16 Jul 2011

Meet the Rebels - Lhorenzho

The Autocannon is not just the name of the public channel in which the Rebels hang out and talk dirty over spaceships with anybody and everybody who is plugged in, it is also the name of a bar that some of their members frequent on a regular basis.
 Lhorenzho had asked me to keep the actual location of the bar private, he didn't want riff raff invading his local when he and the Rebels were kicking back and letting off steam, whatever that would entail.

As I entered the bar I was immediately searched and frisked by two large security guards of Caldari origin. As this was happening, Lhorenzho, himself a man of Deteis birth, signalled with a nod to the two guards that I was good.

"Drink, sir?" .....


Tell us a little bit about your background in New Eden?

I would like to tell you I was a sad-eyed orphan in tattered clothes who never knew his father and was raised by a woman who worked as a downtrodden hooker in some seedy joint on the wrong side of the station but I would be lying. The truth is I was born into a life of opulence to a well-known family of wealth and influence in the richest enclave of the Caldari state. My crib, I have been told, was inlaid with gold and diamonds, real diamonds not those synthetics sold on the streets by gallente transients. To say I had a leg up in life would be an understatement. Incidentally, I am forbidden by court order to divulge the family name so please don’t ask.
My future as a corporate ladder climber, financier and enterprise mogul was all but assured and I had only to follow the blueprint laid down by my father to bring my pre-destined life of privilege to fruition. To my father’s deep shame it was soon apparent that there was something terribly different about me. There was a screw loose somewhere (to use the vernacular of the street) that always made me take the wrong turn when presented with a choice. I guess I was a loser and I was certainly operating with a dysfunctional moral compass. I also impregnated the youngest daughter of my father’s business partner, a comely young lass who I hear turned out to be a fine mother. I don’t know my son’s name.
My “studies” at the Elite Caldari business University also ended as I had channeled the tuition money sent to me into more interesting venues (A pyramid scheme involving clone vats for one), plus I preferred watching the co-eds on the dormcams over participation in my study groups.
It wasn’t long before I was summarily pruned from the family tree and found myself homeless, iskless, and strung out on an assortment of illegal substances. With no help from my blood relations on the horizon (we are a proud family you see and they wanted the blight gone), I joined a mining concern who mistakenly believed my bold assertions that my one university course in inventory management theory would help them increase profit margin. When it didn’t happen and after they noted bookkeeping irregularities they dumped me and left me stranded on some hellish outpost whose name I can’t even remember. At this outpost, I met a distinguished cadre member, a Master Zeuth from the famed Waffles (Sniggwaffe) warrior group who took a shine to me and encouraged me to apply as a pilot.
I did subsequently apply and due to some smooth talking on my part and despite my lack of PvP experience was able to convince them to accept me.
A week later I was ignominiously purged. The waffles, a group known for making vicious anti-social behavior a lifestyle found me unpalatable.
My life continued to spiral downward. In and out of drug abuse facilities, station brigs, and mental health hospices, I finally ended up working as a backroom cleanup man at a social club called the Popped Pod, a seedy joint of some repute known to occasionally welcome infamous patrons. It was here that I got to know the great Flashfresh, who like others in my life caught a glimpse of the remnants of an earlier potential and mistook it for more than what it was. Perhaps in a moment of weakness he asked me to apply to the training arm of the Bastards called the Meatshields. The application was rejected. No reason was given.
Where is our fucking waitress?

How did you become a Black Rebel?

While spending some time housed in a “facility” operated by the rehabilitation arm of the Minmitar Republic, I became acquainted with an ominous, brooding young fellow who exhibited the most chilling singularity of purpose I had ever known. He possessed, I was told by those who had the misfortune of crossing paths with him, an almost superhuman desire and ability to foment death and destruction and the prospect of not being able to wreak havoc while confined literally sent him into a deep funk. He was only happy when he was on the hunt. Mayhem was his mistress. Needless to say, the confinement was devastatingly unbearable to him and in turn made me uneasy as he often looked at me with a devilish grin that I was certain meant I would be found dead in the morning. Since I had plenty of time on my hands I listened to the lad and was thus able to get into his good graces and became the closest thing a chap of his malicious disposition could have to being a friend.
The young guy had just joined a corporation whose sole purpose was to literally unleash the dogs of war on our already battle weary sector of space. No rules, no discipline, no structure, and no control. He talked excitedly of being able to join his comrades as soon as possible. Of course, hearing the scary young lion talk of his new life piqued my interest and I was able to convince him to provide the name of the architect behind this organization. After my unauthorized “early release”, I contacted the CEO, a congenial but menacing looking rogue with a reputation for blowing up spacecraft named Miura Bull, and after undergoing a screening process was accepted into the Black Rebels. Incidentally, I won’t mention any names but the killing virtuoso I refer to above can be found at the top of the Black Rebels Kill board.

