I told myself I’d leave. That I’d finally push past whatever was holding me back and head to the Kusari-Liberty border. But I’m still here. Still lingering in Omicron Delta, still wandering the decks of Freeport 11 like a ghost that refuses to move on.
This system hasn’t changed in six years. The same war-torn battleground, the same factions clawing at each other’s throats. The Order and The Core remain locked in their endless struggle, fighting over ruins and scraps of control, while the Zoners sit in the middle, caught between two forces that see them as nothing more than obstacles or assets.
And then there are the Nomads. You don’t always see them, but you feel them. Watching. Waiting. The cold, creeping sensation of being hunted never truly fades. It clings to you like the station’s stale air, like the distant hum of dying machinery.
Speaking of the station—it’s still standing. Freeport 11. A battered survivor, holding together despite the countless battles it’s endured. Even after everything, it still smells the same. That familiar mix of oil, rust, and ozone, like a promise that no matter how many times it gets torn apart, it will always be rebuilt. Strange to say, but in its own way, it feels like home.
I’ve been hearing things. The Core has set up a blockade around Planet Gammu, trying to lock the Gammu AI down permanently—keep them contained on their frozen rock and under control. Typical Core tactics. They like to play the masters of the Edge Worlds, dictating who moves where, who thrives, and who burns. But the AI aren’t easily caged. If there’s one thing I know, it’s that intelligence—organic or synthetic—always finds a way to break free.
Then there was Auxesia. I spotted a few of their ships, a reminder of a past life I’ve been trying to leave behind. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen them, but their goals remain the same. Keep the Nomads at bay. Cut down the threats before they take root. And now? They’re trying to free the AI from The Core’s grasp. A noble cause, or maybe just another play for power—but at least it’s a fight worth having.
And then there’s Nauru. The Core’s prized planet, a monument to their greed and arrogance. I’ve watched it grow, watched them strip it bare, dig their fingers into its surface like it was theirs to claim. And I’ve wished, more times than I can count, to see it all burn.
I finally pulled myself out of those godforsaken Omicron systems. It took longer than I wanted, but I made it out. That place... it drains you. The silence, the lurking threats, the constant feeling that something is watching—waiting. It was time to leave it behind.
Getting through the blockade wasn’t easy, but I managed. Slipped past the worst of it and made my way into Liberty. A new hunting ground. Bounty hunting has always had a strange pull on me, and something about Liberty kept calling me back. Maybe it’s the chaos. Maybe it’s the money. Maybe I just wanted to see if the stories were true.
Liberty… I don’t know how to put it into words. At first glance, it’s full of loud-mouthed patriots who think their navy is the best thing since ship-grade shielding. But once you actually talk to them, the picture changes. They’re friendly. Sometimes a little too friendly. It’s strange—almost unsettling—how quickly they warm up to a stranger. Maybe it’s just how things work here. Maybe they don’t know any better.
I ran into a group of pirates loitering around Colorado. Didn’t engage them immediately—wanted to see what they were up to. Maybe follow them, see if they had a bigger hideout. But before I could even consider the possibilities, the 46th swooped in like a hammer from the sky. The fight was over before it even started. Turns out, they liked my work enough to throw me a contract right then and there. Gunboat target. Something bigger. I wasn’t about to say no.
One other person joined the hunt—Olivia Sable. Good pilot, good instincts. She stuck with me as we engaged the heavier pirate vessels. The fight should’ve been simple. Should’ve been clean. It wasn’t.
The Ghoul—my ship—wasn’t built for this kind of punishment. Too light, too fragile. I danced through gunfire, but you can only avoid so much. Then I saw it—the Razor cannon firing straight toward me. No time to react, no room to dodge. The shot connected.
The Ghoul was gone in an instant. Divided by zero. Turned into floating debris.
I barely managed to eject. Drifting in space for a few agonizing minutes before pickup.
I should’ve been angry. Frustrated. But instead, I was thinking about the next step. If I wanted to keep taking down ships of this size, I needed firepower. More armor. More teeth. So I got myself a bomber. A good bomber. Equipped it with torpedoes, railguns—the works. I won’t be caught unprepared again.
Now I wait. The right job will come. The right target will appear. And when they do, I’ll be ready.
One thing still lingers in my mind, though.
Sable.
After the fight, she checked in on me. Asked if I was okay. Not in some shallow, protocol-driven way—but as if she actually cared. It caught me off guard. When you spend enough time on your own, you stop expecting kindness from strangers. But there it was.
