Who are you?
Name’s Elias "Striker" Voss. Some call me that because I used to run salvage ops in the Barrier Nebula—turns out, wreckage pays better than politics. I was born on Gran Canaria (795 A.S.), back when the planet still had green valleys instead of BMM tax forms and Bretonian patrols. By the time I was old enough to fly, the ice was coming, the Marines were digging in, and the only "freedom" left was whose boots you preferred on your neck. So I took a junker ship and never looked back.
Where do you come from?
Omega-48, technically. But "home" was a prefab settlement near the old delta, where the water turned to frost cracks and the only thing growing was the Corsair Movement. My parents were engineers—worked on terraforming rigs until BMM bought out the contracts. I learned two things young: how to fix a fusion torch and smell a lie. The Houses lie. The Corps lie. Even some Zoners lie. The Phoenix? You don’t seem the type.
Why join the Phoenix?
Because I’ve spent twenty years watching Sirius fight over scraps while the edges of the map go unexplored. The Phoenix doesn’t just talk about freedom—you live it. No permits, no quotas, just the black and whatever’s past it. I can pilot anything with thrusters, patch up a reactor with scrap, and I don’t scare easy. If you need someone who’ll fly into the unknown and not ask for permission, I’m your man.
