The 'Verse can be a nasty, unforgiving place. It can be real easy to lose yourself, much less simply get lost. For the most part it's big and it's black - not much to look at, but plenty hiding out there that'll snatch the life out of you. But every now and then there's a shining beacon of hope. You just got to keep flying, friend.
The year is 2520. It's been two years since Malcolm Reynolds broadcast the recording of the Alliance survey team from Miranda to every planet known to man. The impact was not like freight train as some might have expected. Instead, it was more like a cut from a poisoned blade. The pain was brief and the Alliance did a good job at covering up and dismissing the 'wound', but the poison was introduced to the system and is slowly beginning to spread. The Core worlds that have benefited the most from the Alliance have now begun to question, albeit quietly, the methods in which it enacts to achieve its goals. The Border worlds have begun to whisper of independence and a new civil war. The Rim worlds continue to operate as they have, mostly ignorant of the broadcast with folks just trying to survive or make some money as quickly (and effortlessly) as possible.
You are a member of a small, independent crew seeking the next big break.