Location: Foster Depot
Status: Sniffing Out A Cold Trail
/Captains Log: 827.10.5/
Cargo: Trash, literal
So I finally get my butt moving back towards Freeport Providence, where we all last met up. I figured it was as good a place as any to hunt down Jimmy at least....uuuuuunnnnnfortunately it looks like in my absence Liberty went ahead and steamrolled the system. The freeport was a letteral wreck, no doubt slightly smoldering in places still...I was wondering why the relay I set up for me an' the boys went dead.
I'll admit that Jasper, an' especially Jimmy shoulda seen the writing on the wall and scattadled in time, but part of me has that...fear...That when the Freeport got run over they got run over with it.
We had joked about using Foster as a fallback of sorts, if things ever really did hit the fan. So I naturally made my way out to Laptav, hoping to stumble upon a clue....and that was what...four days, whole flipping days and I an't find nothin'. Not a docking log, coded message, goddamn message in a bottle. I've been over this junk heap seven different ways to yesterday... and poof...Poof, like a puff of smoke they are gone, dead for all I know.
At any rate I can't sit here and feel sorry for myself. I was only trying to get back in touch with the pack since credits were running a little thin. I'm going to make my way to Pittsburgh from here, touch base with some old pals and see if I can't find a warmer trail to go on, or barring that a gig that's gonna pay the bills in the short term.
After spending an inordinate amount of fuel (and time) I've finally given up. Its not that no one has seen Jimmy or Jasper, it's that no one knows who we are to be able to have seen us. I guess two years is a long time to be outta that game. It didn't seem like all that long, but in my absence boy howdy have things changed. One of my old haunts on Pittsburg, a ramshackle collection of empty warehouses which doubled as the local black market, poof, like 4 high rise condominiums, no trace of the hundreds of thousands of rounds of munitions that used to frequent the area, nor their distributors'. Maybe this is what Jimmy ran into right away while I was in Rhineland settling my debts.
So yeah, I've given up. Moving forward I'm gonna run legit for a little while. It paid the bills in the past, no doubt it will pay the bills now. And if I'm lucky I'll stumble upon a member of the pack while I'm moving around.
Isn't it weird, in a little less than two years I can go from a prison sentence, to being on the run, to running cargo, to being out here, on the edge. I mean, I thought Omicron Alpha was far from home, but I hadn't seen anything apparently. Over the past few months I've managed to build myself quite the reputation of being able to deliver anyone and anything, anywhere. Which you would think sounds safer than gunrunning, but its not. I mean its more safe than what I was doing before, even more importantly, more legal. And there's still the odd crate of munitions or rifles which has been padding my books nicely.
But even with the new friends, and more excitingly, new enemies. Part of me still pines for times of old, running a freighter across the gallic blockade, entering Liberty via wormholes. And heck even bribing the odd cop. I've sailed across the neural-net reading of robberies and break-ins trying to find any sign of the old pack. There was even this gem heist that I thought for sure was Jimmy's handy work. But after the news aired the security footage, well lets just say Jimmy isn't standing at a hair under 4 feet. Even with our most elaborate costume with the heels could he be that quick and that small.
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