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[Silver]

[Incoming Transmission]

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['Red Witch']

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[Debrief]

So, i've been enjoyin' my new found freedom, and decided to go back to my ol' stomping grounds, Dublin. Never a lack of miners and traders to cry for help, thus fittin' bait. And whoopee deeedoo. Did i got some fish. First off, i engaged a BMM boyo in a lengthy talk about the errors of his capitalistic ways. Showed him that he his wrong to take and not to share the wealth with his fellow housemen. Nevertheless, a Baffie showed up soonish, as expected. Got the pointy end of my anti-matter slug. Poor kiddo. Bet he's still reelin' in hell after that one. Second one, after trying to get some IC to help me with adjustin' my sights, the BMM boyo from before switched his ship for a Hussar, go figure, and started to try and plow me like i was a rock. Thing is. Rocks don't shoot back, bub. He pop'd as well and probably got his arse frozen like a popsicle. Sucking space dust does that. Now, four out of five should get the hint and scram from my huntin' area. And i got lucky number five shootin' my arse alongside with IC snubs and gunboats to the mix. Seem they are in an imaginary world due to just havin' hardware makes you decent 'nough to go town on my arse. Pop'd Mr. Five, that didn't get the memo of scrammin'. Got dust'd and never again he'll nag me.

Now, gimme two pilots, a week to train their behinds, and i can purge Dublin at will from the greedy.
What do you say?

Kiss kiss, comrades.

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[Guncams]

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[Transmission end]

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[8:32:45 PM] Dusty Lens: Oh no, let me get that. Hello? Oh it's my grandma. She says to be roleplay.
[12:12:00] Traxit: this is smut stop