Michael Vega was born to be stuck in the middle. Michael Vega was born to be "average". Michael Vega was born... to be quiet.
Early in the year of 792AS, parents Roxanne and Richard Vega welcomed there son into the worlds. Being born into a middle-class family, was no issue for Micheal; it was the middle-class mindset that he had a hard time adjusting to. At the age of seventeen, Michael had demonstrated great skill in the form of diplomacy, wit, and rapid learning; unfortunately, there is always a catch. Micheal was extremely anti-social: speaking when spoken to, working when paid to, but above all, being unnoticed when it was convenient. Micheal Vega was a ghost, stuck between the seen and unseen.
When his parents ultimately divorced, he vowed to escape mediocrity. Two weeks later, he graduated high school... As an A/B student. Two months after graduating, he had established a thriving information system management proprietorship. Two years later, Micheal Vega was gone... Or so his peers thought. When his friends started cataloging old photographs, they realized that Vega was in at least one from every single event. No one remembered seeing or talking to him at the various outings, but the images could not lie: "Quiet" Vega was there.
Micheal Vega had moved up to the pinnacle of his success. He bought an abandoned office building in the city of New Johnstown (which is on Planet Erie), and began filling it with antique comms equipment, using the space that was left to open a flea market. At the projects completion, Vega had ears into the world around him, and a slurry of semi-lucrative businesses to support his "eccentric" vagabond lifestyle. After powering up his comms equipment, he encountered a strange new happening in the Pennsylvania System: the symptoms of a strange neural net virus that seemed to be affecting many pilots. After cataloging the incidents he had successfully identified the effects of the virus "LOLwut?", which impairs many rookie pilots that depart through the Erie docking ring.
Being the silent/mysterious/self-made man that he was, Quiet Vega bought a small ship and ventured out into Liberty space. Though the symptoms were occasionally identified in the New York System, it seemed the threat of the virus was short-lived: by the time Vega made it to the Cortez system, all traces of the virus seemed to vanish. In a similar manner, pilots once infected with the virus were free from the effects within a day or so, and it seemed that neural net heuristics blocked the virus from returning after the Erie docking ring was exited a second time.
" . . . Well... That was pointless..." Quiet Vega muttered, "Now what?"
Seeking to find a niche that only a ghost could fill, Quiet Vega roamed the systems seeking adventure, occasionally finding it (and more often, finding absolutely nothing).
"Ok... This is boring... Why did I come out here again? Oh yeah... I was bored..."
". . ."
"Screw this..." he mutters to himself, "Maybe I'll just join the Navy..."
"Personal Neural Net Log number... . . . WHATEVER.
"When I first ventured out in space... There wasn't too much there... There was the Navy, the Liberty Rogues, Of course there were the corporations... Kusari... Bretonia... Even Rheinlanders occasionally... But not like this... For the first time in my life... The vast void of space seems, well... crowded.
"It seems that there is always someone out there ready to take your spot... Someone wants your job, your credits, your role... And they already know how to do it better than you... Needless to say, this pisses me off a lot. There are pirates that attack my transport when I go on trading runs... My little freighter just seems to be a zit that get's popped so easily these days... And should I go out to take a relaxing cruise at 350KPS, someone thinks I'm up to something and nearly gives me whiplash just to ruin my day...
"Don't even get me started on tradelanes; everyone's so paranoid when they see me at a disabled one... Do they scan my cargo? NO. Do they see the pirate pods floating around? NO. They always assume I'm up to something other than getting some pesky kids out of the null and back home (rather than trashed up on cardi... or worse...). Rheinland hates me... all because of that little incident with that freakin' cruiser... I TRIED TO EXPLAIN! But does Rheinland Military care that I spilled my fruit cocktail? NO. That the heavy syrup shorted the fire control system? NO. But heaven forbid a cruise disruptor and a few transport T4 rounds hit the broadside... Since when is spilling a snack an act of hostility...? That was my last fruit cup too... Those things ain't cheap...
"On a brighter note... The Corsairs apparently love me... (I guess they got wind that I shot down those 11 Outcast ships by the Texas Jumpgate.) It's good to know that someone notices you... Still no reply from the Liberty Navy... Who'da thunk that it would be so hard to get in... I figured they'd sign me up and at least put me on debris detail to keep some junkers in line... But I guess... Liberty is developing the ability to pick and choose... I'm happy for them... REALLY... I just wish they could at least shoot me down with some common courtesy rather than make me wait...
"On a side note, this transport has finally been paid off... I'm thinking of doing some combat drills in the by and by... Who knows... There may be some fight in me after all.
"Well... Running out of tradelane... I hate to cut short... But I love to kill the moment... Thanks for listening brain... You rock!