DIARY PERSONAL ADVENTURES IN GAMES
INFILTR ATING A PIR ATE FACTION IN
PART 2 Jett Johnson returns, and this time he’s going undercover
On the outer reaches of the planet Nesoi in the Olympus star system, a space station drifts deserted above the murky green surface. What riches lie within? Could it have already been ransacked? Or how about a priceless gem ready to be auctioned off on the black market? At the very least, there might be some leftover liquor to help quell this nightmare of sobriety that has quickly crept up in the last few hours. That’s right, Jett Johnson is back.
Since we last caught up with our hotheaded hero, Jett became embroiled in a dispute between colonisers and a corporation where, for the first time in a long while, money took a back seat. Finding a planet at the galaxy’s edge to sip banana daiquiris in solitude until the sun makes him look like he’s just left a mudbath is still very much the end goal, but something has changed since he decided to pay for those colonisers to get a new Grav Drive to secure safety instead of blasting them to smithereens. Worst of all, that moment of generosity has put a big dent in his savings for paradise. Jett needs credits, and he needs them now.
This is where we pick up, circling the abandoned Almagest space station having heard rumours of a big score. No lights. No sign of life. Just darkness, as the Kapowski docks into what certainly won’t be a straightforward grab-and-go. Downing the remainder of his Scotch, tightening his stretched belt (which wasn’t so tight-fitting at one time), Jett grabs a pistol and makes his way to the airlock.
JACKPOT
Upon entering, two things become abundantly clear: zero-gravity is in full effect, meaning floating through the regal corridors is the only option, and the Almagest is not just any old space station but at one time was a luxurious casino for the super-rich. You would think that gambling would appeal to Jett. The man likes a drink, and typically the two sins go hand-in-hand. It’s actually the opposite. The idea of working like a dog only to risk it at a game of chance infuriates him, pulling forth a memory of shame – potentially a parent who lost thousands, or a lover’s addiction that ruined a past relationship. It’s a thought that quickly dissipates, as a red laser sight dots onto his forehead.
It’s easy to mistake Jett’s belly for a sign of slugginess. If that were true, there’s no doubt that the Grim Reaper would have called there and then. Thankfully, those well-worn reflexes are still firmly embedded, prompting a salmon-like leap out of harm�
