The air inside the station hangar of Dodixie IX - Moon 20 is a thick, recycled haze of ozone, Oxygen Isotopes, and the faint chemical tang of cheap Synthetic Oil. Beneath my fedora Boots, the rhythmic clanking of automated machines vibrates through the metal grating. As a seasoned industrialist and miner, I had just ducked back into my private hangar bay to escape the exhausting chaos of the main concourse.
What I expected would be peace and quiet. I had expect rows of neatly stacked Veldspa crates and the familiar, reassuring hum of my mining barge idling on the launch pad.
Instead, I had stumbled right into a scene straight out of an unhinged Intergalactic Summit forum thread.
But No as I had walked in on tucked away in the dimly lit maintenance alcove behind my cargo containers, two female capsuleer pilots who were completely entangled. Caught mid-embrace in an uninhibited 69 position, they are entirely absorbed in each other, paying zero mind to the automated security drones sweeping the upper gantries.
As the heavy thud of my mining boots echoes across the concrete floor, they freeze.
One of them—a veteran ganker pilot with her corporate insignia still glowing faintly on her shoulder—pulls back, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She glares at me with the irritated, defensive snarl of someone caught off guard.
“Do you mind?” she snaps, adjusting her collar. “Some of us are trying to decompress after a brutal Gank op.”
I cross my arms, leaning casually against a stack of tritanium. With a smirk, I decided to drop a bit of unsolicited medical reality into the quiet of the hangar. Warning them about the skyrocketing rates of high-risk Space HPV transmission across New Eden, pointing out how reckless it is to swap fluids like that without a second thought, especially given the grim statistics floating around GalNet.
The well known Ganker pilot scoffs, rolling her eyes so hard it looks painful. She tosses her head back with absolute, bulletproof pod-pilot confidence.
“Relax, Calm Down Miner,” she scoffs, flashing a grin. “I’m completely protected. I still have my tonsils.”
Her partner bursts out laughing, and the heavy tension of the hangar snaps right back into the familiar, cynical absurdity of capsuleer life.
…to be continued.