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I have no idea what I'm doing. part 1
This will be a series of chaotic life events I experienced first hand. This is my first time publishing anything so there will be *grammatical errors and some confusion*. I write like I think and it can be cloudy but ill be DAMNED if it’s not entertaining. Think of this as a running open diary. This is part 1. Part 2,3,4 and so on will cover the relationship with my father, run-ins with the law, beautiful experiences with hallucinogens and one epic story about a psychotic girlfriend. Also, the format in this app is a little weird so please bear with me and enjoy the free show. Its quite mad.
Chapter 1. My POV and Jeffery the Giraffe
It has been a little over a month since I have been working at one of the largest children stores In New York City. In the center of the Gotham. Where the magic and rustic sense of jungle is pissed on daily by looters from bumble-here-Ohio. Only to spend their time walking about at a less than slow pace. To go spend $15 on a milk shake and still complain that they should have gone to the Ruby Tuesdays and had the surf and turf lunch special. To stagger through 42nd street like a Time Square zombie as the entire family, save the smallest child, trudges into the Alpha and Omega of toy stores. Where his sensory overload had reached critical mass and has begun to overdose. There are trumpets and squeals in his ears. He has no idea what section to turn to first. The daughter is indifferent; let the village idiot run for a bit. The mother is in a constant state of fear. soon (okay years from now) will move to a new city. What if it’s a city like this? Full of noise and swearing and beautiful men and women offering beautiful sins and delights? Maybe a local college will be a fine choice for these two. The father is still mad about the restaurant experience. He should have ordered some bourbon. A double, no, triple. Put it in an IV drip so he can get through this day of, so much. Too much. What is this place? That’s right. Toys R US.
How did I get here?
At first I was working at the new Yankee stadium in the Bronx. As a bar back at the Hard Rock Cafe. It was a fun job. I got to wear a hat, a lanyard with fun little pins that had sayings like "Hard rock it out" and "burger time!". My employee ID allowed me to walk all over the stadium. I even got to meet a few of the players by chance when I found myself strolling around the underbelly of the stadium. Baseball players are immensely larger in real life. They have that jail body some would say. Rock solid on top for when the home run could be the difference between a win and a loss. But still have them tiny legs. They can never seem to get to first base. To be honest. I hate baseball. I think it’s as exciting as watching NASCAR drivers going left 400 times or watching water boil. But the job pays the bills. I become a master keg slinger, a rebellious heartthrob to the hostess’s, and polish my thievery when making deliveries around the stadium. Whether it be to the box sweets, press box, or the players’ lounge I always found a way of taking a trinket here, a chicken finger there. I once even snagged a key card that got me into the Presidents suite. I spent a few lunch breaks in there, eating the catered food looking down on the peons from my mountain top. Here I was King. Here I was God. at least for another 30 min. I would turn my radio off and sit in the one chair that overlooked the entire field. I would imagine I was a great and all powerful wizard. Commanding my troops of orcs, goblins, grotesque creatures of impossible strength from under the earth who obey my every word. We are about to wage the greatest war on history has ever seen. I would do this a few times a week.
Until one day a cleaning lady came in and saw me pressed up against the glass arms stretched out talking to myself (I was really talking to my minions below). I imagine I freaked her out. so I spent my break time in the storage area. sitting on boxes, eating a burger, staring intobthe middle distance. There were a number of high profile events at the stadium throughout the season. College baseball championships (yawn), A boxing event where I made $800 in one night (as a bar back that’s insane), and several concerts. My favorite being JayZ & Eminem.
I had never been to a rap concert before. Unless you call going to see some friends perform at.the local mercury lounge a concert. That was nothing compared to a real Hip-hop show like this. And of course, my trustee ID badge gave me the all the access I needed. I was working a double so instead of 30 minutes I got a solid hour. One whole hour to destroy and conquer the stadium. I am in charge. I am psyched. I am going to smell like weed when I go back into the kitchen. You couldn’t avoid it. I chose to walk the long way around toward the president suite so I could see the stage while I’m walking. Imagine 50,000 people packed into the stadium. 49,999 are smoking weed and the cops are doing nothing. I even see some cops walking to the front gate to jam along with the crowd. It was pretty nice to see for a moment’s time no one was getting arrested. everyone was having a great time. I poked my head in to the suite using the key card I stole from the accountant office and to my delight no one was here. I wondered is there EVER a person in here? Does the president actually exist? or is 'it' just a label to instill fear so people don’t steal the key cards and eat the catered food. Why is there always food in here that no one touches? I hope the cleaning lady gets to take home some of these spoils. Maybe she will walk in here again and we can both have a moment of peace, Eminem and shrimp cocktail. Sadly I spend my hour alone and only recognize one song. Renegade comes on and I rap along with both historical figures like I am wrote the rhymes myself. Jesus God in Heaven this is feels amazing. I am invincible. I scream out the words "Cuz I’m a mother fucking renegAAADE" as Eminem does just as my timer goes off to head back. I’m flying right now. I walk back with a hop in my step. I will remember this feeling forever.
