Early Life:

Colton Teltin was born on Earth in the Sol System to a family with deep ties to the Terran underworld. His parents ran a scrapyard on the outskirts of an industrial zone, but the business served as a front for smuggling operations that moved illicit cargo off-planet. His father, a former naval engineer turned smuggler, taught Colton how to weld hull patches and modify engine cores before he was old enough to pilot. His mother, sharp and calculating, handled the business side—bribes, negotiations, and black-market deals. Together, they built a reputation for reliability among those who worked in the shadows.

Colton grew up surrounded by secrets, learning how to patch up ships with stolen parts and forge cargo manifests before he could legally fly. By his early teens, he was dismantling ships for parts, rerouting power systems, and even piloting salvage rigs under his father’s watchful eye. But he wasn’t just a mechanic. His mother ensured he could talk his way out of bad deals and read people as easily as he read ship diagnostics. Those skills—practical and social—laid the foundation for the man he’d become.

Despite—or perhaps because of—his unconventional upbringing, Colton had ambitions beyond the scrapyard. He was fascinated by ship designs and flight patterns, often sneaking into starports to watch freighters and fighters take off. By the time he turned eighteen, he was more skilled at hotwiring ship systems than most certified engineers.

But Colton wanted legitimacy—or something close to it. He enlisted in a private security fleet operating along the fringes of human space, trading shady deals for a chance to prove himself. The work was dangerous, guarding freighters from pirates and smugglers, but it honed his piloting skills and tactical instincts. Colton spent nearly a decade in the fleet, earning a reputation as a sharp tactician and fearless pilot. He thrived on the edge of danger, operating where law was loose and survival depended on skill.

Everything changed when a high-profile mission went sideways. His Sidewinder took heavy damage during an ambush and was torn apart in the chaos. Barely escaping with his life, Colton drifted in the black until a salvager crew recovered him. The experience left scars—both physical and mental. While recovering in a medical bay, he resolved to return to the stars but found the trauma of his near-death experience impossible to shake. He retreated to Oort Orbital, a backwater hub far from major trade routes, where he spent five years avoiding the cockpit.

Life on Oort Orbital:

Teltin started with nothing but the clothes on his back and a handful of credits. At first, he picked up maintenance jobs—fixing broken terminals, patching wiring, and keeping ventilation systems running. The scrapyard skills his father taught him came back quickly—rerouting power, bypassing security locks, and repurposing old parts into working systems. It paid enough to keep him in his one-room apartment above a noisy market, but it wasn’t enough to quiet the restless itch to do more.

Desperation turned him toward riskier work. Word spread fast on Oort about his ability to fix what others couldn’t—or wouldn’t—touch. He started sabotaging rival equipment, reprogramming ship IDs, and rigging cargo holds to hide contraband. It wasn’t glamorous, but it paid better, and the connections he made along the way kept him fed. He grew comfortable in the station’s underbelly, navigating its black-market deals and backroom favors like he’d been born into it.

It wasn’t just work that kept him anchored. He met Jules early on—a sharp-tongued mechanic with oil-streaked hands and a knack for keeping everything running when it should’ve broken down long ago. Jules came to Oort as a teenager, following her father—a traveling mechanic who specialized in patchwork repairs for stranded ships. She learned quickly, picking up skills on the job, and earned a reputation for being able to coax life out of systems most others had written off. Her quick thinking saved more than a few desperate crews who came limping into port, and by the time Colton met her, she was running her own repair bay. She had a knack for seeing potential in broken things, including Colton. The two grew close, though their relationship blurred the lines between friendship and something more complicated.

Harlan was another fixture—an older trader who’d seen it all and lost half of it. He took a liking to Colton, treating him like a protégé, sharing stories about the galaxy and teaching him the ins and outs of negotiation. Harlan wasn’t the type to hand out advice, but when he spoke, Colton listened. The old man’s lessons on survival and reading people stuck with him, even when he tried to forget them.

Then there were the others—dockhands, scavengers, and smugglers whose faces blurred together over the years. Some stuck around, others vanished as quickly as they’d arrived. Colton never asked too many questions. It was easier that way.

The Phantom came later, a purchase made on impulse when credits were good, and confidence ran higher than it should have. He bought her thinking she’d be his way out, but the reality hit harder than expected. Once the paperwork was signed, she became a weight he couldn’t shake. He’d visit her often, running his hands along her hull and imagining what it’d feel like to leave the station behind. Each time, though, doubt dragged him back.

Jules kept pushing him to get back in the pilot’s seat, but Colton brushed off her encouragement, telling himself he wasn’t ready, that the galaxy had already left him behind. Harlan told him to stop waiting for the perfect moment and take the risk—but even that wasn’t enough to make him act. He kept the Phantom fueled and ready, but she stayed grounded, a reminder of everything he couldn’t face.

Colton spent years convincing himself that staying docked was the smarter move. But deep down, he knew he was just running from the stars—and from himself.