Factions vie for dominance, [REDACTED] routinely purge the outer reaches of the Sector, pirates ply their trade of weapons and wealth, and some poor shmuck is out there being captured, interrogated, and quietly erased from existence for trying to produce working Buffalo class freighters. And somewhere in that chaotic mass of star systems and constellations, eking out a meager existence on a backwater mining colony, would be you.
Let’s be honest, things could be so much worse. So by degrees (and for numerous cycles) you grow from a ragtag team of scavengers and scrawny recruits to a flourishing empire with fingers in just about every pie in the galaxy. Officials tend to look the other way when you conduct less than legal business, pirates quake in their boots at the mention of your name, and you have absolutely NEVER used Artificial Intelligence cores for any reason. By the way, here’s one million credits for absolutely no reason. That inspection tour can wait, right?
Well, everyone has stories to tell about their journey from rags to riches (or maybe riches to rags). Maybe it’s a brief moment of excitement or crippling loss, or a narrative divided by chapters or acts. The ball is in your court. Why not tell us a story, Captain? Bartender, another round for this fine spacefarer.