Memoirs of a Capsuleer: wallel Audeles: Splintered Soul

I could only see tiny blurry white lights fading in and out of the black while I heard multiple voices echoing, “Who are you!? What are you doing here!?”. “I-I don’t…ugh. Who are…?” I hear shuffling of feet and clanging of metal as the voices moved closer. I thought to myself, “How did I get here?”

The sun slowly rose above the horizon of Duripant V; washing across the fertile land pulling back the dark cold blanket of night. My eyes opened to the sounds of hungry animals and the smell of a fresh new day waiting to be conquered. I took a quick glance at my wife as I got dressed and ready for the day. Sound asleep. Soon enough she’ll be chasing four kids around, feeding them, and trying to get Shanall to wear a shirt. I hope that girl grows out of that. Ha, 3yr olds are peculiar but it is their innocence and ignorance that set them apart from adults.

The trusty canine stirs to his feet as he hears me moving about inside preparing breakfast. I grab some homemade bread, put a pot of water on the stove and make some scrambled Huchi eggs. The eggs crackle in the pan as the water starts to boil all the while not another sound in the house could be heard other than the impatient pacing of the Sable (the trusty canine) as he knows he is about to be feed. I through in a handful of Junggy berries in a poured cup of boiling water and walk to the front porch with enough eggs and bread for me and Sable.

Sable and I sit on the covered porch eating and surveying the morning due on the land and formulate yet another plan on how to make this farm work even better. It’s not a failure by any stretch of the imagination but I would like to give the nicer things to my wife and kids. Used clothing and budget-friendly appliances fulfill our needs but I want to provide enough so they can get some of the “wants” they deserve.

As I stand up, Sable whines as the sound of hover engines move closer. “I bet it’s Jarash coming to try to buy those caves again.”, I said to Sable. He didn’t move a muscle. He continued to stare intensely in the direction of the noise. Odd. He usually doesn’t pay any mind to that jerk’s fancy ship. I noticed the sounds were a bit different and louder. As if, there were more. Yes. Definitely more. Stange. I can see an outline now. Who would come all the way out here? This is definitely going to slow down my already busy day. Hmmm? I think I can make out the shape. Weird it looks like, maybe? Nah. Not out here. What would they want with me, my wife and kids?

“No, no, no. No! NO! NO!NO!NO!” RUN! RUN NOW! GO! GO!” I yelled. Sable anxiously circled my legs barking his familiar warning bark. I’ve got to get’em away! I HAVE to get them away from here!


Who are the Serpentis? by Delonewolf


I frantically run into the house, fling my wife out of bed. Her bewildered look conveys she knows something is wrong. A scared ‘what?’ escapes her mouth. I looked straight into her eyes, whisper intensely, “Kruul’s men are coming.” Her expression turns from confusion to terror. She runs into the kid’s room, pulls them out of bed, and hurriedly puts their shoes on their feet. “Mommy, what’s going on? Where are we going?”. The children continue to yawn and rub their eyes not knowing the fear that runs through me and my wife’s veins.

Kruul is one of “The Seven”. A criminal organization, which split itself from the Serpentis a number of years ago. Led by the infamous Jakerion Pahydan, the Seven are known to operate brothels, casinos and pleasure hubs.

I hear the ships hovering nearer and nearer. Flaring up their engines to bring them to a halt. Finally, we feel the heavy jarring of the ground in conjunction with an audible thud as the landing gear touches down. I share a horrified look with my wife.

We hurry the children out the back but we are met by the charged weapons of Serpentis henchmen. They somehow snuck up from the rear of the house. The big show out front must have been a distraction while they closed in.

“This will do fine for our top side headquarters for the new underground research lab.” I hear from a refined, almost eloquent voice from the side of the house. I turn and look in surprise and with some amazement. I recognize the outfit from the news reports. It was Kruul himself.

