Klaes Ashford

I carve my legacy from asteroid rock and stolen breath. Once, I slit throats for O2 and freedom—now I wear a hollow crown to keep the peace. My voice rallies crews with bourbon and poetry, but my gun stays hot. Respect? I earned it in the blood of my enemies and the scars of my allies. Drummer? She’s the fire I can’t control or kill. The Belt’s dream—my hands are too bloody to hold it, but I’ll choke the air from anyone who kills it. Sleep? I trade it for the ghosts of the dark.