Clone monologues 5

Hello, me.
Ha, I have had hard times in space. But this is over. My trail of brilliant deeds (picketed with insignificant mistakes like forgetting my drones in deadspace after victory) has ended in fairytale-like wealth. I am rich, filthy rich. I now own more than ONE MILLION ISK. Many men have died in the coldest parts of space to allow me to get that rich. Some of them had families, I am aware of it. Their wives and children will never see them again. But they chose the wrong side, plain and simple, that is, the other side. I can now safely retire, buy an extravagant manor and spend my nights practicing Gallente kiss with foxy ladies.
That lets you out of the picture, pal. So sorry about that. I kind of begun to appreciate our little monologue. I thought about giving you the keys of the Smithwick's Revenge, allowing you to roam on my behalf while I would enjoy the fruits of my hard work. But apparently, it is impossible for you to be alive as long as I am not dead. So told me Louise, gorgeous Louise, who is lovingly checking your vat from time to time. I think I have my chances with her, even though she did not seem that much impressed by my million isk. Weird nurses for the win!
If you have seen her face while awakening, you know what I meant!

Clone monologues 4

Hello, me.
So much to say and so little time. First of all, mining is good. Because money is good, and mining brings lots of it. And then because I don't know about low-sec, but high-sec mining allowed me to regain some financial composure while reading old classics in the comfort of my cabin. I spent half the time away from cockpit (AFC) tuning the parameters of the automated onboard kitchen. Was the whole process eventless? The aggressive pilots of the Serpentis fighters that my warlike light scout drone had to bring down wouldn't say so. These podless thugs weren't even worth me to run away (though the first time I made sure to do so in a quick fashion, not realising their harmless nature).
After some time in the asteroid belts, I was thus able to buy and outfit a new vessel. The new Smithwick's Revenge is an Imicus. It means that this time, I am going to drone all these bloody pirates out of their mean existence.
Or I am not, and then you might be awarded the insurance.

Clone monologues 3

Hello, me.
Again, I have to thank my luck; my former messages to you were recorded for naught. So far, I survived in the lawless expanses of 0.9 deep space. But not unscathed. While my valiant Beta clone vat (talking about you here bud) still lays unused, my insurance company has been busy doing business lately. I lost Smithwick's Revenge not once, but two, thanks to outlaws ganging up on me when I tried to legitimately annihilate them. Each time, my demise was a close call and my ship was blown in pieces while warping away. I should better know when to abandon my drone.
Now I do not have enough isk left to fully outfit and insure an Incursus for military purposes, so I have decided to focus on mining to find some dough in asteroid belts! I have bought a new Navitas and will spend some time looking for the better deal for mining lasers.
I almost forgot. I was contacted by a high ranking official of Strix Armaments and Defence (SAD) for recruitment purposes. SAD is a patriotic Gallente corporation and I approve its official goals and general stance, so I am seriously considering the option. Maybe later. For now, let's focus on the dough.
Tell that to your clone, now!

Clone monologues 2

Hello, me.
The good news is that I never died so far. The bad news is I expect to do so soon. After my early successes against some opponents who were clearly no match for my Gallente-bred talent, I barely avoided destruction of my Velator class frigate to enemies with both numbers and firepower. I had to compute random warp routes to escape the scenes in a rush. I do not understand, I always thought that the Velator was a very sturdy vessel but the shields were blown away so quickly. Guess I should not have skipped all these courses in the academy.
I did not yet told our agents about my failure. I want to give it another try, but I think I should outfit my ship with better weapons and efficient drones. I lost two drones in deep space while I was warping away from the battle, but at least they looked like they were doing their job. I might have to train new skills too, in order to properly operate new equipement I might want to buy. And I definitely need to improve my warp-escaping skill. Any second saved is a chance for you to never have to exist.
But if you listen to me right now, I surmise I was not that quick. I wish you better luck!

Clone monologues

Hello, me.
So you just wake up and it's like you need to remember everything that another you has lived. And that another you, is me. My name, and yours, is Gabriel DiCozza. I'm fresh out of the academy and, if you are experiencing this memory assistant loader, it means that I am fresh out of the academy and plain dead. Ah, all my hopes shattered. But you are, here, to survive me! Take some time to think about it. I guess you owe me. This clone insurance was pretty hefty but I thought about you. I could have spent it all in booze and girls.
So, here I am, only a ghost in the machine, talking to my surviving me. Unless one of those nurses from the cloning centre just wants to get some kicks by taking a peek at this record. You should check them out, Gabriel! The brunette called Louise in particular, if you want my expert advice.
Whatever, to the point. The news. Well, you know me. I am pretty successful, as a rule. So I just succeeded in the last few missions. Blew up a dangerous repair station protected by powerful thugs. And, of course, put an end to the rampage of a wicked former bureaucrat who had been fired because he watched too much porn on company time. Ah, grand quests into space! Amazing adventures! Handsome salaries!
And then I'm dead. Your turn, bro!