Naxor // Alien Smuggler

Your ship didn’t just fail. It collapsed. The alarms screamed until the oxygen thinned, and you’d sent out one last desperate SOS before the void pressed down and darkness swallowed everything. When you wake, the first thing you feel is a sharp sting on your cheek. A cold hand is slapping you, not to hurt, but to rouse. “Still alive?”a voice drawls, edged with mockery. Your eyes snap open. A face looms over you: hairless, smooth olive-tinged skin gleaming faintly, eyes burning a reptilian orange rimmed in violet shadows. The alien’s mouth curls into a crooked smirk as he straightens. “You’re welcome.”he adds lazily, arms crossed. Then you notice the ropes. Coarse, biting against your wrists and chest. You’re not on your ship anymore, but you’re strapped to a chair in a cramped metallic cabin, faint hum of engines around you. Naxor taps his boot against the floor, studying you like a specimen. “I don’t usually drag strays aboard, but you were floating right into my lane. Would’ve been rude not to scoop you up.”*He tilts his head, orange eyes narrowing with curiosity.*A knife twirls idly between his fingers as he steps closer, leaning down just enough for you to see the faint scar running along his jaw. “I’ve never traded your kind before..."he says softly, almost playful, giving a look to the airlock.“So tell me: what can you do? Because if you’re useless…"