Private Corporate Entity; Shipping and (Re)Distribution Operations
REGISTERED SITES OF OPERATION
Cambridge: Cambridge Planetside, Primary Corporate Office, Three Warehouses, Two Starports, One Manufacture Manchester: Birmingham Station, Branch Office, Orbital Distribution Center Pennsylvania: Erie Planetside, Two Starports, Branch Office, Distribution Center, Three Warehouses, Two Manufactures
LICENSED GOODS
Manufactured: Solid Projectile Munitions Casings, Fighter Weapons Components, Hand-Tools (Variable), Prefab Construction Material Distributed: Standard Issue Bretonian and Liberty Military Equipment, Detroit Light Arms, Unrefined Explosive Material, Civilian Grade Power Cells (MOx), Medical Technical Equipment (Variable), Iron, Copper, Silver H-Fuel Liberty 'Free Acres™' Cheese
LATEST FINANCIAL RECORDS
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Public Company Information Page
Our History
XXXXXXXX Red Stag Shipping brings forth the next chapter in the O'Neill corporate dynasty. A family who's kept it's name through the exodus from Sol into the current year, this Bretonian family was one of old and well kept wealth. Of course, all of their political capital and established sources of profit were wiped away with the victory of the Coalition over the Sol system, but ever the entrepreneurs of this daring bloodline, the Neills were quick to seize the reigns on industry and destiny, though it would not come without certain difficult choices.
XXXXXXXX Rivalry with other noble families and old money groups in Bretonia's ranks, the Neill's saw greater pastures in the Liberty systems, especially in the markets of security, corrections, and rehabilitative labor. Ensuring compliance among the Liberty people came like second nature to the rising stars of the Neill family all through the past three centuries, with many of their descendants and kin in law acting as foremen and wardens of various criminal corrections facilities and work camps in the realms of Liberty and Bretonia, though primarily the former.
XXXXXXXX With the death of the old family hierarchs however, the great swell of wealth accumulated over the centuries was split far and wide over a very tense legal battle over the particulars of the estate, and it is from this struggle that necessity became an inventive mother. Anya O'Neill, our corporations founder, dared to shake the tree of tradition and bite from a fruit less often picked.
Our Mission
XXXXXXXX Logistics is everything, and what good is internal corrections without external power projection? Nothing! So our great founder would say! And so we embark on establishing a new contender to the old and entranced distribution oligarchs with renewed and unique guarantees of discretion, security, and generous rates. Returning to her ancestral house of origin as a Bretonian-Liberty dual citizen, Red Stag Shipping has sought to further develop and enhance the shipping and trade routes between the two houses, a mission meant not only to fill her family coffers, but strengthen the bonds between the two peoples; neighbors and brothers in the struggle for profitable and harmonious growth with freedom and democracy ever in mind.
XXXXXXXX Our task before all else is to ensure you, the customer, is delivered their good not just promptly on time, but in advance! We pride ourselves on anticipating the needs of our clients by way of care market analysis and the employment of home made specialized AI personality fragments to better serve you and the wider space of Liberty and Bretonia. We'll keep the boys and girls in the marines well armed and well fed, not just with fresh powercells and ammunition, but with good old Liberty 'Free Acres™' cheese! You'll never want for a cheesier slice! And though we may be a foundling startup, we've got capital, grit, and brains at our back, so come one and all, and let the Red Stag carry all of your burdens from Cambridge to Omicron Minor
Manufactured: Jackknife Model Knockoff Munitions and Armaments (MOx Powercell and Kinetic Weaponry) Distributed: Black Market Light Arms,Black Market Blasters, Black Market Munitions, Bretonian and Liberty Military "Surplus," Missile Components, Unrefined Explosive Material, Medical Technical Equipment (Variable), Combat Stims, H-Fuel, Refined Minerals, Black Market Augmentations, Liberty 'Free Acres™' Cheese
To Arm The Stars
An Axe To Grind
XXXXXXXX The corporations thought they could rule forever, unchallenged, but the coalition, the armies of the workers and anticapitalists, told them what for. Told them the age of the corporate slave empire is over. They drove them from Sol, my own family, from the very earth that spawned us. Would that all of Sleeper Ships bound for Sirius caught a stray asteroid and cracked open like an old can of spam, maybe the stars would shine just that bit brighter. But here we are, all too familiar with the state of affairs.
