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During the Battle of the Yanagi Cloud in 668 A.S. at the end of the Eighty Year War, Rheinland saw its fleet utterly destroyed by the GMG in a decisive battle. The Rheinland Imperial Navy was crippled, its mighty warships turned to nothing but wreckage to decorate the desolate Sigma-13 system. ALG was tasked with cleaning the debris field in an effort to aid the now failing Rheinland economy. But they were not the only ones who took an interest in the opportunity.

A small-time freelancer in the region, Irmgard Gramlich, invested heavily in the operation and was rewarded with a large payback. Continued investment turned him into a millionaire, which he then used to bribe an ALG worker to tow one of the pieces of large wreckage to a location in the New Berlin system. Several Hercules were hired, along with a work force, to move to the wreck and begin installing life support systems, defence turrets and docking bays. Soon the piece of wreckage, the midsection of the RNC-Stier Rheinland battleship, had all the primary functions of a station.

Its location was not revealed to anyone until all of the defence systems were prepared; a decision which nearly bankrupt Gramlich. But he felt it to be a good decision for security reasons. Even then he told few, but they all came to see the station, which Gramlich had dubbed "The Beast's Belly" which had been painted over the name of the battleship.

Those people told others. Then they told. Then they told. It continued in this fashion until much of the underground system new about it: a station controlled by a freelancer welcome to all who bought a drink or paid for repairs. It was like a freeport in the New Berlin system. And it became the new breeding ground for scum in the region.

By 702 A.S., the supposed year of the Popular Revolution, the Beast's Belly had become a new hub of organised crime in New Berlin, and one hundred and fifty klicks above the plain of New Berlin was a hard place to enforce the law. Gramlich was an old man close to death, but he had scooped in the credits and was worth over one hundred million. His son, Manfred, was quick to take over the station after his father died at the end of the year.

But over the next hundred years, absolutely nothing changed. The Rheinland government kept a very close watch on all traffic moving in and out of the station. But the station was never closed down due to the fact that the operators never assisted in any illegal actions that were organised at the station. They were impartial. Not willing to help but not willing to condon either.

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The Beast's Belly is seen as a freeport for the unlawfuls of Rheinland, whether they be poor independant pirates or the richest of organised crime bosses. There are occassionally lawful presences, but they have better places to get their drinks and beds. So the Beast's Belly remains a stop for all who want a drink, a bed, or a location to conduct business. Nobody is rejected from the doors. So long as they have enough credits to dock on the station.

Inside the small bar of the Belly, a man in a relatively nondescript civilian outfit sits in the corner, his name or purpose known to few. A scout, some say, others say a spy. Still others speculate that he is a man with nothing left, who wants to spend the rest of his days drinking away the pain. Those that talk to him expect few answers, and get even less. He orders another drink, keeping a watchful eye on the proceedings of the station, rarely returning to his rented room.

Although he rarely visited the core house systems, whenever Roger Claymore made the rare trek he always found time to visit The Beast's Belly, no matter how many transports were in the lanes waiting to have their wallets lightened.

He walked casually into the small, poorly lit bar. Although there was a larger bar a few decks down, it was more of a public place for official business. But Roger wasn't at The Beast's Belly for official, important business. Just a repair for his Barghest, Artificial Sunset, his Roc which he had decided against naming, and his drink. He had a Sabre aswell, parked on Freeport One in Omega-3, but he would miss his Snack too badly. His Snack was his Supernova Antimatter Cannon, and although it should be written as SNAC, he always preferred his version. He had pissed off plenty of people and wanted to keep it close by.

Roger Claymore was a pirate, so all of the usual people were immediately pissed when he began taxing the miners of Omega-7. He started during a hot-spot - the signing of the treaty of Omega-7 - so all of the lawful factions in the area were eager to shoo him away. But Roger wasn't discouraged, and made a very quick two hundred millions before several factors contributed to a decrease in profits for him.

Kruger, Daumann, IMG, and the Colonials had all been trying to take him out. But they had each lost plenty more ships than he had. Then the Rheinland Military got involved. They lost plenty of ships aswell. Roger would never, ever stop bragging about how three Military Wraiths tried to take him out, and he destroyed two and chased the third away.

However, everyone was learning his tactics. They wouldn't joust him without shields now. They knew he was good with his Snack. But the WRF hadn't jousted him without shields from the start. They really pissed him off. But if they didn't want to fight right, then he just left. They couldn't stop him. And by then all of the miners would be gone anyway.

But then things changed, when he was attacked by the SCRA and the RHA moved in to assist. Roger destroyed one of the RHA ships. The Hessians then blocked his docking rights on all of their bases. That pissed him off, as he had always used Freital and Ronneburg because they were closest. But he adjusted and moved on, and the Hessians just became new targets. Except for the Neo Vikings, who he had made a friendship with. They were alright.

The next people he pissed off were the Junkers, when two transports were pirating in his field he decided to tax them. He destroyed one and made the other flee. Then the Junkers Congress got involved and blocked his docking rights on all of their stations. But their bases weren't close enough to be useful, so he didn't care very much.

