06 was just your run of the mill pilot. A journeyman in a world of prima donnas. Nothing like Twilight Jack, with his rock star flair, or Werewolf, with his snarling angst. No, he was just a pilot. Better than average, but still just barely hanging on by the skin of his teeth in a hotshot’s world. He wondered sometimes why he had been selected out of hundreds to be a Devil’s Fist candidate.

During a long Fenris Arena Match, he had emerged victorious with a 20-5 record. Not a record-setting performance by any means, but not bad for a relative rookie. Soaked in perspiration, and exhausted from the concentration required to make it through such battles, he noticed, out of the corner of his eye, a dark figure, towards the edge of the crowd that always gathered to congratulate the pilots after their matches. Almost gave him the chills when he realized whom this mysterious person was watching. Him! He decided he’d skip the showers and backed warily, almost hurriedly, toward his craft. He’d heard about those pilots. This “Devil’s Fist”. Nothing good, either. They were said to be killers – assassins, mercenaries for hire. They also numbered among them some of the top pilots in the fringe, leading a double life. Clansmen in their day to day lives, they also filled a darker role as their alter-egos; the dreaded “DF”. He evaded the dark-cloaked figure this time. he thought. Little did he know they would become an obsession.

He logged hundreds of hours for his new clan – a wise choice, considering his lack of experience in space combat. He participated in several battles with, and without, his wingmates. Some he excelled in, others not. He was a young pilot as of yet. Eventually, he grew in skill, and flying acumen; learning his ship, and the Fringe itself – his new home. He fought to contain the missiler threat, fought against outlaws, pirates, other clans, yet somehow he remained unscathed despite it all. He considered himself lucky. Then one day, it happened. He entered his barracks, to find a comm waiting for him. As he plopped down in his chair, he noticed the message would not immediately initialize. Coded to my DNA pattern? He thought. Must be some new orders. He decoded the message, and initialized it. That wasn’t his wingleader. Grinning hideously at him from the viewscreen was a white, deathly pale face. He wore black leather, a mockery of a flightsuit, and looked to have a forest of pins sprouting from his ghostly head.

“Greetings, Pilot.” Said that grinning face. The face of Cutter01, the infamous Breaker Wingleader. “I have been monitoring your progress with great interest. With a little time and experience, I’d like to have you join us” The message continued, but his mind was racing. He was aghast. Him, a killer? No sir! he closed the terminal with a bang, and headed to the simulators to work out the issues running through his head. I’ll NEVER be a killer! So he thought.

Almost compulsively, nearly against his will, he began reading all he could find about the Devil’s Fist. A group shrouded in secrecy, yet thinly guised as a mercenary group, they policed the Fringe as noone else could. With fear. With intimidation, and the strength of their reputation as cold-blooded killers. Founded by one known only as “SoulReamer”, the Devil’s Fist burst upon the scene just prior to All Hallows Eve; a traditional night of forbidden magics and sorcery. The other two wingleaders, SoulReaper and SoulReaver, were instrumental in the group’s establishment. They silently began their work. Few in number at first, but deadly fliers, all. Accept the contract, fulfill it, and post proof for the solicitor. “An evil business”, quoted Reamer in an earlier text. “But necessary. Would you feel safer knowing your own wingmen are accepting these jobs, and not some unknown quantity? Better the devil you know…” Interesting, in a macabre fashion. Their numbers grew, and chief among these new recruits was a pilot assigned to the “Cutters” wing.

His original callsign was “SoulCutter02”, but the bravado and panache displayed in his piloting, as well as the artistic flair with which he displayed his kills quickly earned him the “01” position in his wing, and eventually his own wing, the “SoulBreakers”. Suffice it to say, our “hero”, (if you will) had a bit of a falling out with his clan. A faux pas, I suppose you would call it. The offshoot of this involvement was this; in an insane moment of frustration, he contacted Cutter01 concerning that job with the Devil’s Fist. Fortunately, (or unfortunately, depending on his state of mind when thinking of it) two members of DF left; one over DF’s methods of taking and completing contracts, the other over a missiler in a private arena. Quite an ugly scene at the time, but regardless of the outcome, that left DF two pilots short. He got the comm the next day. “Your application to the Devil’s Fist is hereby approved. Stand by for confirmation codes, and the route to stronghold. Welcome, SoulCrusher06, to the Devil’s Fist”.