CITIZEN DOSSIER

Some pilots chase glory.
Some chase credits.

I’ve always chased the signal of a distress beacon.

For years I flew medevac routes along the outer lanes, answering calls most ships ignored—crashed prospectors, crippled freighters, bounty hunters who pushed their luck too far. In the chaos of vacuum and gunfire I built a quiet reputation: steady hands, steady voice, and the stubborn belief that no one should be left behind if there was still time to reach them.

Eventually the official channels became too slow, too political, and too willing to write people off.

So I stepped away.

Now I fly alongside Nyla in NOVA Dynamics, operating where the frontier is roughest—patching up crews after firefights, stabilizing survivors pulled from wreckage, and making sure that when someone calls for help out in the black… someone actually answers.

Because out here, the difference between life and death is often simple.

Whether someone shows up.