*NOTE THAT THIS STORY IS PURELY IN RP*
Now that we got that out of the way... 
This is part 1 of my backstory. Future installments will come when I feel like creating them...and I don't have that urge currently. 
Part I
He knew what hell was like.
Born and raised on Planet Houston, Balthazar Andersen knew first-hand what living on Houston’s surface was like – a perpetual, neverending nightmare. The days were infernal, the nights were subarctic, and the bio-domes necessary to support life on Houston’s boundless deserts seemingly did little to quell the conditions. If there was a literal ‘hell’ in Sirius, he knew damn well he was in it, all while being forced to assemble cheap laptop computers that will likely be bought by some lonely Zoner far out there in the Edge Worlds. The way he thought it, why the hell was a non-criminal such as himself being pressured into the forced labor camps anyways, simply because he was born on Houston? It didn’t matter that his mother, Junker Marianne Andersen was sentenced for life because she decided to smuggle an entire train full of classified alien research onto the surface of Manhattan. It was like he was being kept here just for the sake of him keeping his mouth shut…which just happened to be the one thing he was no good at.
While Marianne, who died of a heart attack when Balthazar was 20, was known for her tenacity and toughness as both a woman and a fighter pilot, along with an iron will that never gave up, her son Balthazar was a sneaky coward at heart that would actively avoid all forms of combat if he could help it. He would manipulate various parties in the factories to come to blows with each other, all while painting himself as a ‘patron saint’…with good enough behavior, maybe he could get out of hell. After 26 years of general brownnosing and cowardice (even as a young kid, Balthazar was a manipulative SOB), his time finally came…not because Liberty Police, Inc. thought he was good enough to be paroled, but because of of focused attacks on the LPI factories by the Xenos. For once, those damn good-for-nothing Xeno thugs did something right, Balthazar thought. He took advantage of the pandemonium erupting on Houston to finally strike free of his own personal hell. After carefully sneaking around the different LPI barracks trying to find a decent ship (there was no way in hell he was going leave in one of those dinky LPI Patriots), his patience paid off – one of the landing zones on Houston had a pristine Alliance Reaper, well equipped with Cannonball missile launchers and Coalition Gattling guns. This was perfect. What wasn’t perfect was that very ship was owned by one of LPI’s chiefs, Rick McIntyre – the same man who arrested his mother 30 years ago. As he saw the chief approaching the craft, Balthazar knew this was fate in its purest form – he could not only get out of Liberty space, but he could also kill the donut-chomping jackass who was responsible for imprisoning his mother.
“Got any last words, copper, before I blast you out of the skies and take your precious ship?”
Balthazar pulled out his trusty plasma pistol, aimed for Rick’s head, and threatened the chief with those words. Unflinchingly, McIntyre told Balthazar “Whoever the hell you are, scum, it’ll be a cold day in hell before I fall and let a jailbird like you walk over me” and pulled out his gauss rifle. Likewise, Balthazar, surprisingly, given his character, didn’t budge in his convictions, either.
“Too late. You’re already dead.”
Before the chief could even react to Balthazar’s boast, he unloaded a blast of energy that hit Rick McIntyre between the eyes, killing him instantly. The chief’s Reaper was now officially his. Balthazar realized one thing…the hell he knew was officially extinguished, and he was finally a free man. Only now, he had no idea where he could actually run away to.
