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Paired with SOL ShaneCon | $793.68% |
 SaltyDailyDitto | $251.15% |
 deepkraken78711 | $10.06% |
| $10.05% | |
| $0.180.01% | |
 snapshrimp00845 | $0.150.01% |
| $0.110.01% |
The neon streetlights of Atlanta’s West End didn't hit El-Zor the way the twin suns of the Kepler-186 system used to, but he preferred the hustle down here anyway. On the streets, they called him "Z." He didn’t wear a high-tech space suit; he rocked a oversized, vintage puffer jacket—perfect for hiding his extra set of retractable limbs—and a heavy silver chain that was actually forged from asteroid belt iridium. Z had arrived on Earth three years ago after his crew's freighter took a bad turn past Jupiter. Stranded, he quickly realized that the Galactic Federation's black market wasn't all that different from the local underground economy. He started out running security for a local crew, using his mild telekinesis to intercept rival product and his heat-signature vision to spot undercover cops from three blocks away. But Z wasn't just muscle; he had a business mind. He took over a failing body shop on Bankhead Highway, turning it into a front. In the back garage, he used a localized plasma torch to strip high-end vehicles in under ninety seconds. The local crews respected him because he never talked to the feds, he kept his word, and his product was always pure—mostly because he figured out how to synthesize terrestrial substances using a basic chemistry kit from his escape pod.