Four generations ago, Dekked's great-grandparents escaped Amarr bondage—not through battle, but through cleverness, hiding in cargo containers until a Thukker caravan took them in as kin. They carried their freedom across a hundred jumps until the Empire faded to nothing but stars behind them.
Dekked was born aboard a battered Hoarder-class industrial threading through the Great Wildlands. To the Thukker, home isn't a place—it's the caravan, the hum of engines, the kaleidoscope of nebulae sliding past viewports. She grew up learning that walls were temporary and horizons were invitations.
Her grandmother told her stories of wormholes leading to Anoikis, of Sleeper ruins and Talocan engineering, of civilizations that vanished before humanity reached New Eden. "Someone needs to find out why," she'd say. "Someone needs to go looking."
Dekked decided that someone would be her.
She spent years proving herself—running cargo through lowsec, surviving pirate ambushes, apprenticing with wormhole diving crews. She lost friends to Sleeper drones and learned that space doesn't care about your dreams. But she also learned the unknown wasn't something to fear. It was something to meet.
On YC 126.02.28, she woke in a clone vat—gasping, reborn, immortal. Her body was now a vessel. Her ship, an extension of herself. Every star and wormhole and ancient ruin was finally open to her.
She doesn't dwell on her family's past. They didn't escape bondage so their descendants could spend eternity looking backward. They ran toward something, carrying freedom into the unknown.
Dekked honors that legacy the only way that makes sense: