Part 17 – Sectarian Violence

Now before I go on about what happened next, let’s get a few things straight. I have always considered myself as a good neighbor. If a neighbor needed a rake, I’d be sure to lend him mine with only a token collateral, or even give a cheap one-run copy of instructions to make his own. I’m that kind of a good, generous neighbor.

My neighbors on Jita however, were not so neighborly. Perhaps it was crossing the Jita-Kosigo intersection when I first noticed the usual noise of traffic and the occasional explosion creeping towards me. Indeed, looking into my Badger’s rear view mirror, I first noticed the large amount of cars barreling right at me, flashing red lights to signal their obviously murderous intent. Perhaps advertising my possession of such a document was not such a wise decision. The horrific war-shriek of a suicide bomber throwing himself and his Kestrel at where I just was a moment ago frayed my nerves. I drove quickly off.

It was time to leave. Adrenaline began pumping into my veins again as I swerved through the streets at random to elude my pursuers. It was madness, and CONCORD police helicopters just blasted away at the streets below, destroying those after me.

This was martial law: a heavy police crackdown to restore order, with troops on every street and our civil rights thrown into the wind. Or as the Caldari say, it’s ‘business as usual’.

I found respite still, ducking into a randomly placed quarry filled with large chunks of unprocessed Concrete, Solid Concrete, and the marginally more useful Pure Concrete. Ignoring these ‘vast treasures’, I relaxed back to think of where to go. I was clearly not safe here…

I would need to run somewhere, buying what I could with my resources, and steal what I couldn’t. I needed a place to hide and lay low, where few would travel. Opening my demographic map of the city, I looked to where I was, a blue and green blob that represented the downtown… then traced a finger to the dangerous outskirts of town. Beyond there was the countryside, the boonies... a fierce region inhabited only by outlaws, bandits and countryfolk that others would pay me for killing.

A somewhat familiar rumble began to cut in and I ended my planning, stashing away the map. I knew the sound of course. Before my very eyes, a section of wall evaporated, and the majestic Raven heavy tank rolled in, ready to destroy me with maximum prejudice before CONCORD incinerated him.

“No no no!” I squealed in a girlish tone that I would not like to discuss further. Gunning the engine back to the freeway, I broke onto the open road before he could lock on and fire upon me. I did not turn back as the sound of CONCORD choppers appearing and dispensing with the punk. Clutching the precious blueprint in my arms, I coasted down the road to 0.0 with a shudder…

…

By circumstance beyond my control, I was now exiled! Doomed to an existence in a dangerous hell where I could trust no one and violent psychopaths littered every turn. Admittedly, it wasn’t much different from Jita Ave, or the rest of Empire City for that matter, but I wasn’t thinking too clearly then.

My Badger’s poor little engine gave out two ramps before 0.0. I was tired too, and had some badly needed downtime. A welcome rest stop came into sight, and I pulled in. Some sack time was good. I needed it. Even just an hour would do…

When I woke up an hour later (I couldn’t seem to stay asleep for longer), I left the truck, clutching the Cerberus Blueprint in my jacket pocket closely. I would need a new, more suitable vehicle for my journey…

That’s when I saw her. The one that would change my life…