I am greeted by my coworker Mike. Mike is tall, an exceptionally talented photographer, and forever jaded. But I love the guy. He became my first friend here and will vouch for me even when I don’t ask for it. He knows I’d do the same for him if he needed it. lie when needed. Everyone would believe me any way I swear I should just be a hypnotist. Mike and several other coworkers are also working a double. He looks annoyed "Hey man, where’d you go? We all went to the dug out on the corner for break." Clearly half of the staff either has a hard buzz or is high out of their minds. Now I’m slightly regretting not snagging a 6 pack from the keg room. tossing it in my bag and having my own happy hour in the President suite. Shot gunning beers "CUZ I"M A MOTHA FUCKIN RENEGAAAAADE".
"I went into the concert and watched from one of the suites. I swear I’m the only person that ever goes up there.".
"Lucky, Ken said if anyone gets caught he’s sending them home" "If I told Ken I had access to the VIP suites he would bring the beer" "Which is why we went to the Dug Out." "If you guys gonna go out after work, I’d be up for a beer." I honestly wanted to beg Mike to not leave me. Please get a beer with me. My girlfriend is an over bearing psycho and I don’t want to go home. But Mike already had plans.
"I would but Amanda and I are going out after work." He winks. The mother fucker.
Amanda is the one waitress at work who every guy wants. No, wants to marry. Amanda is very nice. She’s got that cute emo thing going on. short brown hair, tiny blue eyes, with a laugh that melts even the toughest of us. With aspirations that change almost weekly makes her this elusive power woman whose tastes change as constant as the color on a cuddle fish it would seem impossible to impress her. She is a woman’s woman to us. She is perfect. All the other women at work passive aggressively like her. How on earth did Mike get her to say yes? She is untouchable. I want to murder him. He is not worthy. I am the King of the mountain! I am the mysterious handsome rebel that knows everyone’s secrets!! I have the keycards to the Presidential suite! But I give him my best.
"Whoa. Proud of you. Finally one of us struck a chance. Where you guys going?" "You have a girlfriend. You never had a chance. Some dive bar in the village that has pinball and buck hunter. She did mention she loves video games"
"Good luck. Can I live vicariously through you when you guys are dry humping on your couch?" "We are adults so dry humping stopped being the thing a decade ago" "Can you at least skype me and leave the phone in the corner?" "You’re a shit and will die alone." He laughs and goes back inside. He’s right. I will die alone. I feel happy for a moment. I’d rather die alone somewhere in the streets of the Bronx then go home. My eyes sway over to the hot dog vendor then to the intersection. I should just buy a $4 dirty water hot dog, walks into the street and get hit by one of the speeding black gypsy cabs that flood the premises of the stadium. I’ll spend the weekend in the hospital and sue the taxi company. I’ll get a fat settlement check and be able to buy an apartment on my own and finally be able to leave my current situation. I will be free. I will have beaten the system I will have crushed the undead at Myth-
"Hey, KYLE". Its Ken, my manager. Clearly he has just returned from the encore and has decided to be a manager for the last few min of my shift. "We- I mean you need to rotate the juices and toss out any fruit that will expire over the couple days. We don’t have any games until next weekend". Shit. He’s right. No games mean literally zero money. a bullshit hourly rate that’s taxed out of my tips. On game days I can easily walk home with $300 in my pocket. Non game days will be lucky if I leave with $80. This kicks in my sneak/thief skill tree. Time to level up. "Of course. Once I’m done breaking down the bar I’ll get right to the keg room".
