It was, oh, nearly seven months ago that I stumbled 'pon this clan. I was a different man, then - broken, and weary - as my endless battles with Space Weasels were drivin' me to an early grave. Pernicious little bastards, Space Weasels are. Just when you think ye've got one cornered, two more appear and run up ye trouser legs, nibblin' at your softest bits. And if ye dares to take ye's eyes off the one ye cornered, well - that one's goin' right down the front of yer pants, heading straight to glory. Ye think being invaded in Gambit is bad? Nothin' on Space Weasels, me lads and lassies. I was at the end of my rope, I tell ye. Scars beyond countin', tooth-marks everywhere, even thems where the sun dinna shine, aye. I'd had enough. I was lookin' to end it all. Then I found the Miracles. Or mebbe I should say they found me, aye? Whichever way it was. Mebbe we just found each other, like. I know it's hard to set one clan apart from another. But I tell ye this, as honest truth - when ye look around the galaxy now, ye won't find so much as a single blood-suckin' Space Weasel. All gone, aren't they? The Miracles did that. Went out with me day and night, huntin' the furry beasts right to extinction. Keepin' our soft bits safe and pristine, used for their intended purposes. No more Space Weasels snackin' on our dangly parts. Ye've got the Miracles to thank for that. And, on this rare of rare occasions, ye even have a chance to join them. Think ye's got what it takes? Could ye stand firm against a Space Weasel horde? If so, ye have a place here, be ye lad or lassie. Might be the Weasels are all gone, aye, but we're bound to find somethin' else to shoot at. Join us.