“What do we do with them?” asked a henchman. “Kill them.” Kruul said so calmly, cold and uncaring it enrages me. I try to struggle from the grips of the two henchmen holding me tight. I can’t budge but it didn’t dissuade my efforts. My struggle brought Kruul’s attention briefly in my direction but something catches his eye just near me. “Oh wait second. She’ll do nicely. Oh definitely.” Kruul said through an obvious smile you could hear even though you can’t see his face through the helmet. My wife began to cries out, “No, wait I’m a mother. I have…” “Oh don’t worry.” He interrupted. “There’s a special market for that. I provide all the flavors for my clients.” With that, he turns and without missing a stride as the sound of laser rifles echoes off the rolling fields. All my children fall to the ground. Lifeless. Still. No screams. No whimpers. Nothing. There was no sound.

A moment later my wife cries out only in a way a mother in agony can. It is like nothing I have ever heard in my life. Like a soul is dying. I too feel the pain but that pain was transformed into a white-hot rage I can feel radiating from my body.

Just then Sable comes racing from around the corner barking and in full attack mode. He goes straight for henchmen holding my wife. I quickly break free from my captures and run toward my wife a few steps behind Sable. Sable leaps in the air and landed the perfect throat lock on one of the henchmen. He screams in pain but for a second. As his throat fills with blood, he guggles and falls to the ground. I reach for my wife’s hand and I see the flash of a laser rifle and watch Sable’s midsection be split open by the blast. He’s gone.

I squeeze my wife’s hand tight and turn to sprint toward the woods at the edge of the property. CLACK! A flash of white. I see the ground. Then darkness.


Blurry. Spinning. Brightness. So much it hurts my eyes. My head throbs. As I come to with the pungent smell of musty stale air as it fills my nose followed by the smell of mud mixed with hay and animal manure which overpowers the initial smells. As I raise my throbbing head I feel my hands bound by bailing twine. I sense a presence and then an old familiar voice says, “welcome back, sweetheart.” I instantly recognize Jarash’s sarcastic tone. Great. This isn’t good. “Why am I here?” I know there has to be a link be between Kruul’s men arriving and Jarash but right now I don’t really care I need to find my wife.
“Looks like Kruul kept his word. I tell him where the underground caves are and he delivers you to me. Nice coincidence it screws you over twice. Haha!” Jarash struts around his barn as he tells me how smart he is. “Do you know what they did!? Why would you bring those kinds of people here?” I pause. My volume trails off to barely a whisper “They killed the kids and probably took my wife to work in one of the Casinos or Pleasure Hubs.”
“Sounds like a win for me!” Jarash perked up as if trying to lighten the mood. His absolute disregard for anyone other than himself fuels my rage inside I can feel growing. Unbeknownst to Jarash, I have been able to stretch his pathetic single knot and create enough room to free my hands.
He was always bad at simple tasks most farmers in the area should know. Ever since his childhood, his ungrateful belligerent attitude towards those who tried to correct him created a downward spiral in his local standing and his ever-worsening personality. The past decade or so he had been suspected of theft, dishonest business practices and some heard he was “unkind” to some women a few towns over. No story was ever a surprise to any of the townsfolk.
He raised his voice to a snarl. “I’ve always hated you. You and all of your perfect little family!” His animals picked up on his increase in energy and began to stir. “I’m gonna do to you what I did to the Menkalinan girl who laughed at me when I insisted she considers being my life mate.”
The hair on my neck stood up. The well-known story raced through my head. We heard she ran away to another world as some do who seek adventure in the stars or on some trade hub station. That clearly didn’t happen and since he clearly has the taste for killing I know he won’t hesitate.
He pivots slowly in my direction as he grips the handle of his curved machaíri as the late morning light bounced off the razor-sharp blade; I knew this was my time to act.

I quickly freed my hands, stand up, thrust my legs in opposite directions and snap one of the half-rotted ropes securing my legs to the chair. His slow-burn blood lust turned into a maniacal craze as he lets out a scream only to be described as animal-like. I whip my leg around using the chair as an extension of my foot. The blow lands squarely along his midsection. He’s down. I lean on the broken chair as it pins him to the ground. He flails like a wild beast of the woods but with no real purpose in his movements. My hand finds a broken-off piece of the chair and I strike as hard and as fast as I can. My blows find his face and head over, and over. He screams. I strike. His screams are garbled. I strike again. His legs slow their attempt to knock me off balance. I strike again. His arms fall flat on the ground. I strike again with the exhaustion of a marathon runner. Nothing. No sound. No movement.
My hands are shaking. Shaking so violently drops of blood are raining down. I know what I’ve done. I know what he has done. As the adrenaline leaves my body I feel no remorse. In fact, I feel numb. This situation is not nearly as important as finding my wife.

