11 members
The Fun House Syndicate / FUNHOUSE
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Security -
Freelancing
We are The Fun House, a brotherhood of pirates, rogues, and hearts too big to break, bound by loyalty and courage. Together we rise, together we fight. Side by side we stand unbroken, our actions speaking louder than words left unspoken.
History
June 7th 2955
Status: INACTIVE
Mission: Operation Hathor OLP Assault
Mission Summary:
We went in loud.
TFH launched full force. Idris up front, smaller craft riding shotgun. The sky turned ours in minutes, engines screaming and shields burning blue. Everything was going smooth until a Polaris showed up with a full crew and a bad attitude.
They hit hard. We hit harder.
Our Idris traded blows till her heart gave out. She went down proud, lit up the clouds on her way to the dirt. While she burned, our support ships kept the fight in the air, dancing around that Polaris like hornets with something to prove.
Ground team pushed through the mess and snagged what we needed, access cards and system components for the orbital laser. Couldn’t have done it without them. While we scrambled to regroup, we dropped our own Polaris into the region. She cleared the skies, gave us the window we needed to evac the Ground Team.
Once everyone was back in play, we started hauling the heavy gear, the energy batteries to juice up the laser. Big, ugly things. Each one could fry a Javelin if you looked at it funny.
When the final battery locked in, word was sent and the laser came to life.
A red beam tore through the atmosphere like a god’s finger coming straight down, cutting into the crust. The sound was something between thunder and laughter. Everyone stopped to watch, even the ones who’d been shooting a second earlier.
When the dust settled, we dropped ATLS GEO rigs into the crater. They bit into the planet and started pulling Carinite like candy from a vending machine. Smooth operation from there. No more hostiles. No more surprises. Just the steady hum of profit and payback.
We lost an Idris and all her crew aboard that day, but we gained something better, proof that TFH doesn’t quit, doesn’t break, and doesn’t wait for permission.
Crew:- Admiral Biscuits
- Admiral Thrawn
- Capt. Bosa
- Pilot Rusty
- Pilot Viking
- Spawn
- Rose
- Sycleoth
- Ameillia
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June 13th 2955
Status: INACTIVE
Mission: PYAM-EXHANG-0-1 Patrol
Mission Summary:
We were crippled and drifting.
Engines dead. Hull cracked. The asteroid’s pull grinding us against stone and silence. TFH hung in the dark, bleeding sparks and prayers, waiting for the end to find us.
Then the pirates arrived.
Their turrets hit hard, cutting through our cargo ramps leaving our interior exposed. They thought we were finished… they were wrong. While their boarding parties swarmed, we slipped through the chaos and took their bridge right out from under them. One move, one heartbeat, and the hunted became the hunters.
But victory came with a curse. The enemy crew wouldn’t stay down, regenerating, relentless, shadows made flesh. Every corridor turned into a warzone lit by muzzle flash and desperation.
With no way to contain them, the final call was made. Thrawn initiated the Polaris’s self-destruct systems.
The quantum drive surged, howling like a dying god. The ship imploded from within, folding light and metal into nothing. Silence followed… the kind that never really leaves.
Our heroes went with her, scattered among the stars, faces still smiling through the dark. Proof that even in ruin, TFH endures….
Crew:- Admiral Biscuits
- Admiral Thrawn
- Capt. Bosa
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July 19th 2955
Status: INACTIVE
Mission: Operation Apex
Mission Summary:
The Regen Crisis
Amid the Regen Crisis, the galaxy burned with uncertainty. Associated Science & Development, once kings of weaponry, shifted their gaze from destruction to salvation.
At least, that’s what they claimed.
Word out of Orb told a different story. Headhunters passing through whispered of glowing orbs, twisted corpses with Kopion blood, and ships leaving ASD facilities heavy with secrets best left buried. Rumor said they were chasing a cure.
Truth said otherwise.
Biscuits wanted answers.
Bosa wanted proof.
The crew wanted both.
The Raid on Farro
The mission began in silence, under Pyro’s rusted skies.
