The crowd chattered, the engines howled, as the world stiffened. Such is the sight in Ventura's main spaceport, the bustling area of trade and commerce.

'Three o'clock, just one shot

Ends it all, just don't stop.'

A man in tattered clothes and blood all over his body chanted as he rested his binocular on the pavement he's lying on.

Six stories above ground, six hundred meters the target's found. He waited as the young man sat climbed the stairs towards the shuttle and sat in his seat. He aimed with his scope and placed his third finger on the trigger when his vision went blank.

He clawed his head as he screamed at the pain; two souls, one natural the other unnatural fought for the body. He rolled on the ground, kicking and punching and rolling.

'Tic-Toc! Tic-Toc! Time's up! A playful voice shouted.

He struggled no more as he cocked that Antique 500-year-old anti-materiel rifle with a suppressor. His breathing went faster, his mind cleared as his sights neared his target.

'Three o'clock, just one shot

Ends it all, never stop.

Three o'clock, just one shot

Ends it all never stop.

Three o'clock, just one shot

Ends it all, never stop."

He chanted and chanted, but found himself unable to pull the trigger. He struggled hard to overcome the control of his alter-persona when he felt something pierce his back. He pulled the trigger.

"At last!" He remarked smiling happily.

"Missed, hahaha." A counter remark he said himself as he laughed weakly whilst turning himself to face his attacker.

Resplendent in pocketless military-grade brown combat dress with beret and baklava revealing only his eyes; his attacker approached. Bearing his silenced Pm-Makarov in his left, a tanto in his right, and few mags in his belt. The beret had a bottle insignia.

Multiple scratches and cuts were visible in his uniform. Yet he bleeds not, and limps not. He just walked towards his target.

The wounded man, dug his hands unto his wound, more blood streamed as he dug some more.

The aggressor aimed his pistol at the wounded man.

" You don't have to do this!" The man said.

He just shrugged at the statement by standing up, though his face curled in agony.

" I've always been the arschloch Team leader." He pulled his hand, sending showers of blood.

He rushed and caught the trembling man's body. The man looked at his hand revealing a microchip with traces of tissue and blood surrounding it. With the last ounce of his strength he crushed the blasted chip, the last light flickered as it withered.

He coughed blood and started to shiver. " Tell my girls that I've finally done some good. Keep them safe." He said smiling as his last breath reached for the stars hoping to find his place.

The man was dead; hope as he might it is the end. He did the last thing he could for this poor soul: close his eyes with a friend's loving hand.

He stood straight, trying to clear his head with this loss. A loss he could've salvaged, or one he truly could. He saw a flash of light on the eighth floor of the Adjacent building. He scrambled to the rifle lying next to the dead man and used the scope. He saw a bald man wearing a white suit and bowler hat using his binoculars.

" You bloody merc! It was you all along!" He cursed the man as he pulled the trigger sending a silenced 12.7mm anti-materiel round to the room where the man stood.

The shot flew past the space between buildings and broke the glass. The man tried to dodge as soon as he saw the flash. But the round didn't care as it broke the glass and pierced the body.

"Just another round meant for somebody," a man in a dark fancy coat wearing a fedora said as he slammed the fire alarm.

"Die you merc!" The one in uniform stated as the man fell dead. His lifeless body slammed as the sirens blared. The tender kiss of death left him no time to close his dead eyes.

He reached for the chip and thought: 'M is going to love this.' As the shuttle launched while the siren screamed.

***

Log 809

2100hrs/??/????

?????, Kingdom of Ostland, Ventura

My name is Andrey Kempf, I am the third son of a Rich Noble of German descent. I hail from the planet of Ventura the highly industrialized and civilized world in the Federation of Asteron, named after our system and our sun a blue giant.

The state that I hailed and recently lived in is named the Kingdom of Ostland, a place filled with factories, high rise buildings, and soot. Being the first planet colonized in the system, it's far better developed than other planets that can be found in the Federation. But the cost of living is amusing at best, for a lack of a better word it's the worst! A hundred credits can only buy you a few pieces of chocolate whereas in other parts of the Federation it's five days worth of meals. Ventura is not a paradise but it is where the higher-ups live, it is a planet of sophisticated technology, culture, and social development. Wherein which the worst is the latter.

Ever since I turned nine, I found myself alone. Being a noble and my parents being the owner of a manufacturing empire I am more likely to receive very little attention. And to add more to the insult being the third son I am the least likely to inherit anything. In the house, our parents can barely be found. I and my older sibling were raised by caretakers and watched by servants ever since the time we could walk. The presence of our parents was the faintest in the house. They were busy attending parties, meetings, and conferences. And as a result, their children were neglected.

When I was twelve I made plans to leave the planet, and settle on the nearby world of Korburg the breadbasket of the Federation. Whereupon Ventura was heavily Industrialized Korburg was agrarian at best with only a few corners of the world dedicated to manufacturing purposes. My plan is simple, to accumulate as much wealth as possible and search for a school that caters for the poor or middle-class citizens i.e. not for the rich and famous.

I found the perfect candidate by using the internet, but in terms of wealth, it started badly at first. I started with saving a portion of my lunch money, it's a slow process but it helped me make a bank account of course, not in Ventura. And over time I decided to trade, invest and work online jobs. By the time I turned sixteen I had enough money to buy a ranch and live my life as a playboy in Korburg. But victory isn't there yet I have to study more not to mention, get away from this hell hole!

I'm nearly done packing my things. I've already passed my exit exam and have already rented an apartment online in Korburg.

If you were wondering where did I decide to go? Well, I'll tell you. It's a city found in the southern hemisphere in the state of Azuna. If you were wondering what it meant, it means nothing just a word that stuck with the place. It is characterized by rolling hills, hundreds of acres worth of farmland and of course no factories on sight also it's tropical. Just the perfect place to continue my studies. Cheap food, cheap board, cheap schools and generally low cost of living.

The only draw is that only 22nd-century technology is the only form that can be found cheap, other far more advanced gadgets can cost a fortune due to lower supply of such gadgets and commodities. Importing them from Ventura isn't going to help either. Ventura exports 99% of its products to other systems which means there is the problem of short supply. But overall its a good world for my taste

The school I've enrolled in is known as Dmitry and Valutin university. It's one of eight universities in the City of Harkov. Not to mention its the best choice if you're on a budget since its tuition per semester is only 10k credits! A hundred times cheaper than my last school: Mittenmeyer school of Learning.

It was rated ok in terms of facilities and most of the time graduates from this school even surpasses most of the spoiled and highly privileged universities in Ventura. Still, I can't let expectations fool me I still have to watch my back. The ratio of nobles to commoners is just 1:8. So you can never be too sure.

And for the record, my parents didn't just permit me they also insulted me with a cruel joke by replying to my 2000 words worth of written complaints and requests with a foot long paper wrapped in colorful ribbons and an oddly colored envelope containing only a single word: "JA"!

It almost sent me to a rage because I waited for more than a year for a reply and only got a single word!!! How neglectful could those two be, they almost never separate themselves from each other yet couldn't even give a full-hearted letter to their youngest son!!! Anyway, to give me some therapy from the trauma I'll have enough of my past and continue with the path ahead, though I know It might not be any different at all.

Still its worth a shot.

(Introductions are boring to read the next lot)