From the desk of Captain E.M. Greyviper, Ret.
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Those rebels have fallen for my masterfully executed ruse. It seems to me that perhaps I have chosen poorly in deciding to go into the Imperial Naval Academy. What I spy I could’ve been!
I can only imagine I never would have ended indebted to that gruesome slug and alone in the universe with no one but adjutant Beller to accompany me, but there is no sense in dwelling on my past. As my High Galactic teacher always said, non potest pugnare fata.
I’ve given these rebels pure gold! Big chunks of juicy Imperial intelligence. Even having deliberately given them the older of the data I have collected, they should be falling all over themselves to help me…and what do I get? A pittance. 1,500 credits? Bah. It’s not even enough to hire a repair crew to appraise the defective air scrubbers of the INVINCIBLE III. I’ve tossed it into the group account. Maybe we’ll buy more experimental combat drugs with it and stick one of the greenies with it.
At least the Rebels took the bait on the “bioweapons” at The Droid’s Imperial outpost. If they hadn’t gone for that, I can only imagine Beller and I would’ve been forced into the clutches of Imperial justice to evade that marauding metal monster’s wrath. Of course, even this has backfired. Rather than serving as adviser to a Rebel vanguard, it seems I’ll be leading a Rebel assault on the blasted base. Moreover, The Droid seems to have decided to assist us by gracing our presence with a slicing specialty droid, presumably so he has more opportunity to spy on us.
HELLO THERE DROID LACKEY! IS IT GOOD TO KNOW THAT YOU WILL NEVER KNOW THE SOOTHING WARMTH OF A BELLY FULL OF MID-SHELF ALCOHOL?
…what a mess. We’re all going to die trying to get out of this alive. I need a drink.
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