You are a resilient and tough survivor, often using your skills and knowledge to stay alive in hostile environments or situations. Maybe you learned to survive through difficult experiences in your past, or you may have undergone specialized training to become a survival expert. Alternatively, you may have found yourself stranded in a dangerous location with no choice but to adapt and survive.
Your Father was a Racer.
Luna hoons are some of the bravest or craziest, yet the most daring, pilots in the cybercore universe. Luna hoons get their name from both the markers they race around and the lunatic personality traits required to even risk such a sport. But what a sport it is, the stakes are high in every category. Watch by trillions across the multiverse the money that changes hands over these races would purchase several small galaxy clusters. It’s a sport in which one races for money around the moons and asteroid fields of the outer rims, these space pilots and hyper warp junkies race some of the fastest and most dangerous custom-built one or two-man scout ships in the known universe.
Often built from scraps of frigates, tug-haulers, or anything that has a large powerful space drive these speeders are known for both their speed, agility, and their ability to spontaneously scramble their drivers like eggs if the inertial dampeners fail, making the sport of luna hooning one of the fastest growing and deadly thrill rides in the galaxy today.
Your Father was one of these. His ship the Zencrillean Hawk, or what's left of it, as well as your inheritance, his previous race winnings, await you in Argos III.
You know little of the ‘accident’, your father was a careful man, well careful as far as luna-hoons go. As well as an excellent X-Navy engineer, he was a good pilot. Not the best by any means, but you didn’t have to win to make money Luna hooning and racing was in your family.
Most luna-hoons survive maybe two or three seasons on the circuit, Some go for the big bucks right from day one, flying nothing more than the biggest engine they can buy with a single inertia dampener and a spacesuit strapped on for good measure. Your father would always look sad and shake his head when he saw them readying these suicide pods.
Microfractures he would warn, tiny asteroids in the belts would rip their suits, too many rips and not enough repair gel and they were floaters. Still, if you were a racer and came across a floater you were allowed to take a claim on their ship as long as you also brought the body home. The ‘Pickers’ were those kinds of racers, not aiming for a top ten position, just there to collect the scrap and sell on the engines and bring home the deceased. Most serious racers wouldn’t stop. The serious money was in the top ten positions and you would have to be an amazing pilot to ‘pick’ and still finish in the top ten.
Your father wasn’t a ‘Picker’, not until his second to last race, He stopped to collect uncle Ian's ship ‘The Blue Nacelle’, then he flew like a wild man in a rage. He came second. Watching from home you could tell he was angry, as he marched up to the podium fist clenched, The first placed racer turned and said something, it wasn’t picked up by the mic’s over the roaring crowd, but whatever it was, he knocked the first place racer on his ass clear off the podium. It cost him half his winnings.
It was your Dad’s 9th Season. He was a ‘Survivor racer’, That was where his money was, as long as he made a Top ten finish he bet on his own survival. You needed to clear 5 seasons, do something sensational or seriously piss someone off, to get the bookie's attention to make money that way. You suspect your Dad had now done all three as you watch the first-place winner, angrily push her way through the crowd, refusing to retake her place on the podium, It was your Dad’s 89th Race. After race 90 he had promised your mum he would come home.
They don’t transmit details of these kinds of incidents across space. It’s to easy for the news companies to crack the transmissions, or bribe the unico’s for the decryption keys.
The details await with the Saros operatives at Argos III. Your thoughts are black, you want answers.
With the good wishes of your mother and your Aunt to ‘Send the boys home’, still ringing in your ears, you board the Asylum and fade into the deeper blackness of stasis sleep, hoping that out there off-planet you will find the answers you seek, somewhere in the darkness.
Survivor As a Survivor, you've faced life-threatening situations and lived to tell the tale. Your passing familiarity with this legacy means you're able to keep a cool head in the face of danger and are able to improvise and adapt to changing situations. You have a talent for finding ways to stay alive, but it can also make you somewhat jaded and cynical.
Survivor Growing up on the edge of civilization, you’ve learned how to live off the land and make do with what you have. You’re tough, resilient, and know how to survive in even the harshest environments.
Knacks:
Wilderness Survival: You have an innate understanding of how to find food, water, and shelter in the wilderness. You can also track and hunt game, and navigate through difficult terrain. Resourceful: You can make the most of limited resources, improvising tools and equipment when needed. Quirks:
Reluctant to Trust: Having been let down by others before, you’re slow to trust strangers and prefer to keep to yourself. PTSD: You’ve been through some traumatic experiences, and they still haunt you from time to time.