He hated his job, because Gurrin was a generally sociable person. He liked people. It's just that his job required him to kill them. Being a professional pirate had its good points, of course. Women dug him, of course. Other men, non-pirates, thought him worthy of respect. But the good points only went so far.
The constant drain on what Gurrin thought of as his moral center was definitely a downer. But, it was the life he had chosen at a particular point...and he wasn't one to back down from his decisions.
Not that he could, anyway. One of the other downsides of being a pirate was that it was so hard to leave the profession...without dying. There was only so much leeway that other pirates were going to give you if you left.
Specifically, none.
So, he was stuck with it for now.
But days like today were especially hard. Raider duty. Gurrin didn't mind guard duty. It payed decently enough, and there wasn't much chance that you'd destroy an innocent miner or freighter captain. Most of the "bad guys" you met when on guard duty were there for just one purpose: To put your ass in a sling. So, Gurrin felt a little better about blowing these "do-gooders" away. But not much.
But raider duty was something else entirely. Grabbing one of those innocent miners or freighter captains always made him feel dirty. He understood on an intellectual level that he and his fellow pirates were just looking out for themselves, but he knew, deep in his heart, that that didn't make it right.
Fortunately, for today's patrol, Gurrin hadn't drawn point. He was relegated to support, and as such, didn't have to see the pilot's face as he threatened him with death. For this trip, he had brought along his trusty Manticore. The cruise-missile frigate had served him well over the last several months, ever since he had stolen it from a supposedly secure hanger in a high-sec station. He had barely even had to change any of the loadout, merely replacing the standard launchers with something a little...better. Something he'd been tinkering with himself.
But whatever the role, and whatever his personal feelings, Gurrin always performed his task as best he could. If there was a God, then maybe his attention to detail would be enough to help sway his fate. He knew it wasn't so, but he occasionally hoped.
As a part of the standard three-ship raiding party that his particular clan favored, Gurrin's job today was to stay just outside an asteroid belt and to stay cloaked. The "beater" and would then go in and trap and ransom whomever their chosen target was for the day. If things got hairy, it was up to Gurrin and his wingman to be the backstop, and help provide additional "encouragement" if needed.
Gurrin's wingman was in a Stabber. Sure, he could pump out a lot more fire than Gurrin could, but so what? He wasn't nearly as accurate. Gurrin had trained himself to a razor's edge, and could shoot the eye off a gnat with a cruise missile. Hitting the engines or weak points in the armor was child's play. But the Stabber just sprayed missiles. Some people never learned the value of moderation.
As the raiders approached the belt, they spied what seemed to be a small mining operation. Independents? No, they seem to be working together. This particular operation had some protection. Two Amarr destroyers slowly circled the three mining frigates. Enough to beat back the occasional marauding Gurista or Angel, but not enough today. Maybe they're a small corporation trying to grind away to the big time? Probably.
Too bad that today was going to be a setback.
The beater was an Omen built for the close-in game, and the DDs didn't even put up a fight, just turned tail and ran. Not very sporting to Gurrin's way of thinking, but this way, noone had to die. After all, the frigates weren't about to...
It was at this point that one of the frigates apparently panicked, and decided that an Omen wasn't that tough a customer. He died spectacularly, and his death allowed the other two frigates to turn tail and run to the nearest station. Ah ha, Gurrin thought, Freshmeat. He and his wingman warped to the nearest station as well.
But, the frigates weren't there. Smarter than I thought. Gurrin signalled his wingman to start scanning the system, and it was only a matter of moments before they were found...a mere 3,000 km from the station.
Signalling the Omen as to the whereabouts of the two frigates, Gurrin and the Stabber warped in and immediately scrambled the two frigates. As helpless as they were, Gurrin did not want to destroy them. His good nature was once again getting the better of him. As fate would have it, neither of his companions had a better nature, and after a brief exchange of light and matter, all that existed of the two frigates were two jetcans and some expanding debris.
Another day in hell, thought Gurrin. I hate this job. Cleared for publication by: Ander