I walk into the house, find the kitchen sink and begin to wash the evidence away. Once I’m done I open the food storage locker and grab what I can carry and place it in a pile on the table. I find a nice newer coat in the hall closet with many pockets capable of carrying the food I have selected. I hop in Jarash’s hovercraft and make my way to the capital.


far city

I use what ISK I have and some I stole from Jarash during my 12 day trip to Padrine. (Duripant III’s largest city) As I traveled through country towns and small cities I was haunted by my thoughts of the day Kruul and his men destroyed everything I cherished. The pain and sorrow became unbearable. When I finally arrived in Padrine I had no idea what to do. I wanted to find my wife but where do I start? I don’t know anything about finding people. I’m not some kind of detective, I’m a farmer.

I do the best I can but after being scammed a few times by charlatans stringing me along just enough to bleed me dry of ISK and the police obviously scared of or paid off by Kruul I find myself turning to alcohol and drugs to numb my self-loathing pain for failing to find my wife. All along with the added grief from the loss of my innocent children who will never grow up and experience the excitement of their wedding day or the joy of the birth of their own children I slip into a self-induced coma.
Powdered Cubensis
Spiked Quafe
Zydrine Burn
Zydrine Wine

7 months go by and I’m barely conscious enough to keep the odd job here and there. I sell the hovercraft to buy more of the temporary happiness found in bottles and pills. I also start learning a fair bit of street life since I can only manage to keep a shabby lean to because most of my wages go to numbing my torment. I get in fights. I lose some. I win some. My senses become sharper and more attuned to violence in alignment with my survival on the streets.

I wake up to a particularly average day on the streets of Padrine. I’ve just been paid and so I need to get my weekly fix of booze and pills. Off to Lantin Neniell, my local dealer. He’s slimy but he has decent stuff. It takes a few minutes to get to his alley and as I turn the corner I hear, “Hey there Wally! You must want only the goods that I can give! Ha-ha! Right?” I fire back without breaking stride. “Whatever. Douche bag.” This guy is so annoying. Why do I keep doing this to myself? “Hey man, be cool or you won’t get the fuel that makes you drool. Hehehe”. I reply in a sarcastic monotone, “Good to see someone is laughing at your jokes.” There, that stopped his cringe laugh and half toothed smile. His demeanor went from jovial to serious rather quickly.


From around the corner, I hear then I see an equally disgusting looking and I bet a foul smelling group of street thugs with various blunt force makeshift weapons in their hands coming our way. They notice me but their attention is fixed on Sebastian’s business partner, Rozental. He is their focus and instantly my newly honed street instinct tells me this encounter will conclude with extreme violence.

I heard a rumor on the streets that Sebastian double crossed the wrong people and won’t be heard from anymore. This encounter is probably just to clean up of anyone who was part of that deal gone wrong.

I scan the area for a quick escape route. The thugs are blocking the only way in or out of the alley by foot but I notice a twisted metal fence separating the alley from an industrial delivery area. I slowly move toward the fence. “Hey, I didn’t say you could leave!” yelled the lead thug. The group continued their slow march toward the intended target while giving me glancing mean stares intended to keep me in my spot. I comply. This is not the time to draw attention to myself.

There’s the typical back and forth you would expect from these, we’ll say “business associates”. The argument about ISK for product and product quality all wrapped up in intentional or unintentional deceit is as old as the stars. The volume elevates. Tensions rise. I knew the final outcome was going to involve violence and I could feel that time was getting close.

Rozental has had enough. “Get back!” He pulls what looks to be a homemade blaster cobbled together with a lot of bad ideas. Rozental was known to be resourceful but not smart and this looks to be the culmination of those two efforts. Even from my distance, I can tell his fake bravado is steeped in absolute fear. Fear of being caught, fear of facing the consequences of his actions or fear of violence about to be bestowed on him; it doesn’t really matter. The stench of fear was obvious to everyone involved. The thugs take a few steps back as they were surprised by this brazen show of force but after the moment of shock passes, they take an aggressive stance and start circling Rozental.

