I slide my empty bottle away and lean back in my chair, rocking it with my heels as it precariously balances on the back legs. linking my fingers behind my head for some support I let out a relaxed yawn , its sound smothered by the hubbub in the stuffy but well kept bar I often frequent.

While many of my crew and some friends laugh and joke or just focus on their drink I take a moment to watch the door. I often take these moments, so much so that every scratch and smudge on the doors surface was very familiar with me. I play with the notion that some old friends will return and maybe even a few exciting new ones, capsuleers do tend to be a bit, colourful, after all.

The long running rumor was that one day Capsuleers would get a little more freedom on the empire stations. At the moment you needed to perform a few small acts or one big act to get twenty four hours of Independence in one. The rest of the time you rented a room or stayed aboard your ship. People didn't want demigods owning a piece of habitable space because he or she could own it, technically, till the end of life.

'The end of time', I pondered with a smirk and leant forward, righting my chair. It was this thought that always stopped me slipping into melancholy. Firstly with flights of fancy like buying all the toilets in a space station and having them legally paid for but unavailable forever. But mostly because forever was a long time to wait, and all the immortals I'd come to appreciate had every chance of walking back through those doors someday, preferably with drinks and a few hair raising tales from deep space.

I slid out of my chair and headed for the door, patting one of my new gunners on the head with a grin as I passed, he'd corrected the telemetry on a faulty sensor allowing me to will eight fourteen-hundred millimeter cannons to blow up three cruisers in three volleys. I was seriously considering giving him a recommendation for one of the capsuleer academies, if he seemed the sort to survive the infomorphic process.

Bumping through the doors with little attention so that they bounced back and forth on their hinges, I headed into a market area, eyes blinking a little to adjust to the bright neon lights filling the view. I usually left my optic augments switched off, I didn't need their multi spectral perfection reminding me that I wasn't an unstoppable space behemoth at the moment, preferring to accept that I was just a bit of an idiot with a like of drink, women and the unhealthiest kebabs known to man.I stopped for one before heading back to the hangar.

As I ate through it like it was my last meal I felt a transmissions pulse from my cranial implants. Since I reserved this means of communication for business only I accepted the call, having a transparent visage of my agent Ashin Puvenen fill my vision, not exactly fun viewing. He was as militaristic in appearance as a caldari gets, shaved head, body armour and the square jaw and miserable eyebrows typical of their kind. I always wondered why he chose to represent Corporation Police instead of the Navy.

'You know those things will kill you', he said, referring to the kebab he was seeing through MY augments.
'Firstly, Ashin. Just because I'm not using my augments doesn't mean you can, secondly don't worry about the kebab, I'm gonna go try and kill this clone with things far more unhealthy and illegal later. Thirdly, what's the job?', I said as monotone as possible, don't want him thinking he's a friend. He is, but he's earning it the hard way.

'Yeah well, hi, and ...it's a job, possibly', he said almost apologetically. I knew where this was going.
'She didn't. not again', I offered, already rubbing my temples with annoyance. 'She' did.
'She did yeah, her old mans stopped offering the primo rewards for her but they are still pretty sizable...To her credit she hasn't snuck off with a crime lord for over a month now', Ashin said, trying to add humor to the occasion.

'She' had long since lost any claim to a name in the capsuleer circles, we just called her 'The Damsel', the most annoying spoiled little rich girl with daddy issues in the known universe. Her exploits were legendary, and so were the holovids of them.
Her claim to fame was A. finding herself the most depraved and powerful slavers outside the amarrian chapel sewing circle, B. Playing Damsel in distress and loving every minute of it and C. repeating the whole mess all over again after her rescues.

The pay was good, the exhibition of our skills in the rescues were well sought after and the chance to tangle with some real hard cases was a thrill. That didn't mean we didn't hate the little brat though.

'I dunno Ashin, I don't need that kinda irritation. Have you tried Korinne? Sera? The Police?', I added that last one for a laugh, the CPF don't do rescues for someone no matter how rich they are unless he is backing one of the major corporations, a total mockery of the term 'Police'.

'You said you wanted a job, it's what I have', Ashin replied in the same deadpan tone I used on him earlier, I had no doubt he had to deal with the same reaction from many a reluctant Capsuleer.

I sigh,'There can't be much of a rush, any idiot stupid enough to keep her 'prisoner' by now knows they are dead meat, so gimme a few hours and let me see what my crew think, it's their call this time'...

(To be continued if I can be bothered to rescue that douche again).