Now, the simple thing was in my first life, before I got ROB'd, I was a lazy bastard whose grand ambitions could be summed up as fucking off to the woods and doing just enough to pay for parts and repairs as needed along with internet. In no small part because I was pretty sure that there was not much more I could really aspire to, other than wait and rot in the time before I died. You know, classic lazy doomer self sabotaging bullshit except for the fact that I was aware, I just did not care. For a number of reasons really, but a part of that was simple.
I did better when I had measurable means to observe and measure my progress towards my goals. And sure, it was not full on gamer, but it was something close. Didn't hurt that while I was not a total scumbag and asshole, I was by no means a good guy. Not totally amoral or jumping off the deep end, because that was how bad shit happened to you, but I was that mix of morally lazy and greedy that allowed themselves to justify shit to themselves. Despite the fact that yes, I was willing to put in some grind.
If was never, as I slammed my shoulder into some screaming fucker, smashing him into the wall, a problem once I started moving. Then problem was that, a hand moving to slam into the guys throat, crushing it as I slammed his head into the wall a few times, I had problems starting and getting off track once I stopped. Sort of spurts across different time periods, as I threw a fucker into some of his friends, bowling them over and scattering them and allowing me to run in, shot gun at the ready.
Oh yeah, second life was in Star Wars, as a dead fucker mocked me about my slug thrower. Heh. As it roared at point blank range and shredded him, the real reason solid ammo weapons were looked down on, dumbass, was not due to lethality, but logistics. Each slugthrower needed its own ammo types, while virtually any blaster pistol or rifle used the same energy pack. Plus, unless you were a cheating cheater who cheats, ammo takes up way more space and weighs more for an equal number of shots compared to energy packs. I of course, as the gun roared twice more and more meat was on the floor, was such a cheater.
Which of course, as I enter the room, one of the idiots has a pistol to the girls head, hand shaking. "Don't come closer or I'll blow her brains out!"
Yeah, on the one hand, that would be bad, on the other hand? "Do it. Honestly, if one of you are the ones to do it, my client can get out of paying child support. That, and so long as I'm not the one pulling the trigger, the rider contract to send him his ex-wife's head will kick in." Both of them were looking at me, eyes wide, the girl's mouth opening, faint wheezing sounds coming from her lips as I was sadly, honest. "All I can say is that while your father probably loves you miss, based on some of the things in the contract, its looking like one hell of a messy divorce."
Which is when the punk lets her go, as he just stares at me... and as I rush forward, kicking him as the glass shatters and he goes screaming out the window, the girl choking out something like 'daddy wouldn't do that' even as I picked her up, a princess carry as I started jogging. This was after all, a rescue operation.
Heck, rescuing an eight year old was practically my good deed of the month! Okay sure, there had been some mental trauma, but... "Now, I understand that you are likely feeling upset and betrayed." She was not really speaking... even as a card slipping out, landing on her stomach, her eyes locking onto it. "Which is why I am going to recommend this therapist to you. Ad not just because they pay me for every referral, but because they do some good work and can help get you back on your feet. That said..."
Best thing about only being force sensitive enough to do some tricks? You can pass a girl a blaster pistol while your hands are occupied. "While I'm not expecting trouble, feel free to shoot anyone who tries to intercept."
Ah, copious amount of violence, surprisingly useful for patching over holes in ones psyche in the short term.
On the one hand, I had woken up with the tattoos and they were not coming off. On the other hand, if they did not say just how much of a break from my old life I had, I was not sure what was. Well, I still not go for booze or drugs. But on the other hand, I now had a ship of my own. Mostly for transport between jobs if I was being entirely honest, even if I could and did live out of it. It was a... okay, I'll be entirely honest. It looked like someone took a small asteroid, pumped it up a bit and hollowed it out before installing enough shit to make sure it held together without the shields... barely.
If you wanted to head into atmo, you needed the damn shields and IFF beacon to be working as otherwise the damn thing would likely register as an incoming meteor and be fired on by planetary anti-impact defenses. Hell, it HAD been at least twice. Because this thing was slow, it was not maneuverable... but it had armor and shields to go along with the on board room. Granted, that could just be me being happy with the fact that was the size of a three story house out in the country. Basement, ground floor and upper floor.
But no, the thing that really made this home, as I sat on the bed, one girl on each of my legs as my arms were around them, both of them giggling... well, as I mentioned. I was not really a good man, hence why I bought four gals. So yeah, I bought slaves, which was a low mark and point for me, even if I did not really do much else with the flesh trade. Though I was a weak man in some respects, and as I was in a galaxy far far away... well, I indulged.
Though honestly? Given how they had training to be my pilot, mech, doctor, stock broker, engineer, data analyst and slicer between them? Yeah, they were not just easy on the eyes. Hell, one of them was even my agent and the other was my accountant. And even aside from that... well, aside from some mind fuckery, they were the closest things I had to friends in years. you know, slavery aside.