoted around 'her' back then. I never actually had an interest in relationships or being anything more than a mere acquaintance to people.
The 'her' in question being an agent named 'Sonja Kerensky' arguably the biggest controversy of my career and the first person I ever had feelings for. I think this incident was only... what? Six months ago? Less? I don't even feel like the same person. If I'm being frank, I miss the duty-bound kid I was back then, send me back in time and I might fall in love with myself and have my faith in humanity restored, almost makes me sound as if I were a choir boy, but I think you can understand how it is when you're young, hot patriotic blood rushing through your veins, the job you're doing makes you happy and you feel you're in the right place.
I think I'd have done darn near anything for her back then, I cared for her more than myself. Over-bearing? Check. I was sincere about it, ironically. You'll get why once I finish my little nostalgia trip.
I felt like I more or less connected with her, having been a frozen over nerd for the past twenty years of my life, it was nice to have butterflies in my gut and the drive to see someone for once. We never got that far, hell, we never got anywhere. The only thing we ended up having was a lot of distrust for each other for quite some time down the road.
Things didn't really go my way, believe it or not I wasn't always this charming or able to express how I felt, so as luck should have it, she ended up seeing someone else. Nothing I could have really done to change that, so I just kept busy with the job and trying to be there regardless, it was hard though. Time didn't take long to pass and one fine evening she asked for a little assistance regarding a group of Rogues and Outcasts in Pennsylvania. I knew she was seeing someone else, but the naive little golden boy I was then rushed with his little itty-bitty white tail feathers, like some childish super-hero pulling a damsel off the trade-lane tracks.
The odds weren't on our side, not at all. Even with her help it would have been an uphill battle, but she just... parked her ship nearby and watched... they came for me last, tore down all my other wingmen and then me. I remember screaming her name when my comms went down, my eyes were flooded and I didn't really orient myself correctly when ejecting. I hit my head on the canopy frame during a forced roll, nearly lost the eye, by some miracle it still works today. Shortly after the knock on my head I rammed into a rock, broke the ribs I mentioned before and nearly died on route to a hospital on Eerie. Let me tell you, I was furious. I made it very clear how unhappy I was the next time we met.
I hated having my wings taken from me, absolutely hated it. Those few days bed-ridden were like being locked in jail. I kept wishing she'd at least... come visit me or ... see if I had.. Christ this actually still hurts.
You're a little taken aback when you hear the speaker break down in a rather controlled, but still gut-wrenching manner. You almost want to console them and tell them everything is alright now and you're listening, but you can't. You've never even met the man.
We fought... verbally. A lot after that in fact.. I could never hurt her though, I really did love her and in a way I still do, it'll never be what it was though... I don't think I'll ever be who I was back then..
He stops talking and it sounds as if he might be quietly venting his sorrows in the background, much to your disliking, there's a loud click and the recording ends. You can't help but have a few tears rush about in your own eyes. Instead, for the sake of appearing normal, you blink the tears away and leave, so as to not seem unstable.