Then they decided to put an eighty-five million credit bounty on his buttocks for the destruction of five of his ships. So Roger decided to buy five CSVs, register his name to them and get a friend to destroy them all. They'd split the profits. He was still waiting for Dylan to report that he had received all of the money, before Roger could go bragging.

He moved over to the bar and sat on one of the stools, then ordered a Sidewinder Fang. He glanced at the others in the bar, pinging what he suspected they were. But most were in pairs, socialising with eachother. There was one sat alone in the corner, drinking quietly. Roger decided that if the guy wanted to talk, he'd let him come to him first. He grabbed his Sidewinder Fang and took a long gulp.

The man in the corner sipped his drink, noticing that he was being watched. He eyed the man warily and rolled up one sleeve, revealing a bracer around his arm. Tapping it a few times, he rolled down his sleeve, smiled at the man knowingly, and resumed his drinking.

A strange looking Teenager would come walking into the bar having chosen the smaller bar out of the two having always having preferred the less crowded places, wearing a black light wight long sleeved hooded t-shirt, a pair of long black light wight jeans, a pair of black leather gloves covering his hands along with black shoes and a heavy looking military style bag, with two pistols strapped to each thigh along with the last item being a strange metal band around his wrist, his stance would be laxing but have caution in it as he steps walking in medium silent steps being light on his feet, making his way over to a vacant table with a pair of very small wireless ear buds in his ears as he sits down still having his back on sitting with his back into the corner his eyes peering around the room for a moment before they close silently having the look as if he hadn't slept in a months. When the keeper of the establishment tried to take his order he gave the man a slight look over keeping the eye contact for a few seconds before closing them again completely ignoring him, the bartender being in differed would shrug and just move back to serving the others having been serving in the bar for a while, he would already be use to these type of people.

Roger Claymore sipped at his Sidewinder Fang. He had pinged the teenager as soon as he had moved into the bar, and had watched his display with the bartender. The bartender moved away, back behind the bar to fetch drinks for a pair of men at a distant table.

'Kids,' Roger heard him mutter as he walked past. The bartender had a Libertonian accent.

'Yeah, shame we all 'ad ta be 'em,' Roger replied casually. The bartender looked at him, then put down the drinks he was carrying and rested his elbows on the bar.

'Finally, another guy from Liberty comes here for a drink. Where you from?'

'Houston. The slums. You?'

'Los Angeles. But I decided to move to Rheinland, 'cos I decided I'd make more money faster. Why're you here?'

Roger didn't particularly want to say why he was there. He liked keeping as many secrets as possible, because they could all be useful one day. So he did what he always did: lied.

'Was an escort for a Republican convoy moving through from Kusari. But I decided to come here to get a drink and finally see the place.' Three loud bangs echoed through the bar. Roger saw the bartender focus on a table, and Roger turned to see. The pair of men were growing impatient in the wait for their drinks.

'I gotta sort this,' the bartender mumbled as he picked up the drinks and carried them over to the impatient table. Roger took another gulp of his drink.

Bill, who everyone just called that to shorten down William, read the note asking for frozen water, and moved back to the bar to get the drink. By the time he arrived back at the bar, with the thought of receiving no response from the customer a probable outcome, there was another man requesting a drink.

'Coming right up sir,' Bill told the newcomer as he pivoted on his feet to get to the refrigerated cupboard where he kept the drinks. Everything else was shiny metal, but for some reason the booze cupboard had a wooden case. Bill thought it gave the place a sense of class. But like anybody noticed it.

He didn't know what the newcomer meant about keeping the cardi out of it, but he sure knew how to dish out a strong Fang. He grabbed the bottle out of the fridge and started to pour, while he decided what other ingredients to add to really bring out the flavour. He finished pouring so the normal stuff filled eighty percent of the glass. Then he turned back to the fridge, put the Sidewinder Fang bottle back and brought out a number of strength enhancers.

After thirty seconds of pouring each enhancer into individual measuring glasses, he decided he had the right combination and poured them all into the glass with the Sidewinder Fang. He gave the glass to the customer, and turned to put the measuring glasses in the sink. Then he picked up the frozen water and started walking over to the kid. The kid had better have credits, Bill thought to himself.

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Roger Claymore stared at the newcomer with the Junker uniform, and wondered if he knew who he was. Roger had pissed off enough Junkers, they probably all knew about him. But would this one try to cause trouble?

The man in his forties dirty and unshaved with a strange leather hat walks into bar while carrying something heavy on his shoulder. He goes straight to the bartender whistling and ignoring everyone around, he approaches and says :" 'Ello Bill lad, how's it going fecker, oi've brought ye yer sign ye asked fer. " Bill looks him and replies : "Ah Mickey long time no see, thank you my friend". Bill takes out a sign made of scrapped metal and hangs it above the bar, the sign said THE BEAST'S BELLY BAR. Mickey ordered an old Scotch that Bill kept only for old time customers. He grabbed a bottle, walked to the empty table, took of his jacket uncovering his arms full of tattoos with gambling and naked women pictures. He set down looked at the Roger and kick the chair in front of the table to make room for him, and said :" 'Ello lad, oi' didn't expect ye aroond 'ere, what' ye up to bugger, get yerself a glass and sit here." He takes out cigarettes from his packet along with pack of matches and lights one.