Every journey begins with one small kick.
There’s a word for ‘surprise pilgrimage’, you know. Exile. I don’t care. I’ve lived on the Hylaa my entire life, explored every inch of that ship. It’s suffocated me since I was old enough to understand the vastness of the stars beyond those tiny port windows. But now, I have my own ship and her windows are bigger. She’s not much to look at, but she’s fast- even if it’s at the expense of armoring. They say it’s bad luck to fly an unnamed vessel, but I’ll need to learn her language first. I’ll need time to listen to the unique hum of her engines beneath my feet, her subtle vertigo. She deserves a name that suits her. I’m well stocked, despite my hasty departure. Two packs full of nutrient paste, a footlocker brimming with emergency medical supplies, and my favorite: my father’s shotgun. An M-22 Eviscerator. I don’t know much about guns [yet, as I’m about to go strip it down and figure out what makes it tick] but my father was a marine, so I can at least assume that it’s highly modified. I can hope so, anyway. There’s a good chance I’ll need it on Omega.
