I threw open the door to the Autocannon, the stench of cheap booze and cheaper cigars instantly smacked me in the face. With a quick glance from side to side, I sized up the joint and sauntered over to the bar. Just then the scruffiest looking nerf herder I had ever seen just happened to pass out, abdicating his stool. As I slid onto the empty chair, catching the eye of the barkeep, I hollered out, "Hey Mac, I'll have a martini - painfully dry!"
A moment later I was sipping on something that tasted almost, but not quite, entirely unlike gin, muttering to myself, "I can't believe I paid ISK for this rotgut." Trying not to choke on what I strongly suspect was battery acid, I finally spotted the "Bull", the guy I warped all the way from Ikami to meet.
Miura Bull, was the head of the Black Rebel Rifter Club, a notorious gang of pirates and scoundrels. I heard about the Rebels from a former employee, a shipping pilot. He ran into them while taking a low sec shortcut with a Bestower full of my robotics exports. The Rebels ransomed the ship and cargo for twice it's value, which the schmuck pilot happily paid from my corporate expense account. The Rebels drank well that night, I am sure of it.
When I heard about the incident, I snapped. Having dealt with pirates before I was at my breaking point, not to mention being sick of the smog and dust and bullshit of running planetside factories. It was time for a change of pace. An evil little voice in my head whispered, "If you can't beat 'em, might as well join 'em."
The quick and gritty version of the events that followed: I hired some local thugs to torch the factories, making sure the mentally defective shipping pilot was caught in the blaze. Needless to say, his clone at our corporate offices mysteriously malfunctioned and he never woke up. I collected a hefty insurance settlement and quickly dissolved the corporation after cleaning out the corporate accounts. I picked up a freshly waxed, fully fitted Rifter in Jita, and burned my way out to the Metropolis region where the Rebels were known to roam.
In the weeks that followed I learned what I could about the members of the Rebels and how they operated. Finally I got a tip about the Rebels local watering hole, the Autocannon. Every moment of the last few weeks had been leading to this hole in the wall, to this bar stool, to this man - Miura Bull.
I took another belt, finishing whatever was in my glass and ordered another with a beer. I didn't know what it would take to join the Rebels, but I knew I was sick of my old restricted life and desperate for a change. I composed myself picking up the drinks. I walked straight over to Miura Bull's table and sat down without a word. Bull had an unreadable expression on his face as I slid the beer across the table.
Then I spoke with a grin, "My name is Pepper Mynt, I'd like to talk."
Unfortunately for you, dear reader, I don't kiss and tell. It is sufficient to say, later that night I was officially a member of the Black Rebel Rifter Club.
P.S. In reality the story is much less tawdry, Bull simply flipped a coin. Heads - I join the club. Tails - a bullet in the head from that signature pearl handled gun he always has on the table in front of him.
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