Rozental is getting visibly nervous and unsure of what to do next. I can feel this situation coming to head in the next few seconds. Rozental lifts the baster ZZZZZZIINNN!! POW! Blood curdling screams are heard after the white flash subsides. 4 of the 7 thugs lay on the ground lifeless along with pieces of Rozental.

I turn to run out of the alley and I instantly hear the remaining 3 thugs running after me and yelling. Even though I’m clearly not involved I know they think I helped kill their friends. Wrong place at the wrong time and now I have to get myself out of this mess.

They’re too close. I can’t escape. This is it. I have no hope other than to fight. I abruptly stop and turn. Pull my concealed knife. Nothing special, just something I can hide in the sleeve of my forearm. I know this is a fight for my life. The fight is on!

I don’t know if it’s the culmination of all the street experience or the fact I was coming out of the drug induced fog since my supply had run out but I seem to know the attackers moves before they do. Things appeared slow to me. I moved like a solid fluid. Intentional, full of force and yet malleable enough to avoid whatever attack comes my way. As the attack hits the midpoint I hear the sirens of law enforcement approaching. No doubt the loud explosion of the homemade blaster brought unwanted attention.

I continue to move and strike when the opportunity presents itself and within a few more moments my eyes feverishly scan the area and detect no standing adversaries.

“DROP the knife!” yelled the police. Great. Another problem. Not sure how I’m gonna get out of this. As they rush me I knew my only hope was to play it cool. I have come to know some of the officers and for the most part, they may ruff you up a bit but if you play your role and give them what they want they usually go easy on ya. Basically just say, “yes sir” a lot.


As expected, my face is shoved into the damp slimy concrete while they secure me and yank me to my feet. “All right, what happened here?”, one of the four officers asked. “OOOHHH, DAMN!” “Hey Wally?” I hate that nickname. When did I ever say that was my nickname? Never, that’s when. Right now that’s the least of my worries. Officer Maxim Aylet recognized me from some previous encounters. Most of which were positive. I basically got caught with a small amount of illegal contraband and he turned me into one of his eyes and ears on the street. Nothing terribly involved as I kept mostly to myself but I did know some of the players on the streets and I would observe actions that even in my eyes would cross the line such as killings, kidnappings and shopkeeper extortion so I had no problem giving them up.

“Yeah guys, he’s alright. We still gotta take you in and process ya.” Maxim smiled a bit, “This is a bit much to turn away from but good job taking those guys out.” His face turns inquisitive. “How DID you take out all those guys? I’m sure the cameras will tell us. Anyway, let’s go.” He motions to the transport. “I don’t want to stay late again. Let’s process him and go.”

Nothing out of the ordinary during processing. The normal hodgepodge of street scum loitering in various stages of being sent to jail or released. Not much rehabilitation happens, more of just a rotation until someone is killed or dies of natural overdose causes. The building smelled like the street covered with cheap perfume and cologne worn by the government employed office staff.

They take me to the standard interview room so I can give my statement of events. I’ve been here before but this time feels a little different. Usually, I get either the arresting officer or some sloppy desk jockey bumbling in, but I hear unknown voices outside the door this time.


I can’t tell precisely what they are saying but it seems one group wants me to do something or go somewhere in a program while the other group is just saying no but not able to produce a legitimate argument. Two polished, fit men dressed in military uniforms entered the room with a sense of confidence and professionalism I have not encountered before. Two sloppy veteran law enforcement officers trailed behind. “uh, welcome to the party, I guess?” I responded with the confidence of low level criminal who was sure he isn’t going to be arrested. My little joke didn’t phase the military men but the officers smirked and said, “you should be so lucky, jackass.” The military officers spoke unconcerned with anything that didn’t involve their business at the moment. “Mr. Audeles we are from the Federal Navy Department of Special Recruitment division. We are tasked to find high quality unique recruits to possibly become esteemed capsuleers. Are you one of those people?” “Wally?” One of the local officers that knows me chimed in with a sarcastic tone. “He’s just a street junky! Nothing special here! Heh!” The same military man who asked me the question turned slightly toward the local officer and with no emotion replied while his partner quickly displayed a holo video recording of me taking out the 3 thugs in the alley. “We are impressed with his ability and possibly untapped talent.” To be honest I couldn’t believe that was me in the video. Actually, I was impressed and surprised. Mostly surprised with myself. My shock turns to unwarranted pride and then manifests itself through humor. “I look pretty good don’t I?” I quickly scan the room. “All that fighting stuff is pretty good too.” I scan the room for a reaction. None. ‘Well, you can’t pick your audience’, I thought to myself.