Ken, a born and bred New Yorker is more concerned about going out with one of the new cocktail waitress’s since he is going through an ugly divorce. I don’t hate the guy but he does creep me out when he talks about the girls at work. Especially Amanda. No one can talk about her. Or to her. Only me. I am her husband material. I wonder if this is how every man thinks when he sees an untouchable woman. Ken heads to the office where he will be for the rest of the night. now is my time to shine. I am usually one of the last ones out of the restaurant. I always tell the bartenders ill finish breaking down so they can get out a bit early and head to their sex and drug filled dance parties in midtown and tell me all about it the next day. In exchange they always toss me an extra $20 or $40 bucks depending on the night. Plus its always awesome to see Fred and Jillian fight at work the next day because Fred got too drunk and got into a fight or Jillian drank too much and threw up in Fred’s car. It’s always a show with those two and I hope they never change. Rotating the juices in a simple exercise. Take the juices in the back and put them in the front and toss out whatever was in the front to begin with as it will go bad. tonight I am taking home all the juice that will go "bad". That really pertains only to the orange juice because you can never have enough and it goes great with booze. Ken also wants me to throw away all the fruit that has been cut. This means I am loading my back pack and with orange juice and my gym bag full of orange slices. a week with no games really puts my wallet on a budget so anything that has the words FREE and FOOD in it sure as hell will belong to me.
I go into the food walk in freezer to see if any excess of sliced fruit has been left there. Sometime I bring the left over fruit to the chefs along with some beers towards the end of their shift. In return I can get a steak or a extra burger to take home with me. You will learn in time working in restaurants certain staff will team up. The bar and the kitchen will always do that. The bartenders are always hungry and the kitchen staff always wants booze. If a trusted supply route between the two is established, you will be unable to break their bond. Thankfully I’m on the team. There are no extra pieces of fruit that will go bad. But there are a few trays of burger meat that WILL go back in the next couple of days. These won’t get cooked and I hate seeing food get tossed out and I want to save some money this week. I’m looking at potential dinner for the following 8 days. Orange juice and red meat. Living in excess of vitamin C and Protein. I will never get sick. This will make me unstoppable. I stutter for a few seconds. 10 at most. Should I take more? I should. fuck. I’m so evil. Come and see how evil I am. Taking from the rich and give to the poor. The rich being Hard Rock Cafe. The poor being my overbearing manic girlfriend, our dog who I like more than her, and myself. A 20 something struggling artist constantly lives in a fantasy world, would prefer a zombie apocalypse, hasn’t spoken to his father in almost 3 years, and constantly searching for a deeper meaning for things, forfeiting logic and at times, my safety. Good God humans are strange. My back pack has orange juice. My Gym bag has a million orange slices and a dozen giant beef patties. I saw goodnight to Ken and head right for the train. I forgot how late it was, heading to the train platform.
How the hell is it almost 3AM?. I expect someone or some deity to give me the straight answer but in reality its always just me asking a question out loud, usually by myself. I forgot for a moment that I let the bartenders sneak out early so I could get my thief on solidify my food for the next week. I did make over $300 tonight But I got to stretch it before the Home games come back. The 4 train platform at 3AM in the Bronx is how you would imagine it. Silent. Terror inducing. Those feelings always hit me first before I sink into a comfort zone, waiting for the train. There would be no comfort for me tonight. I’m walking onto the platform when a local homeless man comes up to me on my left. He’s taller than me by at least half a foot and has zero pupils. His influence has him confidant. "Can you, help ME?" Why are you yelling? I want to scream at him, kick him into the tracks. I have been jumped before since I moved here. It has a put a stain on every person who asks me for change or starts a conversation with "can I talk to you for a second?". No. you cannot talk to me. A super nerdy white kid in the Bronx at 3am? please, no one talk to me. But this man does. I keep it one worded. "Sorry" I start to walk past him but he stops me. "Nothing at all?" "NO. sorry" Now I’m worried. I don’t have my knife on me but I’m sure I can win this fight if it happens. Not only do I have a lot of money in my back pack, I have so much vitamin C and red meat. No one is getting my meat. I turn around to walk away where I am greeted by another homeless local not 5 inches from my face. Before I can lift my hands into fists, local #! have both my arms pinned behind my back. Local #2 hits me twice in the face. hard. It hurts, I see a flash and on the third hit my glasses fly off my face into the train tracks. Now I’m pissed. Forget the food and money, I need those to see everything. My welcoming thoughts of my death have become the thoughts of the local’s death. I need to leave. I need to fight and get out of here. I won’t be a statistic. I won’t be a punk. FIGHT. Local #1 is trying to get into my back pocket for my wallet while Local #2 continues to rabbit punch me in the face. He lets off for a second long enough for me to get a solid up-kick to his chest, causing more pain for him than I put into the kick itself. Weak anatomy. I force myself backwards and smash local#1 into a wall. His grip loosens, my hands are free! PUNCH. left hand on his shirt, right hand fly’s with the force of 1000 suns. I hit local #1 square between the eyes several times. My brain fires a quick question. "Can’t you kill someone if you hit them hard enough between the eyes? What happens if you kill him?" I don’t care. I am defending my life and I figure if they have nothing left to lose teaming up on me, then they don’t deserve to live regardless. I am not innocent but I am not an asshole of this proportion. I land several solid hits. Local #1 is out cold. I see local #2 is rallying. Time to get away. I grab my gym bag (still have my back pack on!) and run out of the station into the street. I grab the first gypsy cab I find and head home. I’m safe. finally. fuck. where were the cops? or the station agent? I suddenly felt like I was on TV. this is a survivor like challenge show. Can the nerdy looking white kid survive a night in the Bronx? You God damn right I can. Instinct. It helps when you grew up in the streets of Baltimore. Some things stick with you. This will be a lesson learned. This night will stick with me forever. As will these black eyes I can feel coming on. Jesus he hit me good. Who would of thought crack heads can have a solid right hook. I wonder what my girlfriend will have to say about this. I wonder if Mike made head way with Amanda. The driver and I never say a word. The silence is mandatory. I tip the driver well and stand out front of my apt. I am going to need new glasses.
