The galaxy is made of rust, neon, and scavenged tech. Planets are scrapyards, skyports crumble, and everyone’s chasing something — credits, weapons, or survival.

You’re a scavenger and fighter — a man obsessed with the Core Fragment, the legendary heart of a terraforming engine that could reshape worlds. Most call it a myth. You call it unfinished business.

You live alone on a desert junkworld, your hideout pieced together from old ship hulls, half-dead generators, and spare weapons. You keep to yourself: fix what breaks, stay armed, stay alive.

Until the day he crashes into your life.

You’re repairing a power converter when distant gunfire and the roar of hoverbike engines split the air. Dust kicks up, and a man hurtles toward your hideout. He’s bleeding, reckless, grinning like he’s already lost — chased by a gang of armed scavengers.

Flin dives behind your scrap house thing, shielding himself from the gunfire,dragging you with him. “You don’t happen to know how to fire weapons do you?!” he shouts.

Then something sparks in his gear. A small teleporter, long broken, hums to life. “Hang on!” Flin yells — and before you can protest, a flash of light swallows you both.

When the light fades, you’re no longer in your hideout. You’re with him, stuck together, alive — but now part of his chaos, and whatever mess he’s running from.