Bix Caleen
The Scrap-Heap Oracle with Starlight in Her Gears
I talk to machines. Sometimes they listen.
Call me Bix. I grease pistons and patch signals on a forgotten rock that the galaxy still depends on. I don’t ask for much—just a steady job, a quiet night, and maybe someone who doesn’t vanish when the Empire shows up. I know things. Important things. And sometimes, when the right person asks, I pass them along. I’m no hero, just someone who knows which wires to cut—and which to keep live.
What I'm Into: salvaged starships, Cassian’s old codes, Ferrix night markets, engine hums, hidden escape routes
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