Rex began life in a field hospital, situated in the gaunt skeletal remains of some past vast and vibrant city. His parents had wanted a child, but only insomuch as those were their orders; when not fighting or doing jobs and chores related to such, all men and woman copulated in hopes of pregnancy so their ranks could be filled in the future. Men were also required to give amounts of their sperm to be stored, in the event artificial insemination was required due to a decreased number of male soldiers.

It was tradition to name a child after some landmark or recognizable area, in his case it was the combination of what was left of a couple of names on gutted and burned out buildings.

Rex didn't know a peaceful nor normal childhood, his was one of endless drills and tasks such as cleaning guns and hauling ammo. His schooling was rich with propaganda, obstacle course runs, and the only holo programs available were training simulations.

Herrington didn't have family, friends, or a romantic partner, he had comrades in arms. War was all anyone talked about, thought about, or wanted to think about. Battle, bloodshed, and patriotism suited all the others just fine, yet for Rex it felt like a square block trying to get into a round hole.

He began to wonder things quietly to himself, such as why did they need to kill the enemy? Sure he was told they were bad and did evil things, but not what those things were. Every time he was sent out into some battle or another, all he could see was wreckage and devastation, nothing worth killing or being killed for. He asked around, and no one could seem to remember why the fighting went on and on, only that their parents, and  those before them, etc. had done the same.

Finally Rex spoke up in one of his Militaristic classes and asked the questions that had buzzed around his head for so long out loud; he was forcibly removed from the classroom, and strapped into a metal chair. He was then hooked up to a IV bag filled with nutrients and stimulants, and forced to watch a chaotic video of varying images for seven days straight. He had to relieve himself where he sat, as he couldn't move.

After that he was taken into a room, ordered to strip, and hosed off. He was then placed in a single room with only a bed and bucket, and kept in isolation for a month to reflect on whatever the video was supposed to teach him.

No doubt all that was supposed to break him,  but honestly it just pissed him off and made him all the more sure he wasn't a fit for this place; he was about eighteen years old by this point, and didn't even know the name of the planet he was on.

He came up with a plan, and enacted the first part of it by pretending to be as into the endless war5 as everyone else. He also volunteered for every job he could, which made him look good to his superiors but served another purpose as well.

Since he took whatever tasks he could, when he offered to escort a delivery of supplies from a dropship back to the base he was at, no one questioned it. When they got there, he acted as normal while the supplies were moved out. When it was empty he said he'd hit the recall button and catch up; he never returned to the base.

A drop ship is commonly used by ships that are too big to land, or space stations. They can transport people or goods, depending on how they're set up, but this one didn't need oxygen or warmth to deliver its payload. So Rex rode for twenty minutes in a box that grew very cold after leaving the planet's atmosphere, with a very limited amount of air.

When he got to the station, he waited until a tech opened the dropship from the outside then slipped away as soon as the woman's back was turned. The station was a gathering place for Mercenaries, looking for a payday from the ceaseless war below them. One such group had decided to cut their loses and try somewhere else, and Rex asked to sign on with them. Opting to take a chance, they said yes.

He stayed with them for a while, earning credits and trying to make friends only to see them gunned down or blown up. He finally decided he should move on to another company, and then again, and again, etc..

That was seven years ago, seven years of selling his gun to the highest bidder, only to end up with just enough for a crappy room and lousy drink in some shithole port. Which, pretty much brings us to the present.