The young man glanced furtively over his shoulder before ducking around the corner into the alleyway. It was dark here, and damp, but he knew he was long past any concerns of physical comfort. The sound of his footfalls was largely masked by the constant, overbearing thrum of heavy machinery from the Camal IX Water Treatment facility nearby. He had a very important job to do in service to a cause greater than himself; he wondered if his name would ever be remembered, but even if it wasn’t he knew his sacrifice would be remembered as the act of a hero — a true Minmatar.

He dropped to one knee and slung the heavy satchel off his back. It was an old bag and he had to fumble with the zipper a little to get it open. No use bothering to replace it now, anyway. He removed his grey WT cap from the bag and put it on, but for now he just slung the grey uniform shirt over his shoulder. He had been told that the small but weighty blocks were molded from the most potent non-nuclear explosive known throughout the cluster. They’d said that his own death would be swift and painless and that the sheer force of the shock wave would most likely see to it that the deaths of his co-workers was equally humane. The object here wasn’t to inflict direct human suffering, after all. The target was the water treatment facility itself.

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