From rust, we sting. The Rusted Hornets are a swarm of outlaws striking fast, stripping prey bare, and vanishing into the black. Shiny ship or scrapyard relic, if you can fly, fight, and loot, you belong here. If it flies, it dies. If it’s worth something, it’s ours.
The Rusted Hornets didn’t start in a hangar.
They were born in a scrapyard.
Decades ago, during the height of UEE military expansions, Hornet fighters were everywhere — the symbol of the Empire’s reach. But ships break, wars end, and governments abandon what they no longer need. Out in the shadow of Stanton, forgotten Hornets piled up in boneyards and derelict shipyards, stripped for parts and left to rot under alien suns.
It was here that the first Rusted Hornets took flight. Ex-military pilots, failed haulers, and station rats picked through the heaps, bolting together their own patchwork warbirds from scavenged fuselages and mismatched components. These ships looked like junkyard trophies — scorched plating, exposed wiring, paint flaking away — but once the engines lit, they stung as hard as any pristine fighter.
Operating on the fringes of Stanton and Pyro, the swarm built a reputation for precision strikes and coordinated swarm tactics. Their signature method: hit fast, overwhelm with numbers, strip a target bare, and vanish into the black before reinforcements could arrive. Whether intercepting corporate convoys, raiding contested zones, or breaking into Executive Hangars, the Rusted Hornets left nothing but drifting wreckage behind.
The Hive grew as word spread. Some joined for the credits, some for the freedom, others for the thrill of flying ships no one else believed could still fight. All swore loyalty to the swarm, bound not by laws or flags, but by the Code of Rust — a promise to protect each other, share the spoils, and never let the sting grow dull.
Now, the Rusted Hornets are a name whispered in comms when a ship disappears from radar, feared by traders and security alike. The UEE calls them pirates. The Hive calls it survival.
And the swarm?
It just calls it another day in the black.
From Rust, We Sting — Together.
We are the swarm in the black, the rusted blades in the dark. We were not forged in clean shipyards or built for parade lines — we were born in scrapyards, pulled from the wreckage, and tempered in the fire of survival. Every scar on our hull is a victory. Every dent is a story.
We live by our own law:
Strike First — The prey doesn’t get a warning.
Strip Them Bare — Cargo, credits, components… if it’s worth something, it’s ours.
Leave Only Wreckage — No evidence. No survivors who can find us again.
Protect the Hive — Every Hornet stands for another. We sting as one.
We don’t care for banners of nations or codes of the law. The verse belongs to those who take it, and we take it all. In Stanton, in Pyro, wherever there’s profit and prey, our swarm will descend.
To fly with us is to live free — free of the UEE’s leash, free of corporate greed. Our loyalty is to the Hive. Our hunger is endless. Our sting is fatal.
If it flies, it dies. If it’s worth something, it’s ours.
From Rust, We Sting — Together.
1. Respect the Hive