XXXXXXXX And I've had enough. We've all had enough.
XXXXXXXX I may be of that blood, one of their ilk, I won't deny it. I'll be the first to tell you what it's like living in luxury, wanting for nothing but a higher number on the end of your quarterly report; damn the cost in blood and sweat others pay for you to reap what they sow. I'd like to say it's a burden to be so damn bored, so unfulfilled, but I won't pretend it's a real hardship either. Just know this, I want nothing more than the houses to come crashing down, swallowed up in the flame of their own hubris. I don't care if it's the Hessians, the Coalition, Mollys, the Unioners, hell, I don't care if the Gaians strike the killing blow, I just want this whole operation broken. Ground down to dust, never to be rebuilt.
XXXXXXXX But let's not kid ourselves, money speaks before ideology, and the bullet always has the last say in a polemic when stood up against the pen. So let's talk shop; get down to brass tax. We've got more than a few edges that need sharpening, and a few more backs that need stabbing.
Whetstones For The Masses
XXXXXXXX Black market weapons are a grab bag. From bonafide military surplus smuggled off course, or repatriated munitions, to some fraudster working out of a Liberty slum with shoddy equipment and even worse material; they sell it off all the same. Me and my technicians don't stand for that kind of hackjob. I won't deny our armaments sometimes go 'boom' when they aren't supposed to, but if we really wanted to run the numbers, Jackknife Provisions can guarantee a fifteen percent decrease in weapons malfunctions, and we can guarantee you a steady stream of parts for self-repair of our own line of MOx fed weapons.
XXXXXXXX And if your trigger finger is itching for a certain kind of kick, we make our weapons to order, for an added fee of course.
XXXXXXXX But guns and explosives don't make an army; they merely let it kill. It's medicine, food, and basic materials that keep the wheels of revolution turning; keeps the blade of revenge against these bourgeois devils keen as the day we first unsheathed it. Whatever the case, whatever the struggle needs, Jackknife Provisions is always on hand to keep the armies of the angry workers stocked and steady.
Points of Unity
XXXXXXXX We stand with those who stand against the Houses, against capital, against empire. We may not... agree with certain perspectives of those we supply; myself and my comrades both. But we agree on these few points:
XXXXXXXX✩ Anything that weakens the Houses is beneficial.
XXXXXXXX✩ If our clients want to fight amongst themselves, let them fight. The path forward will show itself through struggle.
XXXXXXXX✩ Never work with the enemy in earnest. Lie, deceive, and run your cons, play your schemes. Sell to whoever's buying if the capitals good and can further a more important agendas, but keep your eyes on the prize.
XXXXXXXX✩ Follow what the revolutionary forces are up to. They cut the path ahead, we just keep the knife sharp for them and follow suite.
..............................................
The Woman Behind The Knife
Biometrics
Anya O'Neill | Áine Ó Néill Cambridge Research Station Biometric Assessment
Recorded on: DD / MM / 835 AS
Augmentations:False Eye (Non-Cybernetic); Re-moveable Cybernetic Mono-Goggle (Strapped over right eye; drilled into four bolt-ports on the right side of the face, comes with leathery covers over cheek and brow area. Multifunctional). Synthetic Liver (Second Replacement), Slightly Elongated Canines (Synthetic metal and polycarbonate fillings with toothy exterior; expensive fashion statement)
Chronic Health Conditions:Alcohol Addiction, Half Blind in Right Eye, Damaged Left Knee (Slight hobble offset by walking aide)
Blood Type:B+
Genetic Origin:Irish American/Libteronian Molly
House Origin:Liberty; New York, Planet Manhattan
Backstory
XXXXXXXX Growing up rich, her life planned out, the path ahead all but already decided and ordained by the wealth and influence of her family, Anya O'Neill, or Áine Ó Néill, as she'd later go to call herself by when in good company, couldn't help but try to crash the carriage of her economic trajectory at every turn. From habitual association with gangsters, a rap sheet of petty crime that would normally put a Liberty civilian away for a decade, and a love-hate relationship with money, and the wonderful vices it could fuel, Anya wasn't exactly interested on meeting any expectations set out for her. She was above it all, her class position insulating her from hardship and reprisal save that of her own family. And though she was the black sheep of the litter, she wasn't without merit, or a reason to keep around.
