Haven't been able to sleep much lately, nightmares of ships lost and dead crewmens faces have been taking their toll. It's impossible for me to remember them all now, too many ships lost, too many pods killed, I don't feel like a person anymore.
It's all second nature now. Try to get as many crew members off the ship when I know it will not be coming out alive, try to have the ship live long enough for a few of the escape pods to get away, close my eyes and think of free Pator.
Wake up out of breath and screaming with no idea how I got there, what I lost, or if Smith is still alive. Worker flushes out the synthetic amniotic fluid. I fall to my knees from the stasis capsule gasping for air. The memories hit me. Open up a communication channel with the station computer and attempt in vain to contact Smith while I sprint to the elevator to my hangers deck.
Sprint to the old iron casing that was given to me by my mother, and jam some hardwiring implants, my communications chip, and maybe some boosts to my neural net straight into my head. Shake off the pain. Jump in the nearest ship and check the log. Always a new message. Always Smith assuring me shes safe, followed always by her screaming about my tactics, my failure, and how we can not keep throwing ISK away by losing ships, insurance just doesn't keep up anymore. Lastly she always says a prayer for the lost lives of the crewmen who did not escape.
I then wait for Smith to return while I ponder my past transgressions. I stare out the viewing window the station and watch the ships undock, waiting for smith to return. The crew members of those ships I see undocking may not survive the day, and for them, I prey. They are dying for the freedom of their people, for which I have the utmost respect for, simply because I will never have that honor as an immortal capsuleer.