Hello, me.
Ha, I have had hard times in space. But this is over. My trail of brilliant deeds (picketed with insignificant mistakes like forgetting my drones in deadspace after victory) has ended in fairytale-like wealth. I am rich, filthy rich. I now own more than ONE MILLION ISK. Many men have died in the coldest parts of space to allow me to get that rich. Some of them had families, I am aware of it. Their wives and children will never see them again. But they chose the wrong side, plain and simple, that is, the other side. I can now safely retire, buy an extravagant manor and spend my nights practicing Gallente kiss with foxy ladies.
That lets you out of the picture, pal. So sorry about that. I kind of begun to appreciate our little monologue. I thought about giving you the keys of the Smithwick's Revenge, allowing you to roam on my behalf while I would enjoy the fruits of my hard work. But apparently, it is impossible for you to be alive as long as I am not dead. So told me Louise, gorgeous Louise, who is lovingly checking your vat from time to time. I think I have my chances with her, even though she did not seem that much impressed by my million isk. Weird nurses for the win!
If you have seen her face while awakening, you know what I meant!
