Name: Rook "Mad Dog" Blackwell
Age: 32
House of Origin: Bretonia
Who are you?(//Short Back Story):
Well, I'd love to say I was just some privileged white boy that grew up in lavish decadence on planet Cambridge, that's just not the case. I was born on Leeds, yeah the planet that's dryer than my humor right about now. Can't say I feel too much remorse for the loss of that damn planet, it was already defaced and abused beyond any recognizable painting of its former existence. As most of the lower class people born on Leeds, I was essentially a corporate slave, trading my soul for a few pounds an hour, if I was lucky that is, working the endless construction and maintenance of the sh*thole factories and slums. Doing the odd mechanic work here and there. Eventually I signed on with BMM to get off that god forsaken smoggy rock.
Everyone knows how that goes, at least those that come out the other end. The work was worse on Graves, grueling, tiring, painful and slow, I was barely making more than I was earning on Leeds, and I'd love to tell you I earned enough to get the f*ck outta there, but again, why would a working poor son of Leeds get a break. Hint, they won't. For a solid 4 damn years I broke my back and worked myself bloody for that damn company. Shipping off all the nation's gold to foreign investors, consumers and militaries alike, all to put more money in the pockets of my total f*ckin scumbag boss who acted more like a slave owner than a respectable individual. A fat whale like you wouldn't believe, greasy and slimy, horrid teeth, only damn thing he was good at was scarin' our socks off with his booming voice. Naturally, some of the miners employed with the BMM get info out to the Mollys however they can, leaked security codes and what not, disable the weapons platforms for a few minutes until security sees what's happening and brings them back online, station takes a few hits, nearly kills us all. They have us all line up and threaten to chuck us out the airlock if we don't tell them who the guy was that did it. Saw a lot of guys give in and say who it was, unfortunately that last time, nobody was cracking. I got chosen at complete f*ckin' random for torture or what they call "Employee Therapy" until I revealed what I knew to them, the man that did the deed over a month's time knew I didn't know a thing, he just enjoyed what he was doing too much to stop. He took my eyes, cut me open in so many places I can't even remember them all... find a new scar every day, got various tattoos to try and hide them, only works so well. Branded my forehead, snapped a couple bones, kept me unfed until I was behaving more like a maddened dog than a man, the insanity of hunger setting in ever stronger by the minute. I'll spare you the whole story, they replaced my ripped out eyes with cybernetic implants, so they could see what I see. That way, they would know who the guys were before the leaks ever happened.
Eventually we got out, plenty of raids, plenty of vanishing workers, Mollys stole a transport and loaded plenty of us up on it. One of the crazy bastards was apparently a failed surgeon, comforting, he disabled the transmitter stuck in my head and pulled it out. Now I see through various shades of yellow, these low grade cybernetics are horrid, but at least I can see. With the Molly movement reaching peaks it always falls back down into non existence, not a solid work ethic, not an existence I wish to live. I learned of Cork, and I knew of Leeds already. With Gaia currently under invasion, and the defunct GRN seemingly retreating, I wanna be there to say I tried to stop the perversion of that planet, still mostly untouched by the parasite that is mankind. And to hopefully make a man out of myself and give meaning to this horrid title, rather than some slave with utterly sh*t luck.
