The Stormclaw Journal

[thisDerius]

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.

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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.

Until next time.