Captain Bosa led the first strike, an assault on the Farro Data Center. ASD security hit hard, but we hit harder.
Corridors became graves. Terminals bled sparks.
Amid the chaos, Viking found a lab locked down with next-gen security. Something way above standard issue.
It took Dark, half-dressed in a dead scientist’s coat, to trigger the door.
“Access Granted,” the machine whispered.
Inside, we found an imprint station. Not metal, but purpose. Bosa placed his hand onto terminal.
The system screamed lockdown. Alarms wailed. Medium Security Units swarmed for what felt like hours until finally, the terminal let out a soft chime and something ejected from it.
A security chip encoded with Bosa’s signature thrumming beneath its surface.
We grabbed the chip and carved our way out through fire and steel. Dragging our wounded and protecting the mission.
Whispers of Tithonus
Back aboard the fleet, Biscuits studied the encryption. The code pointed to Pyro I, Tithonus Lazarus Complex.
A name like a curse.
Our recon went dark near the site. Sensors failed. Storms raged, unnatural, spiraling above the structure like a halo of wrath.
No sane crew would touch it. So, of course, we went in.
Spawn secured a group of war torn mechs of death. The ATLS IKTI
The plan was simple: Skip the gates. Hit the heart.
Descent into the Complex
Rain swallowed our descent. Thirty klicks of freefall through lightning and silence. The facility glowed below, an iron tomb breathing radiation.
Inside, we found records of human arrogance. Experiments on life, on death, on the thin line between. In the corner, something stranger than both: A bright yellow Stirling hazmat suit, waiting like a prophecy. Bosa, the chosen one. The next door opened like it had been waiting for him.
Horror.
Mutated remains.
Fused flesh and tech.
At the center, a single glowing egg pulsing inside its glass cradle.
Bosa inserted the chip and the world turned red. Alarms howled. Security descended.
The Awakening
Gunfire tore through the halls. Radiation venting alarms blared through the intercom.
When the containment glass opened, the egg began to weep.
Bosa seized it, shouting over the storm of bullets, “FOLLOW ME, BOYS!”
We fought our way through blood and fire, dragging the wounded through the rain.
Lightning crowned the nearby tower, and the ground began to shake.
Then came the roar. A sound that split the soul from the flesh.
From the storm rose the Apex Valakkar, a god of radiation and rage, towering over the complex.
Its body shimmered with veins of green ooze, its breath infecting the very soil itself.
We stood our ground.
We fired until our mags ran dry and our hope itself cracked like ship armor.
The Manifesto
Bosa took a direct hit. Still standing.
“That all you got?” he spat, shoving rounds into the creature’s wounds like defiance given form.
We fell back, scattered, broken.
Biscuits and Bosa regrouped, battered and burning.
There was no winning. Only finishing.
Over the comms, Bosa gave the order: “All ammo. All at once.”
And so we did.
Every rifle sang one last time, shouting The Fun House Manifesto into the storm:
We are The Fun House.
We ride together, fight together, and if it comes to it, crash gloriously together.
We build something bigger than loot or legend.
We build belonging.
To fly with us is to swear an oath:
To the crew, to the stars, and to the madness in our blood.
Signed in the shadows of Port Olisar,
Etched into every hullplate we fly,
Forever a crew,
The Fun House.
The final shot echoed like a prayer. The Apex screamed then fell, shaking the stars themselves.
Silence followed… the kind that only comes after gods die.
Bosa knelt in the rain, rifle clicking empty, breath ragged but alive.
The beast was dead. The crew had survived.
In the wreckage of science and sin, The Fun House once again proved the rule:
Crew:Backup Your Crew – In a fight, your crew is family. Cover them or die trying.
- Admiral Biscuits
- Admiral Thrawn
- Capt. Bosa
- Pilot Dark
- Pilot Viking
- Spawn
- Tarn
Manifesto
THE FUN HOUSE MANIFESTO
A Declaration of Brotherhood, Freedom, and the Stars
We are The Fun House.
