Discovery Freelancer: The Chilling Story of lIceColon

The is the non-castrated version of my roleplay character biography in the “Discovery” mod for the awesome space trading combat simulation Freelancer.



For those of you who don’t know, Freelancer is a 2003 space sim developed by Digital Anvil Studios, and it Discovery Freelancer is also my favourite multiplayer game next to Day Z due to its low system requirements and its savvy space sim theme.

While official multiplayer support has been discontinued, the game is kept alive by several multiplayer mods, and Discovery just happens to be the one with the largest user base. You can grab a copy of Freelancer on amazon or ebay, however there’s really no point in paying for a legal copy since the devs won’t be recieving money for it, plus those bastards discontinued the development of Freelancer 2, leaving us with only X3 and Eve Online to work with, and god knows I can’t afford EVE. Besides, I’ve watched a bit of EVE letsplays, and so far it only seems like a 3D point and click RPG game with spaceships, unlike in freelancer where you have full control of your ship.

So you might as well grab a copy of Freelancer off P2P if you want to join in on the awesomeness that is Freelancer. Don’t worry, the devs and Microsoft won’t mind.

Now to the roleplay story… normally I wouldn’t post something like this on my blog since it probably doesn’t belong, but unfortunately the Discovery forums have a strict restriction on the kind of language you can use, you can’t even use * to censor out the seven dirty words. And unfortunately that interferes with the overall feel of the story, as “screw” just doesn’t have the impact of FUCKING MOTHERFUCKER CUNT BITCH ASS, so that’s why.
(the following short story is for entertainment purposes only, no offence intended Angel)

ACCORDING to legend, It was the golden age of underground abortion in Liberty. Walking into a self-help abortion booth not only became a necessity for high income hookers and proud uterus-transplanted transvestites and homosexuals, it became fashion. And fashion skyrocketed the prices, costing damn near a million credits for every fetus replaced with thin air via teleportation device.
Deep in the low income slums of Planet Erie, a girl was date-raped. She knew she was date raped, because she woke up that day to five hundred credits and a note that said “you got date raped, I might have knocked you up, go get an abortion.”Wink
Where do you get an abortion for five hundred credits? The girl approached her neighborhood entrepreneur-engineer, who was working on his own teleportation based abortion device, which he hoped would net him enough money to go to an engineering institute. The girl offered to be his alpha tester, and he let the girl try it out for that cheap, cheap price of five hundred credits in return.
So they fired up the abortion device, but unknown to both of them, some space-lice larvae got into the canister of air that was supposed to be teleported onto the fetus. Unfortunately, the filter used by the teleportation device filtered out the air, and only teleported the larvae…
Eight months later, the girl gave birth to a piece of sh!t kid that had space-lice embedded in his FUCKING COLON. She asked the doctor how much it would cost to remove the lice, the doctor told her: A billion credits.
So the girl did the only thing a sensible person would do- leave it on the doorstep of an elderly couple.
Fortunately for the child, the elderly couple had enough money to feed the child with pills that soothed the horrible horrible itch and pain caused by the lice, and even more fortunate, the elderly couple were also retired pilots of the Liberty Navy, and they taught the child a shit load of things about piloting ships.
The couple taught the child so well that he was able to get into a flight school on scholarship. The child was top of his class in the simulators, a ruthless fighter, and everybody affectionately called him The ColonCool. The child himself signed all his emails etcetra with the uber cool alias “lIceColon”.
In a final medical examination just before the child’s first attempt on a real ship, the doctor informed him that those pills he took were Erie specific only. If the child took the pills in space, or on another planet or space station, his head would explode.
Troubled, the elderly couple asked a doctor how much it would cost to surgically remove the lice. The doctor replied, “one billion credits”.
Without the pills, the child was a mediocre pilot at best, as the pain and itching seriously hindered his performance. Everybody stopped calling him The Colon, and his girlfriend left him, and his foster parents stopped being proud of him, and he lost all credibility as a competent fighter pilot, and the liberty navy recruitment office lost interest in him.
Colon, now a full time transport pilot, ran a few logistical errands for the various liberty corporations (and criminals, though he doesn’t put those on his resume Shy ) within the safe zone of New York, and saved up five thousand credits to get him a Starflier. At space he constantly relies on humor and a bright attitude to keep himself from falling victim to his own colon, but if you ask him on the ground what his aspirations are, he’d reply (with a serious “don’t fuck with me” attitude):
One. Billion. Credits.

Hey, the guy’s got lice embedded in his fucking colon, so cut him some slack.

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