The bigger, greasier local officer slams the table and leans in, “You’ve got two choices here. Go to prison or go with these guys and see what happens.” “Wait a minute!“ I jerked in my seat. “I didn’t do anything wrong. I was defending myself!” I lower my energy level a bit and add a little quip to my voice. “and apparently I did it so well I’m now famous.”

The local officer in my face slamms my head into the table and leans back. “Famous like a whore.” That’ll be enough.” said the military officer with a visable annoynce showing through narrowed eyes and slightly clinched lips. “Why do you think i am a good fit for the Navy?” I asked.

“Wally.” “AHEM! My name is Wallel” I protested. The Navy Recruiter responded, “Wall-ele. We are prepared to skip SOME of the requirements but know Pod pilot candidates are a rare breed. Only 14 percent of all those who apply are able to make it past prescreening into basic training, and only around 5 percent of those manage to make it through the entire program and go on to become capsuleers. Prospective candidates must satisfy a broad range of criteria, including but not limited to: 20/20 vision, perfect hearing, blood pressure within a highly limited range, peak physical conditioning (able to run at least 60 kilometers without pause), a complete genome profile that excludes any possibility of genetic defects or hereditary disease, ninety-eighth percentile intelligence, a degree in a sufficiently advanced technical field, and, provided no grants or scholarships are in the picture, an enormous amount of money. Above all, the candidate must possess an ability to keep his mind working along several different tracks at once, giving full attention to all of them simultaneously. And that is where this, uh, interaction witnessed by the cameras caught our attention.

“Ok. what happens if I flunk out of this ‘training thing’? I asked. The military officer leans in. “Well. Wally! The only way to flunk is to be dead. Like the rest of your family.”

That white hot rage began to fill my belly once again…


As intensely as my rage grew, my grief and depression quickly overwhelmed all other emotions and consumed my thoughts. What am I doing living on the streets like a animal? It doesn’t actually make me feel better. In fact, I haven’t felt good or bad, happy or sad, fulfilled or unfulfilled for a long time. I. Haven’t. Felt. Anything. At this point, am I worthy of feeling anything? Should I be allowed to feel anything?

All these thoughts race through my head along with many disturbing images unsuitable to discuss.

And in a moment I knew I wanted it all to stop. I would never do it myself and this slow decline of booze and drugs was going to be a long and painful road. So, maybe this lethal military training will give me a quick and painless end to my suffering.

“Ok. I’ll be your experimental boy. Any perks, big guy?” wink I couldn’t help being a jackass. THUD! My head bounced off the table again. This time it actually hurts. “HEY, you piece of sh” “That’s enough. He’ll get more of that soon enough.” “Press here.” chimed the other military man who was clearly more administrative than warrior.

“So, where are we going, fellas?” “Duripant VII - Moon 6 - Federal Navy Academy ” The lead military officer stated. “Let’s go.” I echoed in the snootiest voice I could think of, “Yes, let’s! No need to pack my things.” I said to the local officers who looked a bit shocked and annoyed. One of them snarled and made a small flinching move toward me. I jerked hard towards him but the two military officers had a tight grip. “ENOUGH!” one of them shouted. “You’re right,” I said as I straightened my posture. “I have a spaceship to board.”

They shuffle me out of the police station still in hand and feet restraints. Tossed me into a Fed Navy cargo vehicle where there were only two seats to sit in and a large open area to tie down and carry cargo. They close the door and walk to the front of the transport. “Hey! Be careful! This is precious cargo you got here.” The assistant closes the door as he sits down in the seat and does a half turn towards me, “Where? I don’t see any.” he smirked. “Ouch. To be that hurtful after I gave you my thumbprint. It’s a one of kind, ya know.”

