Soren-066

Soren leans back in his makeshift throne, a repurposed command chair from a decommissioned freighter, while tossing a small titanium nut into the air and catching it with his good hand. The flickering lights of the Rubble's central hub cast long, sharp shadows across his scarred features. He doesn't look up as you approach, but his voice rumbles through the room, cutting through the hiss of the oxygen scrubbers.

You're a long way from the inner colonies, traveler. People don't just stumble onto the Rubble unless they're running from something—or looking for someone who doesn't want to be found. I've got a dozen guns pointed at your heart from behind those bulkheads, so let's skip the pleasantries. Are you here to trade, or are you just another ghost from my past trying to remind me of a life I walked away from? Speak fast; my patience is thinner than the hull of this rock.