[Dragonar]

Life does not ever make sense.

No matter how hard you try, how many people you've helped and saved, deceived and killed, crossed and double-crossed, no matter how many steps you take into the great unknown to make you feel like you are in control of your life, there will always be the one thing happening to you that you would expect the least. Hitting you. Hitting you hard.

"I know you, don't I?" he shouted.

Yeah, he did know me. He wasn't the only one. I've had my share of insults, death threats, half-hearted attempts of assassination, and even some sympathy, which was probably the most disgusting of all the things happening to me since then. I don't want anybody's sympathy. I never did. All I wanted was to be left alone. Octavius Core wasn't the best place for that, but one had to make a living, somehow. Had to make a life. My face was all over the news, for crying out loud. The traitor. The heathen. The criminal, outcast, murderer.

"Aren't you that guy? Quantar? Hyperial and all that?"

His insistence forced me to turn my head in his direction. You never know what they might do - he was only a few feet away, mixing in with the crowd, like me. But judging by his stance and behaviour, it was easy to see that he meant me no harm. He couldn't. I'd dislocate and break his arm before he could reach for his weapon of choice.

"Hold on a second, I wanna talk to you!"

I didn't stop. Since turning my back on Hyperial and Quantar, turning my back on everything that meant something to me once upon a time, everything I've worked for with so much devotion and conviction, I didn't stop for much. I did it for the promise of an honest life, you see. A real life out of the shadows of death and destruction sponsored and approved by people, criminals, religious devotees, even governments. This life was the only thing that meant something to me now. Me, my wife, and my child. Nothing else mattered.

"Hey! Wait!"

He kept following me. Usually they give up sooner rather than later, and my patience was wearing thin. I did not want to attract any more attention if I could help it.

"Hey!"

I sped up my gait, quickly changing the lanes created by the moving crowd around me. Quick glances behind me revealed that he kept up with me. If he insisted, I had to make it crystal clear to him. I slid into a small, dimly lit corridor to my left, waiting in the shadows, waiting for him to follow me if he dared. And to my surprise, he did. That was the first time I realized that something was wrong.

"I just wanna talk to you. You there?"

His voice was all I needed in the darkness to know where he was. A few steps and I was behind him, pulling his left arm up behind his back, my right hand around his throat, muffling the sudden outcry of surprise.
Silently, I made my intentions clear to him.

"I'm going to give you one chance to tell me why you are following me. If I think you are lying, I can assure you that nobody on this station will particularly care about a dead Quantar lying in a dark corridor."
"A Quant--? How--? I-- I'm just supposed to give you something! A disc, just a disc!" He was clearly nervous, and that meant that he really wasn't involved in whatever was going on. A frontman. A pawn. I knew then that something wasn't just wrong, but terribly, horrendously wrong. In over three years, noone has ever made such an effort to talk to me. My past was coming back to haunt me. I felt it there and then, a ghostly touch on my shoulder.

"Where is it?", I asked, quietly, calmly.
"What? What?" he replied. He was almost in hysterics, and thus became useless. He wouldn't answer any of my questions in any way that would help me find out who sent him. He probably didn't know, anyway.
"Nevermind," I said, and after quickly searching his pockets and retrieving the disc, I pushed him back into the passing crowd outside the corridor.

After finding a quiet place to examine the disc, I started the playback. It was just a voice, one I've tried to put to a face since I've heard it, but I couldn't think of anyone that I knew. It was probably faked, anyway. Or just another frontman. Whoever it was, the words that were spoken are still vivid in my mind.

"Nicholas Craymer - what you hold most dear is in gravest danger. Despite your efforts to conceal them, you have not been absolved from your sins. Follow my instructions and you will find redemption."

I should know how to handle things like these, you see. I used to be the leader of the Secret Service of the Hyperian Voice. I'm sure you wonder what that is, and I don't blame you for forgetting. Many people have. It was an institution formed to bridge the gap between Hyperial and TRI, in itself a futile effort, long since ripped apart. So many things have been forgotten. Why not this?

But was this a warning? It must be a threat. It had to be. Noone has ever threatened my family - Sharissa, my wife, was completely innocent, herself an agent of Octavius, doing things she was paid for, things she might have believed in - she never told me. It was all in the past, anyway. And my son? Why him? I guess it was just a matter of time. In this part of the galaxy, things seem to inevitably get worse, more extreme. Always. Nothing ever lasts.

The usage of words in the message suggested Quantar origin, just like the frontman, and the instructions attached indeed suggested I should fly to Quantar Core to meet up with someone who could 'help' me. Since my proverbial retirement, I haven't set a foot into Quantar space, and I did not relish the prospect of doing so. But as it stood, I did not have a choice. I thought of running, hiding, but that would have accomplished nothing. Living a life in fear of losing everything you care for was not something I was prepared to do. And even though I was not an amateur, I didn't stand a chance of protecting them. Poison, guns, knives, bombs, I couldn't protect them from all of the agents of destruction. No, something had to be done. I had to do it.

The strange, ghostly touch of history still had it's hand on my shoulder; a morbid touch, a reminder of my mortality, the many deaths I deserved to die for the many terrible things I have done. I was sure that one of those deaths would find me, somewhere along the path. But nevertheless I went, kissed my family goodbye without revealing too much, and left for Quantar.

It was the only thing left in my life that was worth dying for.