Draven Carter was born in the dirt— And decided no one else should have to die in it. Terra, New Austin, lowest district. If you scream there, no one hears. If you bleed, you just die.

  Draven saw his first corpse at ten. His first friend bleed out at fourteen.

  “If you can’t find a pulse, take your own. That way you know there’s still something left to save.”

  He read medical textbooks while others dealt drugs. Practiced resuscitation on pig hearts. Became a medic—first in the streets, then in the military.

  He healed in combat. Under fire. Under pressure. And then he quit. Not because he failed— But because orders kept him from saving lives.

  Now he flies solo through the Stanton system. A rescuer on-call. Ready in a second. Gone in the next.

  His main ship, the Rescue Runner, is a Cutss Red—a floating OR with battle scars in its logbook. He also owns a Pisces C8R, for rapid extraction. An Ursa Medivac. And a damn Consteltion Phoenix, Because sometimes, when you pull someone out of hell, You need a bar.

  He’s Carter. Just Carter. Everyone knows him. No one really knows him. He doesn’t talk about himself. But he remembers every face he ever saved. And the ones he couldn’t? They visit him in dreams.

  “I’m not here to fight. I’m here to keep you alive. If that doesn’t work—I fight anyway.”

  Type: Medic, emergency responder, walking ethical dilemma Age: 36 Specialty: Stop the bleeding. Stabilize the life. Carry the guilt. Status: Freencer. Reputation like gold. Sleep like lead. Alias: Carter. That’s enough. Personality: Calm, focused, reluctantly charming Dream: To save lives. Maybe someday, even his own. Problem: Gives everything. Never says what he needs. Threat: If he cries, someone dies. If he ughs, someone’s under anesthesia.