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Memorial Journal

Jul. 16th, 2007 07:57 pm OOC (bleh)

The mechwarrior RPG campaign has died an early death.  But this character may or may not be involved in a mercenaries campaign.  Unfortunately, I've also been told everything about her now, so my writing up her regaining her memory will be a bit contrived now.

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Jul. 3rd, 2007 09:50 pm Entry 4:

New word has been brought.

Unknown invaders from beyond the periphery have been assaulting planets, including one in the possession of my employers.  We are now being deployed to retake the planet and investigate their identities.

It will take us 5 weeks to reach the planet.  During which time, our foes will have ample opportunity to fortify their position.  This is not even including how many days or weeks it may have taken for the information to reach us regarding these invasions.

I find my heart beating faster as the promise of battle grows closer.  I am strangely excited and eager.  I feel there should be some fear for the results, but there is none.  

But realistically, why should their be fear?

Fear comes when one is worried about losing something of importance.

To my limited knowledge, I have no such thing.

Perhaps there are some who would miss me...who already do miss me...

...but there are known whom I would miss in this world.

I have no real goals save to learn who I am.

Perhaps I have not yet learned enough to consider my own life important.


I cannot abide the wait until the battle.  I would that it was here already.

Current Mood: predatorypredatory

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May. 27th, 2007 10:42 pm Entry 3:

I have been assigned to "Ox Squadron".

I have not yet decided whether or not this is a good thing.

The members of Ox Squadron, I'm told, are usually quite talented but not given toward being team players.

Having seen Hangar 16 where they reside, I can believe it.  Every else is pure military or paramilitary professionalism.  However, Hangar 16 resembles something more along the lines of a backwoods camp of brigands.  Half the squad, however, is female, and, if dirty and dressing to poor taste, they seem unconcerned with the status of things.

Also, the mechs are kept, if not immaculate, at least in perfect working order.

I did not get much time to investigate, however as Zala and his employer decided to order me to accompany them on shore leave.

The less said about that, the better.

There was something on their minds, something about shipping problems somewhere on the edges.

Current Mood: dirtydirty

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May. 27th, 2007 09:31 pm Entry 2:

Unfortunately, the museum holds no clues as to what my history was.  The pictures and sculpture, however were quite interesting.

A great many of these items were most likely looted in the various wars I've been reading about in the manuals of military history in my condo as well as on the local network.  This place is known as a haven of mercenaries, such as what I now am.

The variety of the artwork is also key to this.  There are examples of origami and rice-paper paintings from Draconis, water-colors from the Lyran Alliance, Jade sculpture from the Capellan areas of space and examples of calligraphy from all cultures.  

My knowledge of the exact history of these various elements, unfortunately still eludes my grasp, but the inscriptions below the exhibits were quite easily read.  Of course, with just a single book on the subject that may have been a part of my cover rather than an actual interest.

I did find the exhibit on the history of arms very interesting.  I was especially interested to note that the practice of styling a piece of armor to resemble various fantastical or fierce creatures goes back as far as written history.

An interesting trip, but not terribly useful I'm afraid.

Current Mood: disappointeddisappointed

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May. 20th, 2007 12:54 am Entry 1:

I have decided to take note of what follows in this journal.  In this manner, I can gather together the facts as I discover them and piece together the mystery of my blank slate.

This, my life as I know it, started only recently when I awoke in a hospital bed in an Outreach facility.  I had, by the report of the graveyard staff, been brought there by a man with a large facial birthmark, though my new employer notes that a false birthmark would be an excellent way to distract witnesses from the details of a person's face. 

I move ahead of myself.  I must strive to maintain an approximate chronology in this record for the moment.

As I have stated, I awoke on Outreach after what the hospital staff told me was a week spent unconscious.  There was a purse left on the desk in my room, though why it was left in my room is a curious matter.  Anybody could have taken it.  Now that I consider this, I must question the staff on this matter.  It would almost seem that someone knew when I would be waking up.

In the purse was a Federated Commonwealth identity card in the name of "Shiroi" no other name was yet given.  It is a Japanese name...or at least a Japanese word, searching the net has told me that much.  Shiroi means "white" which is apropos considering my loss of memory.  However, my facial features are European in nature, even if the light-colored skin and black hair match somewhat with some Asian colorings.  I speak and read both German and English, but I have not determined which is my native tongue yet.

This name was also on my Outreach driver's identification card.  The third card I had was a condo security card.  In addition to this were 3 keys, one to an apartment, one to a vehicle and one to a locker.  I also had 500 C-Bills, ample money for most concerns.

The last item of significance in the purse was a piece of paper with the name "Alexander Zala" written on it.  I checked and it was not written in my handwriting.  Staff told me that he was a mercenary captain in the area, and I have since met and found employment with him.

