The serenity of the Outer Sectors is not something to be underestimated. Police drones are AU away, colonies have long since been abandoned, and debris is less of an inevitability and more of an anomaly. The silence is deafening, consuming drifters' ships with a hollow aura that could drive one mad. The Outer Sectors are where those without anywhere else to go find themselves, regardless of their desire to spend their days alone, drifting along until the cold takes them. The Outer Sectors are the lands of failed revolutionaries, of political exiles, of mastermind criminals, and of tired orphans.
Neptune's beauty is something that few have seen in person. It stands in direct opposition to Jupiter, its cool winds blowing like tides of an old Earth sea, passive, sterile. It is for this reason that satellites scatter themselves about its orbit- providing fuel, viewpoints, and secrecy. Drifters head from station to station, stewing in the grey area of the law, minimizing fuel consumption and praying to whatever gods they still believe in that their prefab machines don't break before they can get their next credit fractions. You are one of these drifters,
// ideally, the top paragraph would have been on the left, and the bottom would have been on the right.
-although you've yet to exactly identify with the label. About two quarters ago, you fled from your father, the CEO of ----. You were next in line to the corporate throne, but... you disapprove of his methods, to put your political and ethical leanings as mildly as possible. You now drift in Neptune's orbit, maintaining geosynchronous distance in order to stay away from your former home hovering a few hundred kilos away. You've not talked to anyone at all in this entire time, and you've become more than antsy. You're a nameless woman lost in space and, more than anything else, you're hopelessly bored.
-and you're more than used to this way of living. It's been several years since you escaped in the makeshift ship your mother built for you, carved out of a shipping container and stolen parts. You're "under violated contract" in the eyes of the governments, meaning that you're marked as illegal, and can't enter most settlements. Your biosigns were never recorded, but without a name or paperwork, you can never find a home in civilized space. You make your life off of scamming kids on QNET. It's not exactly what you'd call enjoyable, or... moral, but you're not really buried in options. You're alive, and your parents' sacrifice wasn't in vain. You're a rebel with a cause but without motivation; despite your lack of energy, you still manage to be brimming with spite.