As written by Subcommander Fuyutski of the Battlestar Pacifica

17 years ago, our species was nearly wiped out in a sudden attack from a previously unknown enemy. In time, we came to know them as the 'Angels'

Out of an estimated population of over one hundred billion men, women and children who populated the worlds of the ten colonies, now only forty-seven thousand six hundred and thirty three remain, at the time of last census.

Today, with no planet to call our own, we live only aboard the refugee fleets, made up of a motly assortment of freighters, starliners, refinery ships and warships. We scavenge resources from wherever we can find them, mining tylium to fuel our ships and ores to seperate new metal, cultivating algae to feed ourselves and cotton for fabrics, even hunting meat should there be game to be found. We scratch our living from planetoid to planetoid.

And still we are pursued.

To this day our every move is shadowed by an Angel base-star. Our every landing is made on borrowed time, before an Angel fleet jumps in system to attempt to annihilate humanity once and for all.

And yet, we're still alive.

And we have found new hope in the form of the Planet Malkhut. Believed to be the seat of mankind, legend speaks of how we left it's red shores and made our way to the stars, to ound the Ten Colonies of Sephiroth.

Now, let us hope that the birthplace of humanity can be our refuge in our most dangerous time.

So say we all