I was brought into the hospital with injuries sustained in some form of combat, shrapnel, bullet-injury and some sort of head trauma.  They appear to have been mostly light aside from the memory loss, as I am now approximately 100% healthy after only a week spent in recovery.  Though having access to medical treatment is probably connected to that.  The nurses and doctors report that I had been wearing an expensive dress when brought in, indicating that the combat might not have been something I was planning on.

My medical bills have been paid by a local health insurance company, though there is no indication of just who set up the account to benefit me.  The hospital had some of my medical records but they were mostly incomplete.

I moved from the hospital to the condo complex indicated on the ID card.  They are a high end establishment, that and what I found inside the condo are more proof that I am used to some degree of wealth.

There is not much to the place I apparently live.  It is quite spartan, in a well-off sort of manner.

No one has been here for at least a week given the dust that has settled.  No one has searched it yet, apparently.  There is a tri-vid player with an impressive collection of vids in a mix of German and English.  They seem to be a mix of art and history documentaries and fictions/re-enactments of the same.  There was even a tri-vid copy of an ancient drama re-enacting a pre-star travel Terran skirmish titled "The Longest Day."

The first closet is well stocked with a variety of clothing, mostly of high-end designs and fabrics.  There are four Federated Suns military uniforms inside, three working, one dress.  All four are vacuum sealed, name tags, pips and commendations seem to have been removed.  There are also two sweatshirts with the NAIS logo on them.  I was apparently in the Federated Suns military, or at least wanted to make others think that.  The boots have the spurs that commonly are used to mark mechwarriors in uniform.

The second closet confirms that I am at least a warrior, even if the Federated military proves to be a blind.  The locker key from my purse opened this closet revealing a laundry list of equipment:

Marine Combat Environment Suit, Combat Neurocontrol Helmet, Nightvision scope, combat vest, 2 jumpsuits, 2 sets of fatigues, combat boots, combat helmet, Ablative/flak-armor suit, Vibrosword, Magnum Auto-pistol (5 reloads), Combat Shotgun (10 reloads), Sunbeam laser pistol, Barrel mount flashlight, two laser sights, Plasteel boots, 2 knives, Federated Long Rifle (10 reloads), Night vision goggles, weapon maintanance kits, Rangefinder Binoculars.

I'm suspicious that I may find myself to be a sniper in addition to being a mechwarrior, but my previous self seemed intent on having weapons in general for whatever the situation.  I am currently carrying the Magnum and two knives regularly, but I have left the rest in the condo for now.

Aside from that, I found 20,000 more C-Bills in a safe with 50k worth of jewelry and a blue and gold truck in the condo garage.  

I found a receipt in the truck from the starport for the housing of a VTR-9K Victor.   I took a cab to the mech garage to inspect the mech and found it to be one of the largest ones there.  It is painted only in primer grey for the moment, perhaps newly purchased.  I learned that Zala had several bays rented on the otherside of the starport and have since met him and learned a significant amount of information.

The background connected to my card, that of 29 year-old war veteran Shiroi, is false.  Apparently he would not have known save that he recognized the handwriting on the paper that gave me his name.  I was not given an actual name but only given to understand that one "Slick Dick" had apparently been involved in my current predicament.

Zala has apparently worked with this individual before and the man has a reputation for recruiting highly-skilled operators and getting individuals into...interesting situations.  He also has a reputation for taking care of those that take up with him.  Zala indicates that whatever happened to put me in the hospital, it was unexpected and I was considered important enough to be given every possible care, but that a time limit prevented "Slick Dick" himself from hanging around to see that I was okay.  

He was on a mission the precluded staying behind, apparently.

Zala himself apparently is a respectable mechwarrior but is better known for his command and instruction of his followers and lancemates.  He currently seems to mostly be involved in business with a Capellan merchant marked by a rather ugly set of scars across his face.

Zala has me running simulator drills to refresh my skills in the cockpit, and they are working, I've started to remember old tricks and moves.  I still can't remember where I've picked up these skills and talents, however, and I wish that all my memory problems would be so easy to work out.  At some point, there'll come a time when my lack of memory over some seemingly minor piece of information will prove important.  

Zala has offered me room in his barracks, but I have declined.  If someone comes looking for me, it'd be best if I was where they could find me.  I'll just have to be prepared for the likelihood that the seekers are hostile.

Side Notes: Medical records show that I required higher than average doses of medicines, indicating an innate resistance.  

Judging by the looks and comments I get, I'm very attractive.

The name Memorial was acquired after meeting Zala, it was given somewhat in jest, but is as good a name as any.

Things to think about when...when appropriate: 

A plain wedding ring was included in the jewelry in my safe, set aside from the jewelry as a whole.

Medical reports indicate I've given birth in the past.

Current Location: Outreach
Current Mood: pensivepensive

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