What were you doing before you joined the Black Rebels?

I was in my own way, although I did not know it at the time, laying the foundation needed to forge a successful career as a Pirate in this universe of ours. I was achieving what one would call a critical mass of embarrassing ineptitude and failure in my earlier life in New Eden as I have already alluded to above. I was undergoing my own version of the Trial by fire.
The brutal Eve universe is a harrowing crucible that can forge an amazing array of dangerous and unstable personality types. They are a natural byproduct of life in New Eden.
I think you will find that many of the Rebels can relate similar tales to you of a badly misguided youth littered with bad decisions and inappropriate behavior. There is certainly a big dose of angst, anger, brutality, resentment, sadism, and pain in the mix of ingredients that go into forming what we know as a Rebel. Since I had been unsuccessful in having a corporation accept me, I went ahead and formed my own one man corp. I may have been diagnosed at one time as a social misfit, but I was never a loner. I craved the camaraderie of like minded people. Given that fact, you can see how I might have been unhappy in a one man outfit. It was providential that the opportunity to join the Rebels occurred when it did. I am not a religious man, but I still thank my lucky stars that I stumbled into this bunch of maniacs.
How much do they charge for a lap dance in here?

What is a Black Rebel?

A Rebel is a suspicious, cagey, cunning, devious, intelligent, focused, and clever creature, born with a natural affinity for frigate combat, who will keep you at arm’s length until you prove yourself trustworthy at which point he or she will become your most loyal friend. I have been all over this big universe of ours and I don’t trust anyone but my Rebel mates. Well, I still lock up my good booze and hide my collection of ancient earth slide rules, and I may make it a point to sleep on my back especially when we are on long roams, but you know what I mean.

Is it true you need a tattoo to be considered for entry?

Yeah. You can ask your old lady about where they put mine.

The Rifter, tell me more?

She is the “pimp’s fave HO”. No more. No less. The only bitch I trust.
I have a trust fund with billions of ISK that I can now access due to the legal maneuverings of a drug addled lawyer with an unhealthy appetite for nubile young girls. Let’s just say I had at my disposal some photographs that helped me convince him to successfully undertake the process of breaking what my parents thought were ironclad agreements whose sole intent was to lock me out of my rightful inheritance. My point is that I can purchase just about any ship available in New Eden, but I invariably always return to my Rifter. It is the only ship where I truly feel complete while at the helm. The damn thing is like an extension of my being. She fits the Rebels and their combat philosophy like a glove. She is front and center when we go looking for trouble. She is our go to girl. The one who is always there when you need a Saturday date.
Do I need to say any more dude?

Are all Black Rebels unwashed scumbags whose only goal in life is to terrorize those they tag as the enemy?

Your question has a disapproving tone to it. You got a problem with unwashed scumbags? We terrorize our enemies both before and after we have washed our asses, what is your point? You want another drink man? Oh by the way, do you think I am a pretentious prick?

Tell me about your corpmates?

Well, I have already described one of them earlier. They are a rare breed. They are unconventional and uniquely non-conformist and resistant to authority. The Black Rebels are a collection of square pegs in a universe of round holes. They are a mass of conflicting impulses to be sure. They will fly into certain death to help you during a brutal combat engagement one moment and then take your last ISK from your wallet when you pass out on your bunk after a binge. They will screw your woman but will at least give you the courtesy of using protection so she won’t get the Sansha clap and pass it on to you. You will find them chaotic and unpredictable during downtime in station, but almost indescribably focused and driven when piloting a ship in combat and they are loyal to a fault. They will slap you silly if you are a fool. Never a dull moment with those fuckers. Yeah, you have to stay on your toes around them but I would not want to fly with any other bunch. Did I mention they are mean fuckers? Jesus are we ever gonna get served in here?

Describe a typical day in the life of a Rebel.

Another glorious day in the Rebels! A day in the Rebels is like a day on the farm. Every Meal is a banquet, every paycheck a fortune, every formation a parade. I love the REBELS!
Ok, I pulled that quote from my memory. A line I heard somewhere once. But really, your question is inane dude. What do you want to hear, that me and the corpies sit around and discuss Heidegger or that existentialism shit. The template for our lifestyle is simple man.
It’s basically, wake, undock, scan, lock, scram, web, fire, pop, pod, ransom, rinse and repeat.
Ok, the above is a gross oversimplification. In between the rinse and repeat there is eat, drink, fight, kill, puke, piss, screw, slap da bitch, and sleep…..maybe.
Did I mention screw?

Where is our f@*&$#g waitress?

End of transcript////

No comments:

Post a Comment