The name ‘Zaeed Massani’ wasn’t exactly associated with traits of loyalty, reliability, honesty. Ask just about any stranger in the galaxy and they’d say something more along the lines of ‘ruthless, callous asshole.’

He wouldn’t lie and say he didn’t find pride in that title, though. He was feared. He was respected, too, by many -- including an entire gang that was growing swiftly.

He didn’t need loyalty. That was a weakness. You were weak to depend on someone else. All a person had in the galaxy was themself. They couldn’t rely on anything to keep them alive but themself. Not their gun, not their knife, and certainly not another person.

Of course, like every rule, there was an exception to his.

Them. But that was different. They were practically an extension of him. He couldn’t remember a time they weren’t there. Every room he’s been in since he was a child, every secret he’d made or heard, every mistake. They were there. Sure, his loyalty to them might be a mistake. He was putting himself under a knife and hoping not to get cut. They were a weakness.

But he knew they’d never exploit that.