So, once upon a time, I was escorting a Molly Slave convoy through Leeds when I saw a couple reavers opening fire on those Armed forces dudes. Didn't really give it much attention, ain't too fond of them anyhow.
When we reached our destination, I saw a old family friend and we decided to go have some margarita's at the bar downstairs. She was really important to me, we grew up together. Last part of my past I could touch. Over a couple turn of events I might've maybe gotten myself into a brawl behind the counter when my foe pulls out his blaster and lets me have it, her as well...
After recovering from my wounds I was placed in the jail cell for a day and a half, and they wouldn't let me see my she-friend. Turns out she hadn't recovered as well, or at all.
I broke down, I had nothing. I requested to be taken down to the bar, so I could relive my mistake. There was a note on the seat she sat. It told me to come here, to this transmission.
A year passed and I had forgotten completely about the note, and had passed on from my loss. The small smuggling convoy I had been employed by wasn't making enough profit. My salary was being cut lower and lower, untill I couldn't afford rent. They told me to pack and go, so I started going through my old stuff. Had to make some cuts or I wouldn't afford a ride back to Berlin. Found the note in my pillow sheets.
So I'm here, desperate. Gonna give it my full effort.