EVE Fiction

The link in my bio to my old-forum short back story has stopped working, I am not sure if this is the right place to re-post it but here it is:

I had two births, I died, and I had lived many lives.
My first life was that of a slave child born to a slave mother. My earliest memories are rather sketchy, except a clear and distinct feeling, of disgust and humiliation. Strangely enough, it wasn’t our Amarrian masters that I despised the most. Our lives for reasons, at that time beyond my understanding, were relatively easy. As I grew older, I became painfully aware of the pitiful plight of my slave brethren and the fact, that my life was too easy somehow. And so, gradually I began to hate. I hated my poor mother...
She was a proud and beautiful Brutor woman, as proud as they come, and yet she served our master with devotion that filled my young heart with sorrow and disgust.
He was a Khanid noble-man of some kind, who for years served as a skilled diplomat and negotiator on the payroll of the Kor- Azor family. He traveled often, had no wife or kids, and when home was frequently entertaining important visitors. His household was small and consisted of five slaves, including me and my mother, a faithful old secretary and a couple of bloodthirsty looking guards who during our masters absence, amused themselves in unspeakable ways with the other two female slaves. They never touched my mother.
I often wondered at her willingness to serve him. It was obvious that even though he treated us well, this was not the usual way. Too many times have I witness the cruelty and malice of our Amarian masters. I asked myself: Why did we experience so much less pain than the other slaves? Did my mother sell her soul in exchange for a bit of kindness? No, he could have easily drugged us into submissions. I have seen the dull expressions of many Minmatar slaves helplessly bound to their master's will by Vitoc. None of this made any sense, especially since every chance we have had, my mother taught me of our proud Brutor traditions. I felt confused.
I sometimes followed her at night when she went to his chambers, and watched how he ravaged her body, and tried not to hear her shameful moans... and my heart was being filled up with furious rage, a kind of rage that no true Brutor could ignore.
After one such night, my bottled up feelings finally overwhelmed me and I decided to kill him or die trying. At sixteen, I was still a very skinny boy, and I knew that overpowering and killing a grown man, with a tiny blade fashioned from a peace of old cutlery was no easy task. But it was a task for a young Minmatar warrior, and even the certainty of my own death, which would surely come after, would not deter me. After all, death in an honorable battle is glorious.
So I waited all night huddled in the ventilator shaft above his bathroom. “My mother must be worried sick”, I thought, “but I will make her proud and show her, that she has made a man of me.”
The rest was a blur, I remember falling on his back like a panther, I remember stabbing my weapon deep between his shoulder blades, I remember his eyes, full of sadness and compassion. On that day, my hate died and my guilt was born…
It turned out that my mother loved this man, and he in turn loved her and me - his bastard son.
His wound, although severe, was not mortal but he knew that he had to refuse treatment, if reported, such an incident would lead to an official investigation and that would put us in danger. With his dying breath my father pleaded with his brother to cover the whole thing up, and take us under his protection. Lustfully eying my defiant mother he “obligingly” agreed. After a quiet and humble funeral ceremony we were taken to the capital, Xerah to the lavish home of our new master.
Although my mother seemed to be treated relatively well, my cruel uncle and his minions used every opportunity to physically and mentally humiliate and subdue me. I endured it all as gracefully as I could, knowing that it was well deserved, and hoping for my mother’s forgiveness. Eventually I was sold as a laborer to a mining cooperation, which ironically saved my live. My uncle’s house was blown up soon after my departure, by the covenant terrorists. Everyone was killed, including my poor mother. I worked as a laborer for four long years. Finally, when I decided that my penance was over I attempted an escape, hoping more for a quick death than freedom. Instead I was taken into a secret lab of Inherent Implants somewhere in the Domain Region. And there I remained for an indefinite time as a test subject for the latest implants designed to improve the wicked lives of Amarrian noblemen. It turns out that my unique genetic make up provided them with an excellent guinea pig for those inhumane experiments. At some point I lost my physical eyesight and I could see only with the help of implants and computers.
My freedom came suddenly, when Thukker Tribe covert ops ship found the hidden lab and rescued me along with all the other slaves. Little did I know that this ship was a scout taking part in preparations for the rescue operation of thousands of Minmatar slaves that was going to take place in the near future.* During my recovery in one of the medical facilities of the Sisters of Eve it became apparent that the Amarr experiments somehow enhanced my mental and cognitive abilities - yet another blessing in disguise. I enlisted with The Republic Military and subsequently I was reborn on the 110.2.21 as a capsuleer, an immortal.
Today I have neither hate nor guilt in my heart; my past is gone along with all the names, including my own. Even though I fight for the Republic, my loyalty is with all good man, and I remember my mother’s last words to me: “Be watchful my son, cause good and evil is often separated only by a thin red line...”

* I was rescued by a task group that was leading the Elder forces liberating millions of remnants of the Starkmanir Tribe