RAT [01010010] - Organizations - Roberts Space Industries

History

Nobody knows exactly when the first rat crawled into Pyro. That’s by design.

What the records do show — buried in corrupted Comm-Link logs and a few Advocacy cold case files — is that a lone Cutlass Black started running untagged cargo through Pyro’s jump points sometime around the fall of Pyro’s last corporate holdout. The pilot went by “Admiral OOM.” No UEE registration. No bounty profile. Just a ship that kept showing up where it shouldn’t, carrying things that didn’t officially exist.

The story goes that OOM stumbled on a derelict station wedged into an asteroid cluster — half-collapsed, abandoned by whoever built it, and invisible to long-range scans. Most pilots would have flagged it and moved on. OOM moved in. Patched the atmo seals with scrap. Wired the docking clamps with parts pulled from wrecked Auroras. Bolted a bar counter to the cargo deck of a gutted Starfarer.

Word spread the way it always does out in Pyro — through whispered frequencies, drunken dock chatter, and the kind of reputation you can only earn by being too stubborn to die. Other pilots drifted in. Smugglers who’d burned their UEE contacts. Fighters who’d gone AWOL from merc outfits. Racers who’d been banned from Murray Cup qualifiers for “creative interpretations” of the rules. One by one, they found the station. One by one, they stayed.

They called it the Rat’s Nest.

No grand founding ceremony. No manifesto nailed to a bulkhead — that came later, after too much whiskey. Just a growing fleet of ships that answered to no one, a station that officially didn’t exist, and a simple operating principle: the verse takes from those who wait — so don’t wait.

The RAT grew not through recruitment drives or propaganda, but through fire. You flew with them, or you flew against them. Those who flew against them learned why Pyro locals started checking their scanners twice. Those who flew with them found something rare in the lawless dark: a crew that actually had your back — as long as you had theirs.

Over time, the Rat’s Nest expanded. More docking bays. A makeshift med-bay that’s saved more lives than any UEE hospital — and asked fewer questions. A “trading floor” where goods of flexible provenance changed hands. And always, always, the bar — the beating heart of the Nest, where deals were struck, grudges were settled, and legends were born over bottles of Pyro Moonshine strong enough to strip hull paint.

Today, the RAT doesn’t show up on any official registry. The Advocacy has a file on them — thin, mostly speculation, heavily redacted. Bounty hunters who’ve gone looking for the Nest tend to come back quiet, or don’t come back at all. The UEE pretends Pyro is an uncontrolled system of no strategic value.

The rats know better.

Pyro is home. And the Nest is always hungry.

Manifesto

We are the rats in the walls of the verse.

While the UEE builds its shining cities and the corporations count their credits, we thrive in the spaces they forgot — the dark corridors, the unmapped routes, the frequencies no one monitors.
They call us pirates. Criminals. Outlaws. We call ourselves free.

We reject the lie of lawful commerce. Every shipping lane is a supply line. Every cargo hold is an opportunity. Every system the UEE claims to “protect” is a system where someone else decides who eats and who starves. We make our own decisions. We set our own table.

We don’t fight for flags or causes. We fight for the crew beside us, for the ship beneath us, and for the next score ahead of us. Loyalty isn’t sworn to an emblem — it’s earned at the stick and sealed at the bar.

We take what suits us. Cargo. Ships. Contracts the “legitimate” guilds won’t touch. If it pays, it plays. If it’s fun, even better. We smuggle what needs smuggling. We raid what deserves raiding. And when the job is done, we drink like it might be the last time — because out here, it might be.

We don’t recruit. We recognize. You can’t apply to be a rat. You either are one or you aren’t. We know our own by how they fly, how they fight, and how they handle a bottle of Pyro Moonshine at 0300 after a five-jump haul through hostile space.

We bow to no empire. The UEE is a machine that feeds on obedience. The Advocacy is a leash dressed up as justice. Out here in Pyro, the only law is physics, and even that’s negotiable if you’re flying fast enough.

We are not heroes. We are not villains. We are the ones who understood the game before anyone else: the verse doesn’t care about your morals. It cares about your nerve.

So check your cargo. Lock your doors. Watch your scanners.

The rats are always watching back.

Charter

Article I — The Nest

The Rat’s Nest is sovereign territory. No external authority — UEE, corporate, or otherwise — is recognized within its boundaries. The Nest provides shelter, resupply, and community to all members in good standing. What happens in the Nest stays in the Nest — unless it makes for a good story at the bar.

Article II — Membership

RAT is invite-only. Membership is earned, not requested.

1. Prospects must fly with active members and prove themselves in the black before any invitation is extended.
2. Unsolicited applications will result in immediate blacklisting. If we want you, we’ll find you.
3. Members vouch for their recruits. If your prospect turns out to be a rat of the wrong kind, that’s on you.

Article III — The Code

We’re outlaws, not animals. The following code governs all RAT operations:

1. Never betray the Nest. Selling out crew or coordinates is the one sin we don’t forgive. There is no second chance.
2. Honor the split. Loot is divided fair. The ship that bleeds gets the bigger share. Disputes go to the bar — literally. Drink it out.
3. Fly for the crew. When a rat calls for backup, you answer. Doesn’t matter if you’re mid-haul, mid-drink, or mid-nap. Crew comes first.
4. No friendly fire. On purpose. Accidents happen, and we’ll laugh about it later, but deliberately shooting crew gets you spaced.
5. Keep the Nest hidden. Don’t broadcast coordinates. Don’t lead tails home. Don’t get sloppy.