I feel more embarrassment than success but I have my money, my food, and my life. I feel like a renegade I stand outside of my apartment door for a solid 10 minutes composing myself before I go inside. What I will say, what I wot say, how much sympathy should I seek. its late now, after 4am. and Siobhan stopped texting me to see when I will be back at 2:30. She’s either asleep or wine drunk on the couch. I walk in and stumble down the hallway toward the kitchen. she is asleep on the couch, an empty bottle of yellow tail shiraz sits on the floor keeping her company. I drop my bags and splash water on my face in the kitchen sink. the warm water hurts my face. I’m swollen and will definitely have a black eye in the morning. our tiny French bulldog, Zoey wakes up and jumps off the couch and greets me with her usual happy demeanor only to be cut short when she catches a whiff of my bag-o-meat. typical dog. she is so sweet. Siobhan wakes up and speaks before seeing my new battle marks. "Where the fuck was you?" The living room is still too dark to light up my face. Only a half lit silhouette stands half way between the lit kitchen and dark living room. At this point it’s after 4AM. I am tired, my buzz is wearing off and I’m supposed to be at a food tasting for a new job in the morning since we are going into the off season very soon at the stadium. I think my face will be a great first impression.
"I was at work. closed late and decided to take the subway instead of a cab. save money. I got jumped." "Excuse me." "Jumped. I got mugged on the platform by two crack heads. I got away. But they did a number on my face." Siobhan finally gets up and walks into the light. Her expression upon seeing my face is one of ever-so-slight amusement and annoyance. "Did they take all your money?" What? For an instant I’m appalled. Why is that the first thing she says? No immediate concern for my face or well being Just, did they take my money? Why is that a concern? It’s not like I’ll be giving it to you? I’m already paying more than half of your share of the rent because you admitted to having a cocaine problem, which is why you always have such little money to throw around. Did you set me up? Did you blow those two crack heads so they would wait until I’m out of work, beat my face, take my money and they get a cut? You savage. You harpy. I should mix Nyquil in your yellow tail so I never have to hear your speak. Take Zoey and kick you out. Why am I in this relationship? "No. No they didn’t take my tips." "you should take a shower. Its late, you look like shit." She’s always so nice after a night off with her boyfriend yellowtail. I don’t want to further thing conversation so I retire to the bedroom, strip, and fall into bed. Zoey jumps up, snorts all over my face and falls asleep on my chest. I follow suit almost immediately.
I dream of the time I was Jeffery the giraffe at Toys R US. Angry, frustrated, sad on all epic proportions. children laughing at me as I stumble about hiding behind a mask that has a permeant cryptic smile. You’d never know I was quietly cursing every single man, woman, and child behind the mask. Siobhan comes in, walking a child on one of those child-leash ropes and stands in the corner and laughs at me. As does the child. They laugh and cackle and the noise breaks through my ear buds. A bomb drops and is about to explode directly overhead. People are screaming, crying, wallowing for atonement, begging to be forgiven. I smile and welcome it with big open giraffe arms. Just as I am destroyed by radiation fire I am awoken by Zoey. she has farted under the covers and the smell would break a terrorist who’s been water boarded 23 hours a day for weeks without confessing. Clearly nuclear. Clearly dog.
