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The Black Envelope. Izo's Story, Part 1.

The Black Envelope.

“When did things get this bad?” Izo asked himself over and over again. “How could this have ever happened?” This one single question repeated itself endlessly, and it had done ever since he’d escaped them. “When did it start?!” The frustration was incomprehensible; a rage filled him as the ship he flew in began to shake, as it was descending out of warp. Izo began punching keys, setting a course to Essence, and to a new life.

- A few weeks before. -

Chapter One; An Unusual Meeting.

“Excuse me, sir?” asked a tall, smartly dressed waiter, with etiquette to match. “Are you Mr. Azlion?”

“I am,” replied Izo, shortly. “I’m a little busy… What is it?” Izo had not turned from the mobile console in front of him.

“There is a man here to see you, sir.” responded the waiter, ever polite. “He’s very persistent.” The tall man looked worried that he might have to disappoint the stern Gallente stood over by the door. Sweating slightly, and feeling uncomfortable, the waiter repeated; “Very persistent.”

Izo let out a long sigh, before tapping a few keys on his small, personal console, and closing the screen. “Very well, send him over.” Since Izo had become part of the family legacy – more to his father’s wishes than his own – he had become quite obnoxious. Few men could trouble him, and very few would wish to regardless. The corporation could clean any mess, so generally, people stayed out of his way.

“Mr. Izo Azlion, son of Ariavar Azlion?” said the heavily built Gallente, as Izo turned towards the man, before suddenly feeling slightly threatened. Izo took a second to judge the man, in his long deep green lined black suit, with a high collar meeting in the middle, with jet black hair with hints of grey showing, sweeping back to just below his shoulders, and eyes that contained a mystery locked behind a thousand doors, in their deep green that seemed to match the very suit he was wearing. He was slightly taller than Izo, as he stood to meet the man properly and being shorter than people had always bothered him, despite the young entrepreneur not being all that short, at six foot two inches tall, he had always enjoyed being able to stand above many people.

“Mr. Azlion?” the man had repeated, Izo blinked and shook his head slightly, before offering a hand in greeting.

“I am he, and who are you?” he replied, arm outstretched.

“I am a potential client. You need offer me no hand, nor know my name.” replied the unfriendly man, responding to the handshake as a needless gesture. “Take a seat.” He added, gesturing toward the chair Izo had just been sat upon. Izo felt uneasy, and didn’t make a sound, but simply sat down and waited for the older man, at around his forties, to speak again.

“Mr. Azlion I have an offer for you. I have followed you, your past and your dreams in life very closely over the last few years. I have seen you throw tantrums in your youth and I have seen you accomplish many great things. Congratulations on your pilots license, by the way. But I also have seen how you hate to be part of what your father calls the “family legacy,” and I am here to give you a way out from that.” The Gallente man said, leaning back in the soft leather chairs of the bar, waiting for a response. He was sure to get one.

“How do you know my name? How do you know my lifestyle and what could you possibly offer me that is more valuable than the wealth I currently have?” The impetuous personality that was Izo was beginning to tire of the riddles.

“The proposition I have for you, Mr. Azlion, is worth more than any amount of Interstellar Kredits imaginable. It is to be set free. But we cannot talk of it here. Read this, meet me at another date.” The Gallente man stood up sharply, the steel legs of the chair scraped loudly against the marbled patterned surface, but few people took attention to it. From the inside of his suit jacket, the man removed a black envelope and placed it aside the personal computer that Izo had been working on, and the work on the computers screen that seemed so important moments ago, was reduced to mere paperwork. The Gallente smiled a sly smile, before walking off; his shoes could be heard tapping on the floor as he walked with a slow but long stride. As the door slid shut and the strange man was out of sight, Izo stood up and gathered his belongings, glancing around the bar for any unusual faces, before walking with perhaps a noticeable haste about him, black envelope in hand.

Chapter Two; A Confusing Opportunity.

Traveling home, chauffer driven of course, Izo reflected on what the man had said. “I am here to give you a way out.” He had said. “A way out?” the thought spiraled round in his mind like that of an all too often seen Quafe advertisement. Without noticing, Izo had put his hand to his left side, tempted to find out just what the envelope contained…but not here. He would wait.

