Rex Hallsworth Social Profile (IC)

[BlackBishop]

INARA Social. Keeping Pilots Connected.

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Rex Hallsworth
Ghost Squadron
Pilot Federation Status: ACTIVE

Checked in at Carter City, BD-02 5286

Status: Bounty Hunting.


Get to know CMDR Hallsworth.

Rank: Harmless CMDR
DoB: 24.01.3253
Origin: Argent's Claim, Alioth System
Service Record: 3271-75, Alliance Navy, Fighter Pilot
3275-80, Independent Trader, Pilot Federation
3280-3300, Trade Consultant, Trade Ministry, Independent Constitution Party of Alioth

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Commander's Comments

Good to finally be out of that Sidewinder. And damn this Cobra handles well. - Last updated 01.12.3301.




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CMDR Hallsworth Logbook [PUBLIC]

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11.25.3301

It's a funny thing being back at the helm. Never thought I'd make my way back here. Reminds me of my days with the Alliance. When I think back to who I was then, some scared kid, it feels like someone else. Now I crave the thrill of combat, that adrenaline rush. After all these years of feeling nothing, I just want to feel something.

It was humiliating to be standing among those young pups waiting to use the flight simulator. Each of these young men, if they can even be called men, standing there like they were the next Elites, too naive to recognize they are but a speck in a vast galaxy.

Hopefully this last round of training will be complete in a few days, and I can finally get out of this backwater hostel and back to civilization. Maybe even show my face in Alioth one day, though I doubt it.

 

[BlackBishop]

27.11.3301


Finally completed my training circuit at Trevithick Dock, and gained employ as a courier bringing supplies out of the system. The hell do I care? Got me some creds and out of 3447. What really surprised me was finding a dispatch from Veyder, an Elite Commander and founder of Ghost Squadron.


Seems the Ghosts are looking to expand their ranks, and for whatever reason Veyder thinks I will be a good addition. Likely because of my past combat experience, little that it was. He seems a good sort, without the usual arrogant air that surrounds typical Elites. If you're gonna make it as a pilot, you need back up, that's one valuable lesson I learned in the navy.


Ghost Squadron is a big company, and other then a wingman on a combat op, perhaps losing myself in their large ranks is something that appeals to me... I can just disappear.


...A ghost among men.

 

[BlackBishop]

29.11.3301

I've decided I am packing it in being a courier for these fringe world stations. The pay is garbage and any run that is actually worth my time could hardly be considered legal. Even if I did want to risk the attention of Federal security forces, my Sidewinder is not equipped for such large runs, and the constant need to refuel will cost me any misstep, as I recently found out.

Burning into the Paletes system, down to my last fuel cell, I burned the rest of it up reaching the far flung Underwood Gateway. Here by the skin of my teeth. To hell with these runs. I need to start thinking on a more local level, rather then tramping across the gorram galaxy to fetch some rich snob a painting that may or may not be stolen.

Wasn't a total loss though. The nav info in my flight computer itself is worth a tidy sum to these stations, and I have made a good chunk of creds selling my logs. Not bad for nearly running out of fuel and drifting out in space until my oxygen runs out.

Think I'll take a little R&R here. Underwood is a fair size, not like the usual ant stations I've been touring lately. As an added bonus that my sponsor would surely appreciate, booze here on the station is illegal, so my sobriety will stay in tact.

One day at a time, Rex. One day at a time.

 

[BlackBishop]

02.12.3301


It seems like I have been asleep all this time, locked in some sort of waking coma. Numbing cobwebs kept me encumbered and free from feeling anything at all. I have spent so long running from any sort of feelings of grief since I lost her, and now, in the minutes after combat, the damn has burst, and all that I should have felt over five years ago comes flooding over my senses, I am left bawling like a baby within an instrument of death.


It's not all bad, though. Along with my grief, so too comes a surge of excitement, brought on from the adrenaline of having another life marked in my crosshairs, and risking all just to catch a bounty. It should be about justice, about protecting the innocent, but I'd be lying to myself if pretended to be standing for some ideal. Hell, it's not even about the credits, it's about feeling that surge course through my veins, setting my blood to boil. My teeth rattling as my hull get's peppered with the flak of a rail gun.


It's about the adrenaline, and I am now hooked on it.


Things are going a hell of a lot better. I've left Underwood behind and staked out a couple of systems rich with RES. I almost got myself killed following some fool's advice that nav points are good spot to catch bounties. Narrowly escaping with my ship in tact, I reached out to GHOST, and learned that resource extraction sites are prime hunting grounds for a bounty hunter.


Blasting pirates to smithereens as begrudging Federal cops look on and make more creds then they see in a year is something to behold.


I love this feeling, and I don't want to lose it.


Think I'll keep chasing it.

 

[BlackBishop]

03.12.3301


It used to be that I called Argent's Claim home, nestled in the Alioth System, the heart of Alliance space. When I lost her, I also lost my home. It just ceased to be. It became where I was, and where I could be found, consistently drunk. My wife, and her near endless patience, was there also, and my sweet Serah. Eylinn... she was just gone, and I might as well have been light years away. It was only a matter of time until I was, I didn't have a choice.


Touring these backwater stations and orbiting cities, the closest thing I've had to a home is my Sidewinder. That is until I came upon BD-5285 5. It shone like a blue jewel as I came upon it in supercruise, the light of the sun reflecting off it's vast oceans. All these dead planets I've been touring I almost forgot that worlds like this exist.


As I rounded the far side of the planet, where the orbital station awaited to receive me, the dark side lit up like countless fires upon it's surface erupted; the city lights far below, emulating the starry sky beyond. A beautiful sight.


I've decided to make Clark City my base of operations, plunking down some coin on a flat within the habitat ring. Later I might take a shuttle down to the planet's surface and feel terra under my feet once again. For now the local bounties will keep me going, and trade to the neighboring systems offer a nice change of pace should I desire.


Sitting in my new Cobra, a base staked out, and a promotion within the Pilot Federation, I almost feel good.


Almost.

 

[Futuristic Kung Fu]

Don't you mean mostly? And I need to spread the love.

 

[BlackBishop]

04.12.3301


Seems I've earned a bit of a name for myself among the stations of BD-02 5286. Running goods across the neighboring systems, claiming bounties along the trade routes and RES, as well as odd jobs for the various administrations of the system seems to have gained me a friendly reputation with the Federation. It's a funny thing. I hate the Fed, but it doesn't hurt to have an amiable relationship considering I'm operating in their back yard.


Hell, even the Federal Wing Commander for the system is warming up to me. My first run in with Stirling was on Clark City, upon making an appearance in the stations Federal offices to collect a bounty, he warned me to stay the hell out of his way.


Stirling seems to be a walking cliche. A towering man who seems built too big to sit a cockpit, and more at home roughing it on the ground with the other roughnecks. I've overheard the man's patriotic drivel spew out on more then one occasion, and he falls in line with most naval pilots; patriots that hold to idealism over credits, and scorn the Pilot Federation as mercenaries. I tried idealism once, and it left me without a pot to in. He isn't a bad sort, I guess. Seems to always have his mind on his pilots and his mission.


Now, my Sidewinder collecting dust at Clark City, and a fitted Cobra to get the job done, these cops have no choice but to begin taking me seriously. It seems Stirling has even mentioned my name to the higher ups at Borlaug Dock; they've asked for me personally to carry out a combat mission in Urhodiweu.


I'm not one to shy from putting this Cobra through it's paces.