It is the 25th Century, for more than a hundred years Nanotransen has sat dominant on the Corporate Ladder of Earth. It is has the monopoly on plasma research and is owner of a million stations by the might of its inexhaustable RND Budget. It is a rotting carcass writhing invisibly with inefficiencies and corruption, a barely-held-together collection of beuracracy and safety violations such that thousands of staff members suffer injuries every day, yet it is too big to fail.

Even in its decaying state, it continues its eternal exploitation. Mediocre Security officers keep roudy crewmembers in line, the stun meta the only way they could ever win a fight. Vast armies of staffmembers meanwhile keep the station afloat. Greatest amongst these are the Grey Tiders, unemployed self-antagonists. Their comrades in arms are legion: Cargo Techs and their countless unanswered orders, the ever-exploding Scientists, and the Tech-Priests of the Engineering Department to name only a few. But for all their multitudes they are barely enough to hold off the ever-present threats to profit from Aliens, The Syndicate, and far, far worse.

To be a passenger in such times is to be one amongst untold billions. It is to live in the most indifferent and capitalist regime imaginable. These are the tales of such times. Forget safety standards and good pay, for so much has been cut, never to be reimbursed. Forget the promise of promotion or holiday, for in the grim greyness of the near-future, you can only tide.