Pirates. Divisions. Comrades. Legends.
We weren’t born of law, we were forged in the black between the stars, in the grit of our own damnation, where loyalty means more than pride.
We didn’t ask for permission.
We took our lives and made something better: a family built from outcasts, rogues, and hearts too big to break.
✦ I. WE CLAIM OUR LEGACY
The ‘verse is vast. Cold. Unforgiving.
But we carve our names into it with laser, laughter, and strength, for this is the code.
We are the inheritors of rebellion, not because we want war, but because we won’t bow.
Our heritage is the hum of thrusters in low orbit.
It’s the clink of mugs in desolate bars on long forgotten moons.
It’s our way, and no one else’s.
✦ II. WE STAND FOR FRIENDSHIP
In this life, credits come and go. Cargo gets lost. Ships explode.
But your crew?
That’s sacred.
A Fun House pirate watches the backs of their own.
We fight for each other, bleed for each other, laugh in the face of fire for each other.
We don’t leave anyone behind… not unless they’ve betrayed the code.
And even then, we send ‘em off with a dramatic exit.
✦ III. WE FIGHT WITH VALOR
We may be pirates, but we ain’t cowards.
We don’t shoot first unless we have to, but when the bullets fly, we fly harder.
We don’t raid the helpless.
We don’t deal in slaves.
We fight the bloated corps, the corrupt PMCs, and anyone who thinks power is a right instead of a privilege.
We are outlaws but we are honorable outlaws.
✦ IV. WE LIVE WITH STYLE
Rules? We make our own.
Uniforms? Whatever’s cool under G-force.
Ceremonies? Only if there’s rum.
We are the loudest crew in the quadrant.
The ones with chaotic hull art, theme songs, and an unhealthy love for dumb nicknames.
We believe in joy, in ridiculousness, in finding a reason to laugh even when the galaxy wants to eat us alive.
If it’s not fun, what’s the point?
✦ V. THIS IS OUR OATH
We are The Fun House.
We ride together, fight together, and if it comes to it, crash gloriously together.
We build something bigger than loot or legend.
We build belonging.
To fly with us is to swear an oath:
To the crew, to the stars, and to the madness in our blood.
Signed in the shadows of Port Olisar,
Etched into every hullplate we fly,
Forever a crew,
The Fun House.
Charter
✦ THE FUN HOUSE CREW CHARTER ✦
Adoption Date: REDACTED
Filed: Not with the UEE, and that’s how we like it.
Article I – Purpose
The Fun House exists to live free, fly fast, and bring chaos to those who deserve it.
Our mission is not profit alone, but loyalty, laughter, and the thrill of the jump.
Article II – The Crew’s Word
The Crew as a group has final say in all matters.
Orders are followed unless doing so will cause immediate, obvious, and unnecessary death… in which case, improvise with style.
The crew is expected to protect the each other, even if it means shooting first and apologizing never.
Article III – Crew Code
Loyalty First – No one betrays The Fun House and lives to tell about it.
Respect the Ship – Treat our ships like they’re part of the crew. If you break it, you fix it.
Hands Off the Loot – All spoils are shared according to the agreed split, no pocketing extra unless you’re really good at hiding it.
Backup Your Crew – In a fight, your crew is family. Cover them or die trying.
Style Matters – Custom paint and personal style are encouraged. Intimidation via aesthetics is a valid tactic.
Article IV – Forbidden Acts
Selling crew out to any authority.
Refusing to help in a firefight without a damn good reason.
Tampering with other crewmates personal stash.
Bringing a lawman aboard without clearance.
Article V – Perks of Membership
Full protection under The Fun House name.
Shares in all crew ventures.
Right to vote on major raids, rescues, or parties.
Access to shared fleets and crew bases.
Article VI – Amendments
This charter can be changed if three quarters of the crew agree, or if an Admiral decides to rewrite it mid-chase for comedic or tactical reasons.
Signed & Sealed
The Fun House Syndicate
“If you’re going to be a criminal, be a memorable one.”
