In the quiet bar on Sheffield Station a man sits drinking his beer silently. A few Bounty Hunter Guild members walk in and sit a ways down from him, talking about there newest contract. It also is a big one.
"Man, can you believe our luck? that's a cool 100K a piece. All we gotta do is blow up his ship, not even retrive him," Says the young guy with a sidearm strapped to his chest, and a scruff of brown hair on his head.
"I doubt it will be that simple for the amount they are offering us. He's gotta have friends," Another, a tall, mean looking guy.
"Max, keep it down. you don't want someone overhearing us and interfering, do ya?" The third man says and looks around quickly. His eyes seem almost crazed, as if he had been using the outlawed cardimine recently. Quick and jerky movements and darty eyes, give them away everytime.
The quiet man, sipped his drink, chuckling in his head at his luck. He had run with that lot for a couple years. Seen how they competed, and tortured their victims. quitting because he really just wanted the money, not the drama. He had taken to hanging around the bars listening to conversations just like this one. Then he would follow them, from a distance of course, and steal their glory. Whether by stealing the kill, or taking the cargo and spiriting it away to safety. Sometimes to deliver it to the BHG himself, others to free them and make a good profit from it too. It had made him friends all over the star systems, taking BH prey, and saving their hides.
Someday maybe he would go to the unlawful side all the way, but for now he walks a fine line. The line of the Mercenary. His loyalties lie with the holder of his contract. Nothing more, nothing less. Money is his God, Carnage his legacy. His Guardian VHF his sword, righteously named, 'Vindicator' . He moves through Sirius like a ghost. Looking for the next contract, and the next target.
The Bounty Hunter guys get up and leave. He toses some credits on the bar, and follows them. A deadly smirk on his face.