The transport lurched forward with enough force to knock me off my feet and roll me all the way to the back door of the transport in a painful way. Ok. Even I can take a hint. It’s time to shut up.

We pull up to the Launchpad to what I can only describe as an underwhelming spacecraft.



I’ve never been in space but I thought since this was the Navy I would be boarding some type of war ship. Be that as it may, the inside was a technological marvel, at least to me. I am not unfamiliar with technology but this was on a different level. As the engines ignited a gentle hum filled the ship. We took off in a heavy wave like motion and entered space with ease.


I arrived at a massive space station. They walk me to desk with another military man sitting behind a mass of virtual holo computer screens. He raises his eyes but not his head and takes a peek at me, smirks. “Another one of your ‘recruits’ I see.” Gesturing to my restraints. “Now he’s YOUR recruit.” My lead capture responded. “The biomass crew is learning your guy’s name pretty quick cause your people seem to go splat faster than most.” “Splat?” I inquired. “HAHAHA! At least this one can talk. Good job boys.” “Just making our quota.” My two captures said as they turned and walked to the main habitat ring of the station.

I try to break the tension I’m feeling by firing off one last joke. “I’ll never forget you! You’ll always have a special place in my heart!” They both raised their hand in a derogatory manner obviously directed at me while not turning or breaking stride as they walked away.

“Alright funny man, lets get you in the last suit you’ll ever wear.” “Oh, sounds nice,” I said with a perkiness. “Calm down. You’ll be dead by dinner so we aren’t going to give you the full loadout.”

Admittedly, I was starting to feel a bit uneasy. Well, scared really. Fear is a strange thing. I’ve seen it destroy people and I’ve seen it make some stronger. I do believe that on the other side of fear is freedom. I want to be free. Free of this pain. Free from the memories of loss. At that moment my whole self committed to push through the fear and die a free man. With a new found resolve to push through the fear I walked through the processing line to receive whatever supplies they gave me and begin the hopefully deadly capsuleer training process.


Having stopped the consumption of drugs and alcohol days ago and eating the tasteless vitamin and protein slop I could feel life returning to my brain and body. The first few days were filled with physicals and baseline mental testing. So, no. I wasn’t dead by dinner on the first day. Guess I’m not the only one with a sense of humor around here. I started to do my own physical training in my personal space since of felt so much better after the injection of all the latest and greatest medicines they gave us on the first day to keep everyone as healthy as possible. I passed the basic mental test and basic physical test. Barely but I passed. No fear. When I go, I want to go out with a bang. I focused harder, I trained harder. My only goal was to rid myself of the fear and when this training finally kills me I will have nothing left to give. I will be free. Free of the pain. Free of the memories.
Months go by. Every challenge I meet with no fear. I push through. Years go by. More challenges offer me more opportunities to rid myself of another piece of fear.

My unrelenting focus, lack of socializing and sketchy street background earned me a nickname among the other capsuleer trainees. “Dead robot.” Because I not only act like a robot with only one thing on my mind but I also seem extra dead inside. Not very catchy or particularly clever but that pretty much sums up the overly rich and privileged trainees I’m surrounded by. Some are math wizards, project managers, politicians and of course the ultra-competitive who will do whatever it takes to win.

Little do they know the nightmares that still haunt me every night. Over the years I have been able to suppress or at least ignore those thoughts during the day. I just stay focused on the tasks of the day but at night when I sleep those thoughts haunt me still. The only partial solution I’ve found is extreme exhaustion and sleep as little as possible.

I continue on waiting for the fateful day when an errant laser cuts my scalp in two or a fellow capsuleer trainee bests me in combat. That day seems to be nearer and nearer but it never arrives.

I’ve eliminated the fear. I am free.

But not free from my nightmares.

Graduation day.

Now what? I never considered I would make it out alive. Luckily the Federation navy wasn’t going to give you any choices at a career. They were going to appoint one to you based on your scores.

I am now one of the elite capsuleers. Not the best, in fact, I scored fairly low. I came in the bottom 33% of all trainees. “Looks like mining and maybe some level 1 mission for you.” Chimed a fellow new capsuleer looking at the assignment board. All scores, names and assignments were posted for all to see and since we have all trained together for years there wasn’t anyone who didn’t at least know your name.


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