"We're the ones that Made you..." (IC Backstory)

Lanny woke up rudely to the sound of the Carrier's pressure alarms whirring and screaming across the halls. It felt like the pressure of a Freight Train crashing at your ears. He swung his head around quickly, trying to locate his parents, or at least the folks that he and his parents shared a bunk with. He was only about Twelve at that point in time, with his birthday quietly approaching. He called out "Maw? Paw?" into the hallways as he poked a head out from the Bunk door. People were everywhere. Rushing, screaming, crying...it was chaos. Sheer terror. He slinked out from the door, and started to hurry down one of the hallways when he was abruptly scooped up by a person that he finally discovered was his Dad, with one arm around him, and a very shoddy rifle in the other. Lanny had absolutely no idea what was to happen, and the fact that Reavers, of all things, had decided to go after the one fully-manned Crew Carrier floating around the Rim. He had no idea at all that his life, among the rest of the passengers, was mere moments from ending.
His father looked down to him as he was dropped off in a small crawlspace to hide. "Lanny, stay 'ere, it's not safe ta' be prancin' around..."

Little did anyone know that those were ol' father Ansar's final words, before he left to only be completely torn apart by the Reavers minutes later, along with his mother. The only remnants that were left were kept around and alive long enough, to let Lanny suffer his own personal damnation.
It was about an hour before Lanny crawled out of that hole, to witness a completely empty, and utterly ghastly ship that reeked an ungodly odor of fetid meat and old gunpowder. And as he walked carefully down the last of the corridors that weren't blown apart or covered in chucks of the crew, he successfully managed to see the image that provided the scar that would slowly pick at his brain forever...

His mother and Father. Or at least a portion of them. Still breathing, all limbs scattered about in broken husks about the deck, chests gouged open like a satanic science experiment. They had been laying there for a few minutes now, gasping and panting, coughing the last remaining ounces of blood they had left within them. Beside their former selves sat a Handgun. A P228 Compact , from a time long ago, that his father had kept proudly as a collector's item. It lie snugly beside his mangled torso, with his hand firmly grapsed upon the grip, and three rounds still in it. Lanny's father looked to his son for what would be the final time for the both of them, as his mother suddenly gave her last struggled breath in the corner and left them both.
Lanny had no choice. He had to end his father's suffering. It was the only right thing to do. And it struck his soul like a Sledgehammer to a Cheap Dresser. He picked up the Pistol from the ground, removing his father's hand, and pointed the barrel directly at him, for his head. The Handgun shook violently in his hand, and he did his very best not to sob, which led to him jerking the weapon when he least expected it and placing a bullet directly into his now-deceased father's temple. Lanny sank to the ground immediately and sobbed

An Alliance Cruiser passed by many days later, after getting reports of salvagers and Scavengers attempting to pick at the ship. When their routine search was finished, Lanny was found huddled up in the corner of the ship's Mess Hall.Life Support aboard the ship was gradually failing, alongside auxillary power and the Oxygen filters. If that Cruiser hadn't of shown up at that point, He would've been Frozen Solid purple within the hour.

-AFTERMATH-
It's been about a Decade or so since that day. Lanny has begun to overshadow the thoughts of it from his head, and luckily nobody has yet to ask him about his past, or his life whatsoever. He has seen his travels and his jobs as a natural thing, feeling that the bleak and empty landscape of the Outer Rim worlds are...Serene, and peaceful. It's probably the reason why he prefers Hale's Moon. It's...empty. But lately he has been troubled, noticing that the Alliance has been sending ships to the Colony, among which, a Warbot that he has been encountering since Day 1 of his arrival. If he were just some normal Civilian, he would most likely be in a Shallow Grave by now. But luckily, due to his travelling, his learned knowledge, and the cold, numb feeling he had acquired from his past, he has been fully capable of confronting the 'Bot. Sometimes by himself. He treats everyone he can with respect, as long as it is repaid in kind, and tries to find reasonable solutions to his problems, if a gunfight can be avoided. The fights themselves appear to tick off something in his brain, to where he seems to enter a trance-like state, like an Auto-Pilot. It takes him back to the day his parents died and the Reavers slaughtered his ship, except now he's Twenty-five, and carrying an Assault Rifle. And those shooting at him suddenly become the things that killed his parents...