Part 09 – BPCs, Bookmarks and Broken Things

…and Like that same child waiting on Christmas morning, I too got something other than expected. Some assembly required, would be what this child’s gift said. Mine however, also lacked the parts to be assembled. And it was of the wrong item too! A badly photocopied blueprint of an old ‘92 ‘Stabber’ lay in my hands, printed by faded ink on top of what seemed to be tissue paper. I dropped it with a squeak of my voice, and realized such a badly copied blueprint would probably fall apart after but a single thorough reading. What kind of cheap trick was this? And speaking of that, why would anyone print plans for anything on such cheap paper?

I squinted at my prize, and frowned. Two could play this game. But how could I possibly make any money, having being cheated out of my life savings for some terribly photocopied blue print? What could I produce with no skill in manufacturing, science or crafting?

I would think about this for a great deal of time, until an idea hit me. I would sell Bookmarks. Everybody liked books, right? Perhaps I would have a theme to them, like locations around the world. I had plenty of cheap paper from the fragile blueprint. Sitting down, I set to work.

I sat in place, making bookmarks from the same location, and writing names of far away places on them in my dashing handwriting. Producing a few hundred of them in no time, I stashed them all in a box and put it on sale in bulk.

My heart skipped at what happened next.

People were actually buying my useless bookmarks. They bought them in droves! Admittedly some seemed quite angry afterwards from buyer’s remorse no doubt, and made weird claims of the bookmarks ‘not going anywhere’ or something like that… but it wasn’t like it was my problem. Buyer beware, right? A few threatened horrible murder to me, but I laughed at them and just happily went about my way. Sometimes, it was good to be in a place where completely defrauding people was perfectly legal.

Before I could further contemplate good capitalist morals, I packed up and left, as my remaining boxes were selling. Now it was time to buy, it seemed. And with my newfound riches, it was a truly happy time which I barely remembered. I spent hours just browsing through the market and purchasing dozens of things I had no idea how to use. Before I knew it, I had a very nice grey Condor, decked out happily and lined with some nice Nanofiber Rims. I even purchased a nice and legal ‘Scout’ 9mm handgun, one fit for my rather weak arm. Dazed at the assortment of bullets, I wondered if anyone would find it odd that my gun could fire a wide range of bullets, including oddly an iron chunk, or some weird block of plutonium.

I drove out of the parking garage then, smiling as I rode to find my enemy. I tapped the side of my beautiful car, noticing the two perfectly level and symmetrical ‘wings’ tapered on the side. How quaint, a Caldari vehicle that wasn’t so lopsidedly awful.

That’s when I realized that the randomly added wings were wider than the exit of the garage. I hit the break hard, trying to stop before I hit the exit.

Too late.

With a sickening crunch, the left wing of my Condor was bent in an angle, 45 degrees to the ground and noisily screeching along the pavement.

I signed and drove to meet my destiny, followed only by a long trail of orange sparks, and the eternal regret of driving Caldari…

(to be continued...)