She called it Mercenaries’ Honor.
I don’t know if I believe in things like that, but it stuck with me. It meant something. And whether she realizes it or not, I owe her for that. I’ll pay her back somehow.
This is the most fun I’ve had in years, and I didn’t even have to kill anyone.
I was on my way to Kusari when I stumbled upon something—or rather, someone—interesting in Galileo. An Oracle-tagged vessel. Yeah, the Oracles. The same cult that once worshipped the Nomads and tried to spread their so-called divine teachings across Sirius. That was a blast from the past.
But this one was different.
Her name was Diana Rivera. Not Ana, not DeeDee—no nicknames. Just Diana. She wasn’t alone either. Alongside her, in their own ship---a Falchion was a man named Kris and his companion android, traveling together in a single ship. Our conversation started off casual, but it quickly became something else—something I hadn’t expected. It had been a long time since I talked to an Oracle without gunfire following shortly after.
Then we were interrupted.
An Outcast.
Fiorella de Marco of the Golden Cross Cartel.
For a moment, I thought she might open fire on us immediately—Outcasts tend to have their fingers on the trigger, ready to shoot first and ask questions never. But she didn’t. She just… stood there, watching, calculating. That’s when I knew something was off. The Golden Cross isn't exactly known for restraint. I need to find a way to warn Liberty while staying in the shadows. Something about this doesn’t sit right with me.
Diana shared something personal with me—she avoids Outcasts for a reason. She was once their slave. So, instead of sticking around, she took me into Kusari, then through the Taus, and eventually into Bretonia. The conversation we had along the way was... intriguing. She believes the war against the Nomads is needless bloodshed, that it’s a fight that serves no real purpose beyond slaughter on both sides.
She thinks it should be stopped—not by erasing a species, but by finding another way.
I’ve heard this argument before, but hearing it from an Oracle made me pause. If it were as easy as she claimed, then why haven’t we found that path yet? People exploit the Nomads for power and profit, while others dedicate their lives to wiping them out completely. I belong to the latter group, and I’m not ashamed of it. But Diana wasn’t preaching. She wasn’t trying to convince me. She was just… talking. Open-minded, thoughtful, and surprisingly reasonable.
I’ll admit, I enjoyed the conversation.
Eventually, we met back up with Kris, and the three of us made our way to Leeds. I needed to pay my respects to the fallen—the ones who had no choice but to die in a war they didn’t ask for. It’s a ritual I keep. A pointless one, maybe, but one that lets me pretend, if only for a moment, that the dead can find peace. Because we, the living, never do.
Then, I had a crazy idea.
I convinced Kris and Diana to follow me into Earhart. Of course, the only way to get there was through Thuringia, a Rheinland black site system. They hesitated—who wouldn’t? But curiosity killed the cat, and in this case, two of them. So they followed me.
Everything was fine. Until we hit Omega-58.
Nav maps went offline. The system's interference made sure of that. Flying blind isn’t ideal, but I’ve been through that hellhole enough times to know my way around without instruments. Problem was, the pulsar blocked our direct route into Thuringia, meaning we had to take the inter-system jump hole instead. That part was easy. The hard part?
The Dark Matter Storm.
We barely made it out alive. Our ships held together, but only just. One wrong move and we’d have been atomized before we even knew what hit us.
Then came the Suhl Anomaly in Thuringia. That thing devours ships like they’re nothing. One miscalculation, one moment of hesitation, and you’re gone. But with careful planning and slow, steady flying, we made it through. Eventually, we found ourselves in Earhart.
That place never changes. No matter how many times I go there, it always finds a way to surprise me.
I was about to take Diana and Kris on a tour of the system when we ran into something unexpected—a Nomad Vagrant.
Psyche.
I’ve had my fair share of encounters with Nomads, and every time, it’s a gamble. I tried talking to it, testing the waters. It offered me something—knowledge. I declined, politely. My brain turning into liquid isn’t exactly on my to-do list.
The conversation was short-lived.
A Corsair fleet warped into the system, guns hot. They saw us and didn’t hesitate. We hightailed it out of there, barely escaping with our lives. We managed to reach Omicron Theta, then Omicron Gamma, and finally landed at Livadia.
And now, here I am. Sitting in my ship, typing this out before I head to the bar for that drink I owe Diana. After everything we went through today, I think we earned it.
Let’s just hope this is the end of today’s madness. And let’s hope that drink is a good one.
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