Article IV — Operations

1. All jobs are RAT jobs. If you’re flying under the 01010010 tag, your actions reflect on the crew. Act accordingly — which means act boldly.
2. Smuggling, piracy, and freelance acquisition are our bread and butter. Members are free to pursue personal ventures, but crew operations take priority when called.
3. Intelligence is currency. Trade routes, patrol schedules, cargo manifests — share what you learn. The crew that knows more, earns more.
4. We don’t punch down. Fresh spawns in stock Auroras aren’t targets. That’s not piracy, that’s just sad. Find someone worth robbing.

Article V — The Bar

The bar at the Rat’s Nest is sacred ground.

1. All disputes between members are settled here — through conversation, drinking contests, or the occasional arm-wrestling match. Never through ship-to-ship combat.
2. A round bought is a bond made. Buying drinks for the crew after a successful run isn’t optional. It’s tradition.
3. What’s said at the bar after midnight is automatically classified. No exceptions.

Article VI — The Pecking Order

Every vermin has its place. You start at the bottom — blind, soft, and useless — and you claw your way up through grit, loyalty, and how many rounds you can survive (both in combat and at the bar). Nobody skips ranks. Nobody buys their way up. You earn your place or you stay in the dirt.

Rank 0 — Worm
“You’re not even an insect yet.”
Fresh meat. You’ve been spotted, tagged, and told where the airlock is. You don’t get ops, you don’t get intel, and you definitely don’t get a seat at the bar. You get to watch, shut up, and prove you’re not a waste of oxygen. Every rat started here. Most worms don’t make it past this stage.

Rank 1 — Maggot
“Congratulations. You’ve graduated from dirt to filth.”
You’ve flown a few runs without getting the crew killed or calling the Advocacy. You can enter the Nest without an escort now. You’re still expendable, but at least people know your callsign. You get scraps from the loot table and the cheap seats at the bar. Keep your mouth shut and your engines hot — you’re being watched.

Rank 2 — Cockroach
“Hard to kill. Starting to be useful.”
You’ve survived long enough that people have stopped betting on when you’ll wash out. Cockroaches are the backbone of RAT operations — reliable, tough, and everywhere at once. You get a fair share of loot, access to crew comms, and the right to buy rounds at the bar without anyone laughing. The Nest is starting to feel like home.

Rank 3 — Rat
“One of us. For real this time.”
Full member. You’ve bled for the crew, you’ve proven your loyalty in the black, and you’ve earned your name on the Nest’s wall. Rats get full operational access, a voice in crew decisions, and the privilege of vouching for new blood. When someone says “I fly with the RAT,” this is what they mean. Welcome to the family — don’t make us regret it.

Rank 4 — Rat Officer
“You don’t just survive the swarm. You direct it.”
Officers are the tactical edge of the RAT. They lead runs, coordinate multi-ship ops, and make the calls when things go sideways — which is always. An Officer earned their rank by being the one others look to when the scanners light up red. You plan the ambush. You call the retreat. You split the loot fair. The crew trusts you with their ships and their lives. Don’t waste either.

Rank 5 — Rat Commander
“The Nest answers to you. Act like it.”
Commanders are the inner circle. They shape RAT strategy, oversee operations, and manage the crew. A Commander has been through enough fire to know when to attack, when to run, and when to pour another drink and wait. They answer only to the Rat King. If an Officer is the blade, a Commander is the hand that swings it.

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Article VII — Founder Roles

The founding structure of the RAT operates above the rank system. These roles carry absolute authority in their domain and answer only to the Rat King.

Rat King — Admiral OOM
Supreme authority. Final word on all matters of strategy, membership, alliances, and Nest security. The Rat King built this place from scrap and stubbornness, and what the King says, goes. All access. All decisions. No appeals — unless you bring a really good bottle.

Rat Commander — Manage Members, Ranks & Roles
The right hand. Oversees the crew roster, promotions, demotions, and discipline. If you’re moving up or getting spaced, this is the voice that tells you which.

Swarm Officer — Recruitment / Manage Applicants
The gatekeeper. Identifies prospects in the wild, coordinates fly-alongs, and decides who’s worth bringing into the Nest. Remember — RAT is invite-only. The Swarm Officer is the reason why. If you got an invite, thank them. If you got blacklisted, also thank them.

Plague Officer — Manage Branding
The face of the infestation. Controls how the RAT presents itself to the verse — comms, markings, liveries, reputation. Every rumor, every warning, every whispered story about the rats in Pyro? The Plague Officer makes sure the legend spreads exactly the way it should.

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Article VIII — Amendments

This charter is a living document, subject to revision whenever someone brings a good enough argument — and a good enough bottle — to the bar. Amendments require Rat Commander approval or above. The Rat King reserves the right to overrule anything, at any time, for any reason, including “because it’s funny.”

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“We didn’t choose the rat life. We just stopped pretending we weren’t already living it.”
— Admiral OOM, Founding Night, the Rat’s Nest

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01010010 · Encrypted · Pyro System · You weren’t here.

RAT / 01010010