Prologue
It is interesting this thing we call life. We stumble like ants in all directions trying to get a foothold and some degree of control on our various concerns. We walk to and froh about our business, all encompassing to us in our narrow scope of self proclaimed grandeur; yet to others they exist only as small and almost feeble in size.
Take the noble lady crossing the street for example. She wears richly clad cloth, rings, baubles and makeup like she owns the damn place to begin with. She walks with a poise not seen in the local scrubber down at deck level 1179. She cares not for the next meal, a place to sleep and the next credits she has to earn to pay upkeep. No. Her concerns is in another place entirely. Concerns that some share and others laugh about knowing all too well how easy she's got it to begin with.
Then take the aforementioned scrubber. The guy reeks of radiation disease from the nearby reactor tubes, smells like a Gamorrean and is pretty much one miserable little wretch to look at.
Thin as hell since food is scarce and credits down here is nearly worthless. But the scrapper is happy, seemingly balanced and knows his station in life and everything there is to know about the layout of the deck level. When food is around it lights up his day. Whether it being a tashka vermin or another unlucky freak. Yes. The scrapper is content with the piece of morsel life threw at him.
So where is this reasoning of mine leading me?
It is simple enough.
Life is hard and people got problems. Whether it being money, heartache, sickness, morale questions or conflicts of interest. Being alive yet breathing that invisible death stick of issues, day in and day out, is the curse of mortality. But it ain't all bad. Some of us help out these people in need and make them feel better about themselves. We clear their problems hands down like they never existed and ensure some balance in their otherwise narrow minded and self inflicted grief.
...For a price
Next up: Dagger