Before is not important.
Once there was a little boy, abandoned left to fend for himself. living on scraps of human detritus, not one person cared. The little boy stole and begged, taken in by the rich and powerful and abused then thrown back into the gutter.

A broken human spirit is a dangerous thing, when there is no hope it will make it from chaos and destruction.

The little boy became a shell fit for nothing but death. Paid to kill and reap for those with enough isk. Fueled by the anger and fury inside him. So good at his job, the asristoracy threw him into a pen and caged him.

But wild spirits can never be caged, in the eruption of hatred that followed I was dragged into my freedom by that little boy. His true self still shone through, His goodness was still unbroken if a little dented. The kind touch of someone who cared enough to focus him. I vowed that day to never let the establishment rest, never let it settle. I will fight for all the other broken spirits....