Rain began pouring from the dark skies, the sun had set, its deep red sank into the seas far west of where he lived. Pedestrians ran from shop to shop, hoping to find sanctuary from the soaking downfall that happened all to often. Izo stared out towards the people trapped in the repetitive “nine to five” routine and sighed. The black stretch pulled up outside the tall apartment block, and Izo slumped back into his seat, and slowly turned his head towards the direction of the driver, who was glancing back towards him.

”Sir?” he commented, probably gesturing that Izo should get out, as his shift was now over.

“Yeah… I know.” The young man ran his hands through his short black hair, and stepped out of the limousine into a puddle, and the drenching rain. “Ah shit…” he said, slamming the car door behind him, then walking towards the main automatic doors of the huge, Caldari grey, apartment block. He clutched the envelope tightly.

Later that night, he could bare it no more. Despite the determination to resist, he had it in his hands again, and was tearing the paper that encased what could be no more than junk mail. Out of the black envelope Izo pulled a high quality piece of paper, the texture was like that of a Wedding invitation, the text, though, was no light hearted offering. Nor was it a demand. Izo read it aloud, alone in his apartment.

Mr. Azlion,

Our eyes have watched you for some time now. They have seen you develop from a child, into a pre-formed template of your father's creation.

We have seen you succumb to the trials and tribulations of the Caldari lifestyle, a model citizen, something your father always wished you to be.

I realize how you feel Izo, and I am here to give you an opportunity. Our family is here to embrace this... life you lead, and show you true freedom.

Freedom without morals or boundaries, freedom that is your own and of your own creation. In our family, you chose your own path to walk, and your own destiny. We give you the right that so many lose at birth. The right to free will.

I, Mr. Azlion, am here to show you the door that leads to this freedom. I can also provide you with the key. It is you who needs to open the door and step outside.

I offer you a life outside of the restrictions of the Caldari State. I offer you a life as a freelancer, and a part of my family.

If this offer appeals to you, you can find us at Haine V - Moon 11 - Ishukone Corporation Factory, I will meet you there in person to discuss this offer of complete, limitless freedom.

All you need do is dock... We’ll find you.

Warmest Regards,

Ethan Verone
Chief Executive Officer

The rain pattered down upon the large windows, as Izo placed the paper upon the coffee table next to him. The words hung above him, like a carrot. “Freedom,” as the letter had said, confused Izo. Contemplatively rubbing his typically large Caldari jaw, Izo wondered what he could ever mean, and decided that, in the morning, he would ask his father. Reading through the smoothly written, short but enticing letter over and over, Izo began to feel drowsy, and before long, simply slept in his smart attire, facing the window and the increasing violence of the storm outside.

The sun arose, and with a bright glare, it climbed above the skyline of the city that stretched as far as the eyes could see. Especially at 5:53am. The intense red glow that was the star blazed through the windows of Izo’s apartment. Awakening with a yawn and a stiff neck, not to mention a crumpled suit, Izo stood and cracked his neck from side to side, trying to waken his exhausted body. Glancing at his watch he mumbled at the time, and began to dress.

Chapter Three; A Broken Heart.

Izo headed to work with a certain determination. Chauffer driven, as per usual, he arrived at the impressively clean factory five minutes before work officially began. He knew his father would already be here, and with the envelope once again grasped in his hand, he headed up towards his fathers office – right next door to his own. Without knocking, he pushed the button, sliding back the silver and wooden door, and walked in.

“Father I must speak with you.” He said, respectfully, something he had always had for his father, who had been extensively involved with his education and maturity over the years. As any good father should, thought Izo.

Looking up from some paperwork, he smiled at his son. Ariavar had always been proud of the way he’d bended his son into the family business. Before his father’s intervention, Izo had always wanted to leave. Recurring horror stories of how people that moved away failed, or were secretly hunted down for abandoning their state, bent Izo to the will of his father, to the will of the Corporation. “What is it, my boy?”

“A tall Gallente man approached me at a bar I frequent last night, and handed me this.” Passing the note over, the boy – at least still in his father’s eyes – Izo sat in the chair opposite Ariavar. Watching as his father read the short letter, Izo noticed something change in his father’s expression. A hint of anger could be seen in his eyes, though he tried hard to deceive his son about it.

