Roots

As he sat there, infront of the two suited men, he realised this had all spiralled from one point. All his life had worked towards this conversation, and he had hardly been ready for it when it came. He looked around him, left then right. There was one exit from the room, which, he presumed, was unlocked but guarded from the other side, knowing too well the contempt the Amarrian society held for most other societies- they saw his small house and casual clothes and immediately underestimated him. He looked ahead of him, at the two Amarrian police officers, who were conversing silently through a form of primitive, almost tribal gestures. One left the room, the other turned to him. "I won't skirt about with you. We'd like to know where the governer's family has got to, Mr. Valentine." he smiled. These men had never once spoken to him before now, and had hardly given him two glances, yet they were already speaking to him as if introductions had been made, when in truth Krist hadn't got an explanation from anyone until then. Such an up-front conversation style was unusual in this society, and the pirate suspected that this casual front was hiding something less tasteful beneath. "That's a pity. That detail seems to have slipped my mind." The pirate adopted a calm, almost robotic voice, knowing for sure that the suit wouldn't appreciate it. He was right. The man ahead of him glared straight into him for a second or two, then, faster than seemingly possible, drew a knife from a sheath in his thigh and slammed it's blade into the table, crafted, strangely, of oak, an extremely rare and valuable wood. He smiled, making no attempt to hide his glee at the Amarrian's rage. *twelve years earlier* Krist awoke with a start, sweating. His father was home, announcing his arrival with shouting and the slamming of the door. Krist clenched his eyes and pulled the pillow over his ears, dreading what he knew was to come next. The next day, his father would be on duty at dawn and his mother would be sitting at the breakfast table, staring out the window, probably with cuts and bruises which weren't previously there. A few minutes later, as expected, the sounds of his mother's muffled crying and screaming eminated through the doors. It had been like this for as long as he could remember, with his father's abuse rarely taking a day's rest. After an hour or so, it stopped and all was calm. Krist fell asleep. The next morning, he woke up later than usual. His house was silent and the usual smell of the food of his mother's race, Gallente, was missing. Although he had half-expected it for the last few years of his life, Krist couldn't quite believe what had happened. He walked into his mother's room, and was greeted with the sight of a woman, now barely recognizable, bruised and broken, lying on the floor in a puddle of vomit and blood. He doubted his father knew what had happened- he was usually too drunk to remember details as small as the death of his wife. The day passed and Krist sat by his mother's body, waiting for the inevitable. His father came home, in a predictable state. Krist stepped into the hall and looked at the man, who ran up and pushed him aside. His father had never accepted him, or truly come to know him, Such halfbreeds were usually killed at birth. He looked up. His father was in the doorway to his mother's room, staring at the spot where his wife lay, not uttering a word or shedding a tear, showing no signs of remorse, no, his eyes only showed revulsion. Krist slowly approached the Amarrian, no longer a father to him, and using a Navy Issue handgun which the Amarrian never remembered to keep hold of, he put a long-awaited full-stop at the end of the stranger's life, feeling no regret and no remorse. Krist left home the next day, bringing with him three things: the dead Amarrian's handgun, the details to his bank account, and a newborn hatred for police forces operating all over the galaxy. He leaned forward, remembering that day, and reinforcing his hatred of the Amarrian society. "I'll tell you, but I don't want any of your buddies hearing. Not from me, anyway." The guard, naive and probably a new recruit, leaned forward to hear the confession. Krist glanced quickly at the man's face, which was covered largely in the familiar patterns of neural implants. Without another hesitation, krist took full advantage of the situation. He pulled the officer's head down, slamming it onto the table, then ran the knife had previously been threatened against him, into the man's spine, killing him instantly. Ten minutes later, he was back in his Crusader class interceptor, calmly undocking from the station. It had been surprisingly easy to pass himself off as the guard, and by the time officers had gone to check on the prisoner, it was too late. He smiled and opened communications with the rest of his syndicate. "Krist, where were you? You disappeared from all scanners and communication channels," a partner of his was quick to ask, "Me? I was.. visiting my parents." He flicked a switch to his right and felt the familiar sensation of his ship going into warp. Cleared for publication by: Ander