Sam was an unwanted accident that happened after his so called biological 'father' spent a long night with a dirty prostitute. When he was born he was left in a trash can to die until he was found by a young couple taking their trash out who promptly took Sam and took him in as their own. Unbeknownst to Sam these two new people were Liberty Rogues however they shielded Sam from the horrible truth until he was older. Once he was 14 they started to teach him to fly and introduced him to the rest of the rogues where he spent the rest of his life. He had long suspected his new parents to be in a criminal organisation so when they finally revealed they were Rogues he wasn't too surprised and carried on their work. He eventually took their last names as a thank you for raising him.

Sam "Serious" Atkinson,

After reviewing your application you have been deemed a perfect fit for the Rogues. I would pity you for your childhood, but we do not have time for that here. I hope that you'll not make us regret our decision by trying to do anything fancy.

None.

Born on Planet Manhattan, where I never had the chance to meet my parants, probably because they died quite early, I would call it police brutality, other people call it, a bad day for a smuggler. I never really had a good time without my parants, so I also started to deal with illegal game copies and knifes where I managed to earn my first money. I still managed to finish my A-Level and got my first job as a delivery service guy. In that hob I could combine some of my drug runs for a good amount of customers, of course stuff like that ain't getting unnoticed, so the police was trying to caught me. But, I'm a clever guy so I ran to a nearby Rogue station where I already had a good reputation for supplying them with various goods. Now I'm stuck on Buffalo, having a warrant on my head ain't making it easy to return... so why shouldn't I join the Rogues and keep their smuggling flow alive?

Blind Bob isn't exactly what you would call the best Rogue. With a drive for profit, a short attention span, and a general lack of intelligence. Its no surprise that shear dumb luck lead to his current...command. But most of his life up-to this point has been mired in bad investments and poor choices.

His current vessel was fell into his lap when his boss, who was in a rather Infamous Cartel, went missing he took claim of the coveted vessel. In that time the Cartel has since collapsed and Bob has found himself rather alone, so to speak, driving the thousands of slaves towards the orange fields of Malta.

HEY Phil,

Boss has told me to leave you a message. Bugger off, we don't want your stinking kind around here with your "Oh no my parents died when I was young" crap! Suck it up. We've all had to deal with shit far worse then that. I was born in an f'ing TRASH CAN! Yeah, beat that. Get out of here before we rip you a new one sunny. Also, what kinda of name is runner? Are you constantly shitting yourself or some dumb crap like that? HAHA.

Bob.

Huh. Bob. Bob. Bob. BLIND BOB. WHAT kinda dumb NAME is that? COME ON. A BLIND rogue named BOB? WHO F'ING RAISED YOU? Some degenerate I bet. THE BOSS has told me to leave YOU a message. Get your stupid ass down here now. You're one of us boyo.


Euh. For some reason I get all the crap jobs around here.

Vorlis was but an infant when he was found among trash and debris by junkers sifting through a recent wreck in the New York system. He was named after the two ships that caused the wreck where he was discovered. The Vorlis and The Gideon. Vorlis was raised as an errand boy for a small crew of independent junkers. He was physically abused and disrespected as a form of amusement for the crew. He never spoke a word around the crew because it would only lead to him earning another beating. Treated like the garbage from which he was found he would whisper to himself at night ways of tearing apart each crew member. On his 15th birthday he was allowed to visit Manhattan to move hazardous cargo as his birthday gift. Upon landing he noticed a small vendor selling souvenirs. Among those souvenirs was an engraved dagger that said, "FORGE YOUR DREAMS!" For a mere 4 credits he bought the dull dagger without hesitation and shoved it into his pocket. That night while everyone was sleeping in their own lodging after loading the cargo and drinking themselves unconscious. Vorlis slit each one of their throats and whispered his true unspoken thoughts into their ears as they woke struggling to breathe. Many years later Vorlis remains a man of few words as he prefers to save his breath for those about to lose their own when they cross him.

So I’mma be real, lookin’ for a new hustle, and them boys in Texas told me ya’ll down in the DMs. Been putin’ in junker work a while, but end up bein’ they ain’t tryin’a watch a brotha’s back, feel me? So I’m putin’ in my time gettin’ some naranja movin’ in Liberty, some punk think he gonna skip a line so he pull me out to get his fix cause he itchin’ in front of some pigs.

Next thing I know, I get me a first-class ticket on the Sugarlan’ express cause this guy thinkin’ he’s gonna skip distribution, know what I’m sayin? I got eight years away from momma’s cookin’, still makes me feel some type’a way ‘bout it. Ain’t nobody need knowin’ how it go down in the pen, and I bet some’a ya’ll feel me.

So squalie drop me off on Houston when I get out, head off to momma’s house, an’ she got my old ride penned up waitin’ on me ‘cause she a saint. Gotta keep payin’ bills, so I spend a few weeks gettin’ some old boys ready to learn how to hustle, but junker gang say I got squalie lookin’ out for me now since I already been squeezed once.

Call back the old squad when we ready, they all “who you” and tell me to go packin’ cause I ain’t safe no more like it’s my fault. Ain’t tryin’a hear that, ain’t gonna back me up or thank me for takin’ a charge, they just tell me get out they face. Gotta get back in that runnin’ life with some people who know how a hustle goes down, know what I mean? People been talkin’ ’bout ya’ll in the pen, and it sound like ya’ll might feel me. Ain’t tryin’a tip-toe 'round what I do anymore, just wanna pay momma’s bills, ya heard?

Whisper,

I hope you're better in space than you are in conversation, kid. I'm already bored. In saying that, you must have impressed someone here; Boss wanted me to pass on the message that you're in.



Mixtape,

I only got about half of what you just said. Something about cooking, right? Be a darling and bring me some of that orange stuff while you wait for us to get back to you on this one, yeah?

Mixtape

It bothers me highly that I had the displeasure of decoding your abhorant linguistic ability for my boss' amusement, though for whatever reason despite such a setback akin to a cave man's mating call that would've seen you thrown from an airlock normally, the woman on the throne has advised me to alert you that you have been accepted into the pack.... congratulations.

N/A