Quote:Incoming Transmission
Comm ID: Blocked
Location: Planet Cambridge
RE: Mitchell

Message Reads:

Greetings S/D agents.
I was told by a Mr Mitchell to relay the following message to this frequency, it was picked up by our sensors a few minutes ago:

Quote:Greetings,

Today i have been hunting Corsairs in Omega 5 and have goten myself into abit of a mess. The jumpholes are guarded by massive amounts of Corsair forces, and i can not break through with my Hammerhead.
I am hiding in one of the corners of the systems. I was earlier engaged multiple times by corsair ships and my ship is heavily damaged, requesting *static* assistance immediately. Most of my systems are fried, my weapons can not be repaired, my shield generator has been damaged and is only working at 20% capacity.
My left engine is gone, and my right engine has been damaged.
I am requesting assistance immediately, my life is at stake *static*. I don't know how *static* before the cor*static* find me, but i really need the *static* assistance.
OH GOD NO! A corsair dread*static*.

I presume that Mr Mitchell has been captured by the corsair forces or killed in action.

I am sorry to give you this news, but i wanted you to know and see the message.

Message Ending
Transmission Ending

Quote:Hail,

My name is Cameron Mitchell. I do not expect you would of heard of me before this day, so I shall tell you my story.
I was born in the outer circle of the Capital of Planet California Minor, in 792A.S. My parents weren't rich, but luckily they weren't poor either. They ran a small shipping company, transporting goods across the planet to make a profit. Normally it would be building materials, for new colonies beginning on the planet in need of shelter.
One day, they told me they were shipping food to one of the colonies they had given building materials to over the last few weeks. They said I could come with them, to see how the trade worked at a young age. I was 8 years old at the time. The meeting was a trap. The settlers of the small village my parents had been supplying had infact been Liberty Rogues, making a small base of operations for planned raids against Planetform structures dotted all over the planet. And my parents usefulness had just ended.
When my mum and dad left the ship looking for someone to sign for the package, Rogues hidden under the snow popped out. My parents had not noticed them, but I had. I banged against the glass, screaming at them to watch out, but it was no use. My parents were gunned down on that day. I thought my life had lost all meaning, all purpose, all hope.
Then i had new parents, these ones were relatively kind, they gave me food and shelter. But I never forgot my real parents, David and Sophie Mitchell. By the time I was 18, I had realised that I could make a difference to the world if i tried hard enough. I could make sure that nobody had to suffer the same way I did.
I decided against joining the Liberty Police and Navy, they did not have what I was looking for. I became a basic Bounty Hunter, performing small bounties against minor drug smugglers and small gang bosses. But it didn't feel right. I just didn't feel like I was making a difference, my Barracuda was no match for the scum of Sirius. I decided to look for a group, a group of professionals where I could become one of the best. And then i found you.

I am mainly capable of flying fighters and bombers but i am able to fly all types of ships.

I thank you for reading, and I shall be dropping by your office shortly.

' Wrote:

Well, Mitchell, I don't know whether to laugh or cry at your story. Laugh most likely. My initial impressions were that your story was dreamt up while under the influence of some cardamine derivative.

However, the Chief Medical Officer assures me that you are clean, and the security report is satisfactory.

That ship you acquired was, thankfully, not loaded with explosives, tracking devices, signal jammers or any of the other things that give our tech division nightmares. You wouldn't have made it to within a light year of Sheffield otherwise.

I have no problem with you flying the damned ship you lifted once we've re-calibrated the targetting mechanisms.

Now one last thing. You can blame the Hammerhead all you want, but the fact is you made a mistake. We all do it. Sooner or later. If some big-time criminal doesn't get you, some two-credit punk with a home-made laser will.

Report to Freeport 11. Be discreet getting there.

Welcome back.

The Director, Search & Destroy Agency