The Scrapliners

They come from Lorville. Four men who grew up side by side. Two brothers, and two friends who became family along the way.

Jax and Rigg Rourke are the brothers. Jax, the eldest by two years, carries the quiet authority of someone who has always taken the first step. Rigg is sharper, quicker to laugh, and just as quick to push back. Mek Lanner has been Jax’s friend for as long as anyone can remember, the kind of bond that does not need explaining. Jan Aroden grew up alongside Rigg, matching his energy beat for beat. Together, they form a balance that only long familiarity can create.

They know each other by heart, especially how to make one another laugh or push each other too far. Taken individually, each has a distinct temperament. But as soon as more than two of them are together, you can feel that anything could spiral at any moment.

They are loud together, but also alive, deeply human. They love warmth, music, and the presence of others. Early on, they understood that bolts and songs went surprisingly well together. Fans of folk rock, they all play an instrument: a guitar, a bass, an old synth from another era, a drum kit assembled from scraps and spare parts. Above all, they share the simple pleasure of just having a good time.

All four worked in industrial maintenance in Lorville, for Hurston Dynamics. Propulsion modules, heavy equipment, thankless repairs. They never left the city, but they did leave the corporation. Tired of the dynasty, and of the constant sense of oppression that comes with employees who “belong” to their employer. They have kept a foothold in the city, but most of their time is now spent in space, drifting between salvage sites and refineries.

They started with what they could afford. Two patched-up Vultures, and a Cutlass Black that had already lived several lives before crossing paths with theirs. Nothing new. Everything bears scars, repairs, quick fixes. And that is exactly what they like. The Cutlass became their rally point, their favorite mistake, their crooked pride. Around it, the My Mess trilogy was born. Songs about living with what you have, owning your flaws, and moving forward anyway.

During long salvage sessions, their passion for music emerged naturally. To keep the rhythm. To make the hours pass. To turn the noise of grinders and the breath of thrusters into something more bearable. What began as a pastime slowly became a habit. Then, without them really noticing, an identity.

Their ships are flying museums of improvisation. Guitars hanging from pipes. Beer crates used as seats. LEDs taped along air ducts. Nothing is perfect. But everything works, in their own way.

Madi Roa was already part of the crew when Nok met them. She handled logistics, permits, and sometimes lent her voice when the mood felt right. That day, in Lorville, the Scrapliners were unloading their Cutlass on the cargo docks while singing. An organized, joyful chaos, punctuated by Madi’s softer voice drifting in the background.

Nok had just left New Deal, still searching for a ship for his project. His transport was not scheduled to depart for several hours. He decided to wander the docks, where the city feels most alive. That is where he stopped. What he heard did not sound like a performance. It sounded like a moment of life. He followed the sound until he reached them.

He found enthusiasm, good spirits, and a group of people making noise simply for the pleasure of being together. Nok introduced himself, spoke about a project in progress, and suggested staying in touch. Nothing more. The Scrapliners agreed, without giving it much thought.

When the message arrived, they did not hesitate. Not for a second. They dropped everything to join Nok. Not because they saw an opportunity, but because they liked the idea.

One day, maybe, they will get themselves a Reclaimer. Even an old one. Even a battered one. Not as a symbol of success, but as a natural extension of the way they do things. For now, they keep dreaming, between salvage cycles and a few songs played too loud.

Within SubOrbital Records, the Scrapliners are not model artists. They are a crew. A chosen family. Proof that friendship, improvisation, and music can hold together, as long as someone is there to sing while the others unload.