The year is 3061. The vast swathes of humanity exist under one pangalactic banner: the United Federation of Orion–Cygnus. Nations great and small gather in the Assembly to make policy, debate border disputes shape trillion-dollar economies. In recent days, however, power struggles have disrupted this uneasy peace. Commentators believe open war between the nations of Orion-Cygnus to be improbable at best; vast stores of planet-busting weaponry owned by every major player make for a gunshy galaxy, they claim. But what think tanks and talking heads call 'a state of low-level conflict' looks a hell of a lot like war to the average citizen living through it. Their communities are being occupied. Their space stations are being blown out of the sky. their trade vessels boarded, robbed of all they have and then scuttled- often with the crew still aboard. No one quite knows the extent of the damage, nor can anyone guess at the casualty numbers- the combatants have every interest in losing track. The fighting's not being done by the Sol Union, Thedes Empire or North Star League. It's being done by private security firms, paramilitaries, and foreign-backed militias. The frontier's the primary theater of war, sparsely populated and rich with unexploited resources. Many frontier settlements are de facto independent, even if they're technically within the borders of one nation or another. The settlers certainly don't care which color they are on some Coreworlder's map. They've thrived for generations on their own, relying only on the sweat of their brows and the helping hands of their neighbors. But times are changing. The scramble for the frontier's begun. Vox Fortuna is one of many small-time mercenary companies that have made their way to the frontier to join the scramble. They operate out of a single frigate called the Fortuna, specialized in carrying and deploying the premier platform for modern armored warfare: Exoframes. Giant, mechanical titans capable of immense destruction, as diverse in design and versatile in application as the people that pilot them. The Fortuna's crew, not-so-affectionately known as the Gamblers, are miscreants, cutthroats and outcasts. They have no home port, little wealth to their names and a reputation for fucking up every contract they swindle their way into. They've been blacklisted by every major state and corporation in the arm. Only the truly desperate would consider hiring them, and it's always a gamble. Lucky for them, war makes a gambler out of everyone.