Some say Max crawled out of a ruptured clone vat somewhere near Dal, naked, screaming, soaked in reactor fluid and vengeance. Others say he’s just a ghost in the void, flying his ship of choice, a Thrasher named Interceptor, held together only by half-melted nanite paste, artillery guns and spite. If Max is not in his Thrasher, he’s in something worse. Cloaked and sitting on a perch, silently aligning for a bombing run you’ll never see coming till its too late.
"Every clone is a coin you spend on glory." Max Rustatansky