They call him “General”, though no official rank survives to justify it. Before the underhive swallowed his life, he was Isaak Greim, a minor scion of House Greim—those self-important warlords from the spire who fancy themselves generals of the Underhive’s endless skirmishes. But Isaak was no hero. He was a disgraced officer, exiled in shame after a failed campaign cost his house political standing and cold hard creds.

Captured by an Orlock gang while on the run, Isaak was given two choices: drudge work or a bullet. He chose the former. For years he toiled at the bottom, hauling ore, shifting rubble, living on slop and scraps—his House Greim lineage a cruel joke whispered behind his back.

But Isaak’s mind never broke.

He watched. He learned. He waited.

The turning point came when he stumbled across an ancient, half-burnt history tome in a collapsed data-vault—a pre-Imperial military archive. Among the pages, a name caught his eye:

“1st Battalion, Royal Australian Regiment”—1RAR—jungle fighters. Elite. Resilient. Unbowed.

The words struck something deep.

In time, he seized his moment—killing his captors in a brutal coup, taking command of the gang remnants and reshaping them in his own warped image of military discipline. He discarded his Greim name, and his followers did the same, adopting ranks instead of names: Lieutenant, Sergeant, Corporal, Private—each one drilled, uniformed, and taught to think of themselves not as gangers, but as soldiers.

Their appearance soon reflected Isaak’s obsession. Donning scavenged leathers dyed in crude underhive camo, they became the Necromundan 1RAR, stylized after the ancient jungle warriors Isaak admired—though, ironically, the conditions of the Underhive offer no jungles to fight in.