Goodbye Federal Defence Union...

Serena sits in a leather recliner in her room, still in her flight uniform. Her fingers repeatedly turn over her Gallente militia rank symbol which is now in her hand, and her gaze is aimed at the ground.

I finally acted on the feeling I've had for a while -- that the Federal Defence Union just wasn't for me. In my spare time lately, I've flown with several acquaintances, and unlike my flights for the FDU, they were genuinely fun. The FDU had become a chore to me.

She sighs.

Normally one doesn't think of defending their people as a chore, but despite my sincerest efforts, I haven't reached an understanding as to why there is so much bloodshed in the first place. So many pilots, indeed, so many organizations, creating problems where there naturally are none. I still wholeheartedly defend the Gallente as my people, but I don't want to be a part of this systematic racial fighting that I can't even understand. Maybe I'll return someday.

Until I sort these matters out, I've gone back to where I did some work when I was a full-time student, at the Garoun Investment Bank. At least this way I can make a little money and still help out my people. I feel bad about leaving the FDU the way I did, but I know it was the right move.

Serena's facial expression remains somewhat despondent as she walks over and turns off the recorder.