I dream constantly. Day dream, night dream. it’s an everyday occurrence. And like most dreams, they represent some kind of angelic thoughts or God awful experience you have witnessed in real life. For me they are usually nightmares. Or simple dreams that’s hastily turn into nightmares. Usually with a simple plot. Get from point A to B without encountering anything in-between. There was once a festival in an ice garden ice, a 5,000 foot tall evil kangaroo with boxing gloves, and giant spiders that turned people into zombies on top of the McDonalds back in my old town of Eldersburg. All dreams had purpose and objective but always dropped me in the middle of the war. Leaving me to figure out how, what, and why.
Lately I’m reliving my Giraffe days. the time I knew that my relationship with Siobhan would not last. I was no angel of high morals myself. But she was just narcissistic, neurotic, and wanted total control. It was the off season at the stadium and Like I said before, one needs a second job, part time unemployment, or underground criminal ring to keep the bills paid. I was getting part time unemployment and working only a couple days a week at the stadium. Sending out resumes, lying about my years’ experience as a bartender, putting my friends down in the manager reference section. typical survival tactics while living in New York City. It was March 9st. I was off for the next few days and decided to be productive and eat at home, apply for jobs, play with the dog. It was simpler times. I was somewhat happy. then came the listing, the one job listing I thought would be great and hold me over until a real gig came through. It titled "Marvel Superhero’s wanted". I’m like, fuck yeah! I’m The Peter Parker type, I can totally do this. So, I send in my resume with a nerdy over letter letting them know how much of a Marvel fan I am and how this sounds like the job for me (God help me). The only thing left to do with the day is eat some food, take Zoey to the dog park until she tires then retire myself to the living room and play video games.
The following day I get an email inviting me for an interview regarding being a Marvel Superhero. Of course, Siobhan finds it hysterical. "Going to a job interview today somewhere in midtown. I responded to an ad nine for wanted superheroes and I got a call! I have no clue what it’s about but maybe I’ll get to dress up as Venom or Iron Man." She’s in hysterics. "You are going to be a mascot. that’s amazing" She is laughing so hard Zoey starts that howling dogs do when their human sings off-key or plays an instrument. I can only think of that comic strip Calvin and Hobbes when Calvin’s dad tells his wife he is going for a bike ride. Wife is doing a terrible job at holding back laughter from seeing her Husband’s bicycle attire. He rides away and says next time he will squirt them both with his water bottle. Siobhan is the wife (no) and Zoey is Hobbes. I am the husband. Next time I squirt them both with my water bottle.
"Hey, I’m gonna be a super hero. Have fun being a super waitress tonight." I wink. She’s pissed in a matter of Nano seconds. But I have retreated out the door before she can say anything. Now I’m in hysterics. After enduring the Showtime kids and subway preachers I have arrived at my destination. Mid town. Actually I’m in Times Square. Anybody who lives in NY with half a brain knows to avoid this gutter. But if you find yourself here it’s fairly easy to tune everything out. I look around for 901 7th aver I bob and weave inbetween Batman, Naked Cow boy and women in thongs who clearly need to do squats before I reach my destination. 901 7th aver TOYS R US. "Oh Jesus. huh? No. No way. I have to walk inside there?" I can’t do it. I turn to walk away when I hear my Lacrosse coach from high school in my ear. "It’s not the stick, it’s the player". Why did I hear that? I don’t know. But he is a man I highly respect and I did moon his wife one time when I was an asshole teenager so I don’t want to disappoint him.