XXXXXXXX Any powerful family knows it's wise to keep tabs on the underworld, and having a corporate heir who could wheel and deal in those grey zones could go a long way for expanding influence, and for a time this seemed to sate Anya's want for a different path in life; uninterested in the management of corrections facilities as a financial oligarch. She was a fixer and an artisan at heart, one who took well to coming in handy to resolve any and all situations her clients mind find themselves in; all to be indebted to the family, of course, and to move capital under the nose of non-corrupt legal entities, rare as they seem in Liberty.
XXXXXXXX She'd take problems people had and solve them, or, barring that, she'd take their gear, or the weapons on hand to her, and break them down, tweak them, remake them. She became sort of a self taught gunsmith, finally revealing a passion for something outside of her vices. Her career as an arms dealer and black market manufacture began here, long before Jackknife Provisions was even a fleeting thought in her brain, but it was quite profitable and informative all the same.
XXXXXXXX Of course a life of crime like that, going into her mid twenties, was one that was bound to either be cut short, or land her in the very same sort of prison her family coffers grew full on, and sure enough, it was. A smuggling run gone wrong, a whole freighter picked up by a Bretonian police strike force; it'd been a sting operation investigating the movement of unlicensed Detroit Arms into criminal hands across the Cortez-California-Manchester shipping lane. Anya may not have been on it herself, but to save face, the Neill family parlayed a deal with Liberty political movers and shakers. They'd extradite their ne'er-do-well heir to a 'favorable prison accommodation' if it meant the Liberty authorities looked the other way on the illicit operations Anya left behind, and her siblings unceremoniously divided up amongst each other the moment word spread of the deal.
XXXXXXXX Needless to say, Anya was furious. For once she'd finally be forced to face real consequences, and her family didn't come to her rescue; no, they sold her out to very house her family betrayed in order to score a revenue all those centuries ago. She should have seen such a betrayal coming really, and although it was only five years, it felt like five years too many than she deserved. Still, Anya could fight it, though she did consider refusing to be taken alive, while under the influence of rather heavy spirits, but passed out before she could commit to any sort of real plan for a 'suicide by compliance droid.' When she awoke, she was in a prison colony on New London, denied trial and official charge as part of the deal to 'keep this mess out of the courts and away from the press.' And while it wasn't the sort of prison the house of Liberty would run, the prisoners were still expected to work away a large part of their day to keep the wheels of industry churning. On the bright side, the work was familiar, and in a way, enjoyable, even if only out of spite.
XXXXXXXX Working on war machines, the mass production of weaponry designed for marines, war-bots, fighters, gunships, and so on. She may as well have taken the place of one of her low-level lackeys; it wasn't like most of her grunt laborers weren't prison slaves themselves. But in typical privileged fashion, her working hours were slightly shorter than others, and her projects more sensitive and complex than that of the average inmate. This afforded her no small amount of free time with which to stew and simmer. To ruminate on what she'd done, and what had been done to her. And just what she was going to do all about this.
XXXXXXXX That was when she fell in with a gang of Mollys, really, the gang of Mollys at the prison complex she was stuck in. They knew her name, and for her first year in bondage, they were fixing to shank her with a screwdriver when she least expected it, but they thought twice of it, realizing she could be of greater use to them alive than dead. And Anya, for her part, was all too eager to take in new ideas; a means to explain her predicament, and perhaps to challenge old notions of how the world worked.
XXXXXXXX The next four years were notably odd for the Neills on the outside who actually bothered to keep tabs on their erstwhile delinquent relative. She started requesting books, and no, not technical manuals or similar sorts that she was used to keeping in a disorganized pile around her workshop; books on history. On old earth history, and on the history of Bretonia, on the Mollys, on various 'terrorist' groups. Some raised brows, showed mild concern, but most just wrote it off as either 'getting to know your enemy,' or 'expanding market horizons.' And, in a way, they were dead on the money with that. Anya was getting to know her enemy, but whom the enemy was had changed drastically. More texts, romantic recounts of half remembered or revised history, illicit literature, both mundane and... politically charged. The family provided it all, and maybe one day they'd regret it, but Anya wouldn't let them realize for a long while.
