For over twelve millennia, the hive world of Mevania has been one of the brightest jewels of the Ultima Segmentum.
While smaller than many of its contemporaries, housing a mere two hundred billion souls within its spires, the world has long been renowned as a place of prosperity, security, and hope. The world's vast manufactorums produce endless streams of small arms, explosives, munitions, and armored vehicles for the Imperial Guard, with annual output sufficient to equip dozens of regiments. These factories are fed, not through asteroid mining or imports, but the vast and rich ore deposits of the planet itself, ensuring that production will never cease. Food-sufficiency is remarkably high, with only an estimated twenty percent of the population on starvation rations.
By the standards of the Administratum, Mevania is an ideal world: productive, compliant, and timely with the Tithe. By the standards of the planet's nobility, Mevania's might and glory are evident for all to see, with little need for change or improvement. By the standards of the Astra Militarum, Mevania is the perfect fortress, with the fortifications, supplies, and personnel to weather any assault.
By the standards of the average citizen? Mevania is a cold, cruel, hungry place.
Most have never had the fortune to see the light of the stars, having spent their entire lives under a smog-choked sky and a web of concrete and steel scaffolding. The Arbites and PDF are cruel and capricious, open to bribery from the very gangs they are meant to fight against. For most, life is tedious and hard, with fourteen hour shifts in the factories to manufacture the planet's famed weaponry. Resources such as water and food are hoarded by those who possess them, and any disruption in supply results in thousands dead.
It is no wonder that so many turn to darker paths when faced with such a miserable existence. Dozens of gangs roam through the tunnels and hab-blocks of Mevania, ranging from professional mercenaries to drug-addled killers. Their trades are as numerous as their members, including theft, racketeering, narcotics production, mutant hunting, and raiding the underhive for archaeotech. Their lives are short, but stories of their success nonetheless spread quickly.
For an individual with nowhere else to turn to, these stories can be intoxicating. You were no exception to this, and you soon found yourself making plans to establish yourself within the criminal underworld.
What background do you come from?
[ ] Unfulfilled PDF Captain: Early in your life, you were filled with a sense of civic duty, professionalism, and a willingness to fight for humanity. These feelings were quickly snuffed by your superiors, with bribery, substance abuse, and cowardice endemic within the ranks. Your attempts at reform were soundly crushed, and your career was killed in its infancy. When you finally abandoned your post, you were left with little more than your standard-issue armor and autogun, experience in how to kill your fellow man, and acceptable organizational skills.
[ ] Unofficial Engineseer: You spent much of your life toiling within Manufactorum 319-35, albeit in a different role than most. Rather than assemble components, your duties involved maintaining the machinery of the facility, conducting quality tests on the finished products, and ensuring that production was sufficient to meet the quota. Unfortunately, the Mechanicus did not take kindly to a self-taught mechanic handling such sacred technology, and you soon found yourself without a job or a home. However, your job has left you with a thorough understanding of technology and machines, along with a number of useful augmentations and a lasgun you swiped from the assembly line.
[ ] Unsanctioned Psyker: The life of a mutant is hard, dangerous, and often short. For a psyker, this is even more true, with their own mind as likely to kill them as hordes of religious zealots or patrolling Arbites. You have spent most of your life trying to master this power, unleashing waves of arcane fire upon your pursuers and healing your wounds with unnatural swiftness. Your past has left you with few worldly possessions or friends, but it has blessed you with the kind of power that only a few in Mevania possess.
[ ] Unlucky Ganger: This kind of lifestyle is hardly new to you. You spent your childhood as a scout for the Wall Crawlers, your teenage years as a foot soldier in the Legion, and your early adulthood as an officer in House Vestor. When that last gang was inevitably crushed in one of the endless power struggles of the underhive, you decided that you would have better luck on your own, making full use of the connections you'd built over the years, your knowledge of the local area, and your collection of homemade explosives.
[ ] Unloved Mutant: Mutants are hardly uncommon in the depths of Mevania, and you were unfortunate enough to be born among their ranks. At best, you were viewed as a source of cheap and disposable labor. At worst, you were viewed as a target for the Arbites, PDF, or vacationing teams of the nobility on hunts. While this has not left you with many resources, you have many connections in the deepest depths of the hive, along with astounding strength, the ability to resist grievous wounds, and a makeshift shotgun.
[ ] Unwanted Heir: The political games of the upper spires are just as deadly as the working conditions of the underhive, with families rising and falling within a generation. You were born to a powerful and wealthy family, only for your eldest brother to view you as a threat to his standing. Barely escaping with your life, you made your way deeper into the slums of Mevania, taking with you your connections to the nobility, what's left of your personal allowance, and your customized carapace armor and plasma pistol.
[ ] Unassuming Scribe: Most of your life was spent in the archives and filerooms of the bureaucracy, filling out forms for departments that no longer existed and watching the flow of Thrones move further and further up the spires. You weren't the only one who tried siphoning off some this this money, but you were the one unfortunate to get caught, forcing you to flee to avoid the wrath of the law. While you have effectively no combat experience to speak of, you have extensive administrative skills, as well as in-depth knowledge of where valuable targets are throughout Mevania.
[ ] Unfaithful Preacher: The Ecclesiarchy has a substantial presence on Mevania, viewing it as both a prime recruiting world and an opportunity to spread the Emperor's light to even the lowest in the hive. You were a low-ranking member of the faith, sent to Mevania to expand the Imperial Cult's presence and ensure the purity of the hive's inhabitants. However, you were not immune to the everpresent corruption of the underhive, and you soon found yourself involved in a number of profitable, if legally dubious, ventures. Eventually, you were forced to flee from the Confessors, but you are still well-served by your fiery oratory, your vestiges of faith, and your heavy flamer.
