Static Crackling... [IC]

The popping and hissing noise from the open comms channel has been my constant companion for the last few months. Katt doesn't talk much, and Leilani even less, which makes our little slice of 'sky' a quiet place.

I've turned off the comms a few times, just to get rid of the noise, but, as you'd expect, that usually is followed by scrambling to run away from an unexpected visitor. No-one said living in a wormhole was going to be easy. 'No-one' was right to not say it.

Now I've taken to talking to myself, well, ostensibly to you, but likely there's no 'you' that's actually going to bother listening to my ramblings.

In case firing these canisters of recording out through our regular as clockwork exit (for a random anomaly, it's a bit worrisome that I set my neocom alarm to wake me in time to watch the old hole collapse and the new one appear on scanners... Don't you think?) actually inflicts my ramblings upon the general public, or even just one poor soul, I'll throw some background and introductions into this first recording.

I'm Minuit, Minuit Soleil. My folks told me, before I was 'reassigned' that it means Midnight Sun. Born during an eclipse in an Amarrian slave-camp back in the Domain region. They apparently thought it made sense.

My partners are Leilani Belle, a Gallente pilot, young, but handy to have around, and KattraStarr, another Minmatar lass, who I have a certain weakness for.

The three of us, and occasionally other corpies, occupy a little piece of space accessible to K-Space residents through various wormholes. 'Old Faithful', also known as the U210, runs us to Low-Sec on a daily basis, and is a steady source of amusement, consternation, combat and trade. Not necessarily in that order.

Inside our little slice of lawless space, we search out hidden sleeper outposts, recover lost technology, and harvest various K-Space necessities to turn a kredit. We also do our best to mark and defend our territory from the incursions of other pilots. Usually that's just isolated skirmishes, though we've had to defend our POS once, and in the process assault the POS of our attackers.

Well, the cargo-hold is full. Gas Harvesting is mind-numbing business, but amazingly, this helped. I suppose I'll drop this through the hole just as it's about to collapse. You can call it Paranoia, if you like. I call it survival.