Salvage Union: Aspirate Part Three

"My family were farmers. We used to raise, uh, staple crops overseas in the Whitespring Republic. My grandfather, before he passed, used to talk about how it was a hard life, but a good life. How they used to take care of their workers and pay fair wages for the crops they harvested.

My grandmother was a different story and much less nostalgic. And she outlived him, heh. So. She got the last word, I guess. We only survived because we held a knife to our own throats, looked the government in the eyes and dared them to blink. That's not just my family. That was all of the farmers. We had an arrangement to protect ourselves, our workers, from overreach and exploitations. They knew they had to play ball with us, so they did.

Then, uh, the Boren Confederacy blew up the Beanstalk. And the Republicans came for us in. Force.

No more fun and games. Almost a decade of winter *and* war on the horizon. They needed us under their thumb, to control the food, demand compliance from their civilians. Seize the assets, force the survivors to serve.

My parents were teens when they boarded the smuggler's boat. I don't remember what they used to call this place. But they were here when they started building A-SPR. When they started the agri-clans, my mother traded family tradition for a seat at the table. As an. Advisor, mind. The target on her head as a clan head was too much for the family to bear. But it was a good trade.

We've been doing business with them since. The Monroe Clan has been good benefactors, even if they have...everything, at this point. Delilah Monroe herself shook my hand when I graduated from accounting school and, well. She's been a good boss since. I can't really complain.

I wish it went differently. But I don't think I'd be any happier as a farmer."

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