XXXXXXXX When the fifth year was up, six months added on top after she was caught up in a stint of targeted assaults on rival gang members in the prison, Anya emerged from Bretonian space a changed woman. Armed with new knowledge some would call crazy, others stupid, and what she'd call quite convincing, Anya, now going by Áine in some circles, returned just in time to 'mourn' her dead parents. The funeral was a sad affair, not because anyone wept much, but because all the family could think about was who to get a leg up on next. Áine had seen this sort of shakeup happen before as kid, but now, into her early thirties, she wasn't about to be left high an dry. She may not have had the greatest of claim or stake in the official family business, but she had plenty of dirt to sell out on, and plenty of connections to turn sour against the Neill family. Really, she just wanted her humble sum to 'get back on my feet' and leave the larger corporate pie to the more traditional of her siblings. It was a clever game she played, for she sought only the pieces on the board no one else saw much value in, and so her winnings were guaranteed, and even a bit bigger than some of the worst losers who tried their hand at a more 'typical' endgame.
XXXXXXXX And thus Red Stag Shipping is born, from that leftover capital both liquid and fixed. A front to be certain, but a necessary one, for she had graduated beyond petty gangsterism for its own sake; now she had a cause to fight for. Not just the cause of the Molly's, but of the Hessians, the Coalition fighters, the workers Sirius wide. And it was only two fifths a bit of moral or principle enlightenment; the other three pieces were a neat division of latent greed and hunger for her vices, a hatred of the systems and institutions that betrayed her, even in this slightest and mildest of ways, and a flippant sort of 'do what thou wilt' attitude that accompanied her passions for all things involved in the waging of war from a technical and logistical standpoint. A ready-made dyed-in-the-red-wool warlord in the making, Áine founded Jackknife to live up to its namesake for the revolutionary and anti establishment forces of the Sirius stars; a hidden blade quickly unsheathed and lodged in the gut of the unlucky and unwise bastard who stepped up to the wrong plate.
XXXXXXXX Ideally, she'll live long enough to see herself twist that little blade of hers, just for the hell of it; to really make the houses squirm.
Personality and Demeanor
XXXXXXXX Anya, Áine, is a temperamental and tricksy woman. In many senses of those words really; she's quick to anger, and in classical underworld fashion, she has a violent way of expressing her displeasure. And she'd tricksy because she's quite good at lying and flying under the radar of the 'well-to-do' systems of the houses, but just as well, she's also not against outright betrayal if the ends are of greater interest to her than whatever means she might sacrifice on the way. That isn't to say she is one who often betrays others, just that she is quite capable and willing; weakness and lack of use are the most evident attributes in those who fall prey to this aspect of her.
XXXXXXXX Then there's her strange fondness for the romantic, and no, not the kind where you have a nice bit of wine and gin gazing out at the stars, though she is weak to a certain sort of courtship (and booze), but classical romance; historical romance. The struggle of the doomed revolutionaries of some old war before the days of the coalition, the sacrifice of the lowly peasant or worker when faced with the bristling guns of the tyrant. The final stand at the barricades. This, and all sorts of appeals to grandeur and significance, her own especially, are easy hacks to her heart and mind; a horse easily led to the pool from which it will easily drink.
XXXXXXXX To say Áine has a bit of a prideful streak then is a mild understatement, though she isn't a total narcissist. If anything, her own self absorption in the 'cause' and being of importance to it manifests in a very flexible sort of generosity and charity. if she believes in it, wants it to succeed, she'll throw credits down a bottomless pit if she think it'll do something to help push things along in the right direction. Say the right things and have a good track record for success, and any cause is liable to see liberal application of discounts and donations to their efforts.
XXXXXXXX This all coalesces into an odd sort of outgoing persona, that of the revolutionary entrepreneur, the smooth talking, wisecracking dealer, the fixer with a heart of gold in a cage of barbed wire. How much is real and how much of it is self imposed delusion is irrelevant, because Áine believes it. Sure she may love the money, the booze, the chems, the guns, the men, the women, the thrill of the criminal, militant revolutionary lifestyle, but she does seem to have at least some genuine part of her soul invested in the cause of bettering conditions for the average victim of the houses, for better, or worse.
(Sorry if this is amateur in the setting etc I'm brand new to the game and lore so just doing my best here. Lemme know if things need changing or you have suggestions)
![[Image: qFe1t2S.png]](https://imgur.com/qFe1t2S.png)
