****On a backwater planet, in a god forsaken settlement****
You sit there in your usual oak made chair. Still a fine chair after all these years, but time has left scars on it. Appearence you give damn about, but the darn chair has during the later years begun to lean somewhat more to the left. Its legs are probably just to worn on that side, but never the less, it frustrates you.
While you sit there, on this lonesome backwater planet, in this scum pit of a bar, on your ageing chair just trying to relax haveing a nice fine ale. Somewhere in the back of your mind, your remarkable senses calculates and predicts on how to make the most use of the chairs leaning, or how to offset it in case a fights errupts. Never can you really relax, and this fact stings you like the edge of a knife when the door suddenly opens and your hand by pure instict reaches for your gun.
Not even has the others in the bar reacted when you relises, that who entered pose of no serious threat, atleast not to you. For the other 17 half drunk or depressed souls in the room, well who knows. It's not like your going to risk ya neck for some lowlife scum out here on this rock. if it turns out that you misjudged the visitor, well maby some of em could be valuble meatshields.
As for the visitor, a weary and somewhat nervous man, well beyond his prime years.
The man walk slowly towards the bar while none, except you seems to take notice of him. He asks the bartender something. After having studied the man during this tedious seconds you already made the assumption his an old junker, who seem a bit to paranoid for his own good. The bartender and the junker talks for some brief seconds and then suddenly they both look at you.
The old man looks around several times during his short strides to your table. Not has he felt the opposit chair beneath him, before he can feel your gun pressing towards his gut.
-What ya want old man, you spit out as you light a cigarr with your free hand. Confident that you are atleast three times as fast as this old fart.
The old man leans forward and says with pure fear gleaming in his eyes that death chases him. He babbles on about a strange ship stalking him, finding him, and in his dreams killing him.
-I heard that this was the place to go, well to go if one needed to find people, dangerous people. The bartender told me to speak with you, and well i need your expertise regarding the removal of a certain .......well how shall i say it. Well there is only one word for it .......evil pure evil. I want you to hunt down and kill a certain PHANTOM called ''Bane'''. Ofcourse i will compensate you, i will give you 80 millions if you rid me of this demon......Before he gets rid of me.
The old junker starts looking around again, and first now you notice that beneath his ragged clothing he wears some sort of integrated body armor. Probably the only reason why he is still alive.
The uttering of a phantom got you of balance for a mere second, enough time for your cigarr to escape your grip and land on the floor. You dont mind that at all, cause the only thing echoing in your mind are..............
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Target: A phantom under the callsign ''Bane'' flying some sort of experimental fighter.
*Requirements*
1. Beeing a Bounty hunter or Mercenary (providing picture proof of ID)
2.Telling said target that ''an old junker'' sent you. (providing picture proof */time on photo*)
3.Shooting down target and by so hopeing for his/it's demise (providing guncam of death, and with /time on it)
Upon showing the proof of these three, the regarding party shall receive 80 million credits. (state also to what account they shall be transfered)
This bounty i am willing to pay for only once. In hope that this demon shall be vanquished.
If such a thing can ever die i don't truly know.
There would be a faint sound of amused laughter in the back ground as a song plays over the transmission, Song when the song ends so does the transmission