"The Red Alchemist can gun down pirates all day without batting an eyelash. He can pilot his hulk of machinery between raindrops without so much as a thought. Yet, can't shake this hollow feeling inside. This never-ending void that rings out with countless echoes of annihilation; like inevitable, looming entropy." —Vendryk Isalar
Growing up in Beta Reticuli drove two things home: The Empire doesn't give a damn about the people in a backwater hick-system and, as soon as something valuable showed up there, we were worth even less. They say that "gerrymandering politicians always get their way unless you veto their vote" but, it's damn near impossible when the hands that sign your checks also hold the keys to those booths.
Born in 3269, the man who would come to be known as "The Red Alchemist" spent his formative years as nothing more than a lowly indentured servant. "Prisoners with jobs" is just a kinder way of saying "Slaves" and there is nothing more that any man wanted than to leave that wretched Hell-hole.
Fast-forward through a mess of long and boring details; stashing credits away and being found-out a time or two before buying myself out of slavery; sneaking aboard a ship headed out of system only to wind up in LHS 3447 with nothing but a fake I.D., borrowed Sidewinder and a thousand credits in hand to face a grim reality... This story has only just begun.
A beginning is a very delicate time... Know then that it is the year 3302 and the most precious substance in the universe is the FSD tech that, through the machinations of The Club, fell into the hands of Sirius Corporation who monopolized it and distributed it to all the powers and factions. Though, ensuring no one gains an advantage, countless people have died as unwitting pawns in their inscrutable plans.
I'll miss the seas of A5, but a person needs new experiences. They jar something deep inside, not allowing them to grow. Without change something sleeps inside us, and seldom awakens. The sleeper must awaken and I'm dead to everyone unless I try to become what I may be...
A CMDR Atomic Object is claiming he's found untold riches deep in the black in a place called Umaitis. He's been my friend for some time now and I trust that his head is in the right place so off we go. A pair barely prepared for what lies ahead. I've hauled a few tonnes of cargo here and there and shot down a handful of pirates but this is different. Soon we leave for Umaitis. Umaitis is real. The dangers are real. Without precise calculations we could fly right through a star or bounce too close to a supernova and that'd end our trip real quick, wouldn't it?
Despite everything conspiring against this move, we made it. 65.46LY. What seemed like a lifetime of jumping in and out of Supercruise; stopping to take on fuel; routing through alleys and side-streets of space. It all seemed so far back then. A barely-paid-for Sidewinder and a behemoth of a Lakon Type-6? Heh! Our motley crew standing there at Stott Station with stars in our eyes and credits burning holes in our pockets must have been a sight to behold... Feels like forever ago...
Countless hours spent kicking rocks under constant threat hardened our hulls to the void. Everything got so much simpler and productive once I cobbled together the credits to scoop up and kit out an AspX. There's something so familiar about breaking rocks like it's what I'm made to do. Every haul is just getting better. As soon as a green-pea like me is pulling over a million Cr per run, it becomes very hard not to look for the bigger and better.
Fast forward to venturing out for the gold rushes in Sothis and Ceos. I'm running a space-flumper from the most remote corners of the bubble. I can't believe it's come to this. Literally hauling biowaste 450LY... And to what end? Before I know it, I've made my first billion Cr. From decades of poverty to having now a second billion in assets. They're calling me an Elite trader but I really don't feel it.
Forging new alliances and friendships all the way has led to the strangest occurrence yet; A proper wing has formed filled with traders, explorers and warriors from the very edges of this great dust-ball.
We're at the tip of the spear; fighting pirates, rescuing traders and miners all the while quietly building ourselves up. Engineers, exotic materials and furthermore exotic locations. 500LY might be an every day occurrence for us now. The galaxy seems so much smaller.
Time to move again. This time to Jonai; home of the infamous Wolves of Jonai.
We're strong and getting stronger. We've bolstered our numbers and it shows. Time, experience and strategy get passed on to the next wave of new pilots and what took us years takes them weeks. The dynamo is in motion with no signs of stopping.
The void seems to get smaller every day - so much smaller in fact that I have holos of Colonia and Sag A* lying around somewhere.
Then these folks; this rag-tag bunch of skirmishers (of which I'm one) have come together and accepted me as their leader? It's because they're so driven and focused. We needed this. I needed this. I never knew how much until now.
It's 3304 and we stand on the edge of a new precipice; petitioning the Pilots Federation to be recognized as our own faction. To think one day we'll have staff embedded in a star system? That is a strange concept. The universe is vast and infinite indeed.