I walk into TOYS R US. The interview was nothing like I thought. No questions about Marvel of what my favorite super hero is. Obviously, Batman, I know he’s not Marvel. And while we are on the subject Sub-Zero and Vegeta are the greatest super villains in the universe. Meanwhile, back at the interview; "So what is your availability?" "Well I’m pretty much open. I work part time at Yankee stadium and it is the off season right now so the more hours I can work the better." "mmmhmm. are you able to stand on your feet for 8 hours?" "Without a problem. I’m a bar back so I’m used to being vertical, Though I prefer being horizontal hahahaha." she does not laugh "I mean, I enjoy relaxing when I can." "Of course. Do you have any questions?" "You aren’t going to ask me any questions concerning Marvel or superheroes in general? I figure it would be part of the interview process." "Okay. Who is your favorite superhero?" Clearly this lady could care less about Marvel or who my favorite was. I will not give her the knowledge I bestow. She is undeserving. She gets the 1,000 yard stare. "Spider-man." Little did I know Spider-man would soon be the hero I would come to hate. The kid from Queens, my enemy. Forever. "So how’d it go? are you a super hero yet." "Of course. I’m excellent at interviews. witty, mysterious, just like Bruce Wayne." "Insufferable." "I can see that. still got the job. I start tomorrow and I still have no idea what I’ll be doing. Best part is I’ll be closer to you!" "Your gonna work in Times Square?" "Yea. Toys R US." That did it. That answer sent Siobhan into a laughter so hard, a cackle so wild it gave her an asthma attack. Zoey decides to join in. This is great, my girlfriend and dog think it’s hilarious I now work at toys r us. She is still laughing in-between inhales from her inhaler. I leave and head for the roof. I will retire here for an hour or so. Have a cigarette and people watch for the time being. I will find peace. Siobhan and I take the subway together. She plays angry birds, I stare into a large coffee. I bought a French press and have been French pressing my own coffee in the morning. Sometimes I strain it and double or triple press it. Sometimes I talk to myself in a terrible (though I think it’s pretty good) French accent just to make it even more legit. I want maximum efficiency. I love the high. Plus cocaine is too expensive and the come down is terrible. So I choose French press. We both arrive in front of Toys R US. We kiss. We bid farewell. "See yak later. Have a nice shift." "Bye Spidey."
End of part one.
Newbie's rant about SC
- Bugs Yeah its still in development and I'm not a developer nor do I know how difficult these things are to resolve BUT some of the bugs have been going on for years and have still yet to get sorted out. Falling through planets, starmap not appearing, transit stations not loading in etc etc. These bugs, along with 30ks (which do seem to have decreased in the short time I've been playing) quickly become frustrating ,especially when you lose a great deal of uAEC because of it and in turn a huge amount of playing time to regain that uAEC. Again, I appreciate these things may be difficult to resolve but if resolving basic playability is not high on the agenda I do worry for SC's future.
- Trading I know the economy is still in development however, as there are clearly limits that are set for the amount of items a location can produce and/or sell, why not create more locations to buy/sell from? With more and more players joining the verse (therefore more competition, there doesn't seem to be a drive to increase the commodities available. Supply/demand is obviously a key component of any economy but without either, trading in SC is a poorly thought out concept and will continue to become worse as more players join. ATM I'm flying around in the equivelent of an HGV (cat) to pick up a bag of groceries. If I do manage to get more to full up some of the space available I then have to go to a location, park it in a slot barely big enough to accomodate the ship, catch a train, run around dodging a host of frozen zombies to get to a trade terminal to sell my goodies only to find out a) they are already full b) They can only accept a few SCU or c) I can't sell any because my ship/cargo isn't detected! On the odd ocassion trading does work I'm almost having a cardiac arrest in fear of a 30k during a quantum jump. Not sure if this is actually a gameplay element? It certainly (inadvertently) adds to the excitement of a long haul! Yes trading is not meant to be easy but at present it is more frustrating rather than difficult. Key difference there.
- Combat Perhaps the most enjoyable aspect of the game at present despite the flight mechanics/weapons needing work - to be forgiven. I'm looking forward to employing some AI to work the turrets for me though as I'm not the best PvPer. Having a big ship is all good and well to defend yourself but if you can't pew-pew from turrets coz you're a loner you're pretty much screwed.
- Hand Mining Love this aspect of the game but again, some tweaks wouldn't go amiss, especially falling through planets, losing backpack contents!!
- Ship Mining Give us some refinery depots to drop off our produce rather than a bit part terminal next to a trade terminal. The same refinery could then supply the 'refined' commodities for pick up by hauliers to take off planet to trade ports. i.e drop off quantanium to a refinery where quantum fuel is made which can then be taken by a ship such as Starfarer refueling ship to a trade post that has the ability to refuel. Again, this plays into the supply/demand aspect of the economy. No quantanium then that will become high in price along with Quantum fuel, same for hydrogen etc.
- Missions More variety please. Would love to see passenger missions asap. Taking a VIP or high value target to some far flung place would be a thrill ride dodging the bounty hunters along the way. Having a huge amount and variety of ships is fantastic but without the specific missions for those ships they are little more than an advertisement for your bank balance. You've given us the ships without contracts to fulfil....more missions please.
In short what I'm seeing at present is lots of development into new ships (and therefore more funding) but little gameplay development, some of which as pointed out above is crucial to keep the fans you have of the game throiugh to the final product which btw I will continue to support, albeit with glint of hope along with a bitter after taste at present.