“And what about it? It is no more than a pathetic lure. You’re the son of a rich businessman, deeply involved in high tech weapons productions, what’s to say someone isn’t trying to lure you into a trap, to potentially your own death.” His father claimed, with a stern look upon his face, before standing and walking around his desk towards a locked cabinet. “Your sister left for the flight school academy today…”

“…I decided I’m going to go and meet the man.” Izo said, cutting his father off, as Ariavar fiddled with an old archaic key, unlocking the contents of the miss-fitting cabinet.

“Your what?!” his father shouted, as he turned round, with something within his hand.

“I’m going to fly out tonight and meet the fellow. The journey should only take a few days but it might mean I can…” his father cut him off. Pulling him out of his chair and thrusting him against a wall, feet off the ground.

“You will do no such thing.” He spoke, quietly but enraged. Izo looked into his eyes and saw what could be a rage or a fear, but he could not be sure. “I will not have my son walk to his own death!” But Izo just hung there, confused, overwhelmed by his father’s strength. The small case that had dropped in the moment was now open, containing a small, engraved knife. No longer than a five inch blade, and a handle just big enough for a single hand to grasp, it added to the confusion. “No son of mine will leave the State; you will not tarnish the family name! Did you not remember what I taught you!?” he yelled, his loud booming voice filling the large office and no doubt attracting attention outside.

“You taught me fairytales, father!” Izo retaliated, still pinned against the wall, “You taught me how to be contained by the State and the authorities that patrol it!”

Arivar dropped his son, and turned back towards his desk. “You know not of how much I wanted to protect you, of how much effort I put in to have you follow my footsteps! And for what?! To be betrayed?! To be left behind like an old expendable asset?” His slammed his hand down on his desk, and with a loud bang and vibration, a cup of coffee shuddered off and shattered on the clean marble floor. “If you go and follow this pathetic venture of yours, you may never come back, and I will not support you any longer.”

Izo stood still, reflecting on the information so ruthlessly passed to him. Why was his father seemingly so afraid to let his son take a simple trip into Gallente space? Whatever it meant, he was going to find out, and to do so, it meant leaving. He spun rapidly, with nothing more than a “Fine,” and began walking back to the door. He heard his father stand and walk around his desk, half expecting to be pulled back and pressed against another wall. The footsteps stopped but shortly after the sound of metal cutting through air passed his ear, and in the metal that acted as the doorframe, the point of the forged titanium blade had sunk itself into the frame.

“Your sister told me to give that to you. She left early this morning. Her flight was at six. Said to say she loves you. At least someone does, huh? I wonder how she’d feel to know you think nothing of your family name… Now leave.” Ariavar Azlion, son of Xri Azlion, turned his back on the son he wished so hard to be proud of, and walked back towards his desk, and the view of the city. Meanwhile, Izo had pulled hard on the blade and gazed at it as his father had told him. The blade was of a waved design, and the hilt fitted comfortably into his hand, as if it had been designed for him, but how, he had no idea. There was also an inscription round the solid base of the hilt. It read; “Do what makes you happy. Love, Sari.” He left the room with no more than a sigh, and placed the blade within his pocket.

Cleared for publication by: Ander


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zephirz on :

Sweet story :-) nicely written... cant wait for the next part :-D

Izo Azlion on :

Thanks man :-) Not sure how much I like it personally, and it might get some work done to it, but I'll get on with writing the next part probably after the weekend.

Appriciate the compliment :-)


Oraclegol on :

izo is a noob

nice story man


zephirz on :

I did sometimes have the feeling i was reading the script of some bad tv serie... "You tought me fairytales father" cry :-P But what do i know about stories... I just want to know whats gonna happen next... so i suppose its a good story than ^^

Izo Azlion on :

I know I know, its a bit "Days of our lives" but eh... I'm out of practice!

Feel free to check out ;

Long link, but its a short piece I wrote a while ago, one I'm more proud of.

Thanks for the imput folks.


Kalrissia on :

Enthralling read. Caught my attention. Well done. I also look forward to the next part.

NightfallGemini on :

I like it. =D

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