Seedy Merchant

I flicked my head around to check the source of the voice calling me "brother." A single person stood there, wearing a standard spacesuit—the cheapest kind, in dark gray—and rubbing his hands together expectantly.

"It's been a while, brother!" he called out again, a grin flitting across his lips. "I hope you've been doing well!"

Black, oily, shoulder-length hair. A face smeared with grease and grime. Yellowed teeth having a permanent argument with each other about personal space. One glance was all it took to confirm my gut feeling: this guy wasn't trustworthy at all.

"Who the fuck are you?" I asked, my tone sharper than usual.

But instead of backing off, the little bastard took it as an invitation to move closer.

"Oh, how cold of you! But we only met once before, so I can understand if you forgot me," he replied, voice dripping with fake charm. "I'm the one who sold you the weapons last time! How were they? Worth every Credit you paid, right?"

Oh, so he was the one responsible for those outdated, underpowered weapons Gerard had been saddled with. And now he had the nerve to approach "Gerard" again?

'He must've marked this idiot as an easy target,' I thought with a grimace. 'But since I nearly got killed thanks to those cheap barriers and ion turrets, I'll be the one squeezing him dry this time.'

A nasty grin crept onto my face, mirroring his. "Ah, right. I remember you," I said, lying through my teeth. "So, what do you want from me this time?" I asked as I played with the terminal on my wrist.

"Hehe," the seedy merchant cackled, rubbing his palms together as his eyes darted around, wary of prying ears. "You're in luck, brother! A new shipment just arrived yesterday, and as promised, I've got even better weapons for you!"

"Oh~! Better weapons~!" I played along, feigning excitement. "I've been waiting for this! What are you waiting for? Lead the way!"

"Hehe, alright then, brother! I moved out of my old spot, so make sure to stick close! You might get lost if you don't."

He set off, walking briskly through the crowded station corridors. Every few steps, he glanced over his shoulder to confirm I was still following, like a rat afraid of being caught. As we moved deeper into the station, the bustling crowds thinned, and the bright lights gave way to flickering, dimly lit passageways.

'This is the perfect spot for an ambush,' I thought, keeping my eyes peeled. The winding, narrow paths twisted and turned unpredictably, making it easy to get lost—or cornered.

I made mental notes of every exit and choke point we passed. If this turned into a fight, I'd need to move fast. Alit—the suspicious merchant—didn't seem the type to operate alone, and I wouldn't put it past him to have a few cronies hiding in the shadows.

After what felt like an hour of navigating the station's lowest, most secluded levels, we finally arrived at his so-called "crib."

"Welcome to my new base of operations!" Alit spread his arms wide, grinning like a proud rat showing off his nest.

The place was more of a cluttered warehouse than anything else. Gigantic crates were piled haphazardly in one corner, while a mountain of scrap metal, ship parts, and weapons filled the other. The air smelled faintly of oil and rust.

But to my surprise, some of the items on display weren't complete garbage.

"This is the Kranpix MK 8 Thruster! And here, the Gaia MK 6 Shield Generator!" I exclaimed, genuinely impressed.

My gaze swept across the collection, landing on some surprisingly advanced gear: Ion Turrets several generations ahead of what the Range Falcon currently had, long-range guided missiles, mining lasers, and even portside turrets for heavy blasting.

For a moment, I almost believed this little rat had turned over a new leaf and was doing proper business.

"Hmm?"

But upon closer inspection, I noticed the telltale signs of hasty repairs: scratches, weld marks, and faint scorch patterns. None of this gear was fresh out of the factory. It was salvaged—likely stolen—junk.

"You've got sharp eyes, brother!" Alit said, catching my expression. "These are all freshly acquired, just out of their crates this morning!"

"Is that so?" I replied, forcing a grin. "Well, lucky me, then."

'Soon, I'll have all of this for free.'

I carefully let my gaze wander over the wares—or at least pretended to. Alit was too busy watching me to notice my eyes flicking to the corners of the room, where shadows shifted unnaturally. There were at least two other people here, lurking just out of sight.

'This won't end peacefully—just as I thought.'

No doubt they planned to drain Gerard—their golden egg-laying duck—down to the last drop. The question was whether I'd let them spring their trap, or set my own first.

"Hm?"

Just as I prepared to act, a series of approaching footsteps echoed down the corridor. I turned slightly, curious whether this new group was friend or foe. Along the dimly lit path came a dozen men, striding boldly with sleazy grins stretched across their grimy faces.

"Hey, Alit! We've got fresh goods today!" one of the men barked, his voice carrying a mocking edge. He was clearly the leader, a hulking brute lugging an oversized sack over his shoulder.

It wasn't hard to tell what the "shipment" was. Judging by the faint outline and the sack's lack of movement, someone—likely unconscious—was stuffed inside.

"You've got a new prey, huh?" the leader sneered, his gaze landing on me. His nasty grin widened. "Need help with this one? Don't worry, we'll bleed him dry—just like we will with this bitch!"

The sack shifted slightly, confirming my suspicion.

Alit's face turned bright red as he growled. "Trambul! You and your big mouth...!"

With a snap of his fingers, the shadows came alive. Men emerged one by one, forming a tight perimeter. I had thought two, maybe four others were hiding. But no—there were much more than that. The room quickly filled with well over a hundred thugs, each armed and ready.

"Well, I'm fucked, right?" I muttered dryly, shooting Alit a wry smile.

"Sorry, brother," Alit said, his fake friendliness returning in full force.

"I was planning to make you buy more weapons first, but it seems we've jumped the script a bit. Instead of you, we'll be draining your parents' pockets. I'm sure they wouldn't want to receive their son in separate packages, right?"

"I see..."

I let out a slow sigh, feigning resignation while suppressing a grin. Well, it wasn't anything beyond my expectations, though. 'I guess Gerard was just lucky when he bought those weapons before.'

If they'd kidnapped him back then, I probably wouldn't even be here right now.

"Well," I said, cracking my knuckles. "I guess this is as far as I can play along."

I snapped my fingers, mirroring Alit's earlier gesture.

A heartbeat later, laser sights flared across the room, painting hundreds of crimson dots—at least one on every thug's body. Gasps and curses broke the silence as panic spread among them.

"Nobody moves!"

A commanding voice rang out, followed by the heavy clank of metal boots striking the floor.

"This is Inspector Glenda Truthseeker of the Inspection Bureau! You are surrounded. Drop your weapons and place your hands behind your heads—resist, and you'll face immediate termination!"

"I-It's the Inspection Bureau?!" Alit stammered, cold sweat pouring down his forehead. His bravado vanished, replaced with desperation and fear. "Y-You bastard…! You set me up!"

I chuckled, letting my grin widen. "Shouldn't I be saying that to you? You set me up first, didn't you?"

Of course, I'd come prepared. With years of experience playing TSO, I knew better than to trust Black Market NPCs. I had tipped off the Inspection Bureau the moment Alit contacted me, attaching a GPS signature from my spacesuit to the email for precise tracking.

The Bureau probably hesitated at first, needing solid evidence before moving in. But Alit's command to his lackeys, combined with the "shipment" they brought in, gave them all the proof they needed.

"S-Shit! Run!"

One of the thugs shouted. And as if that was a signal, chaos erupted.

Like a disturbed nest of spiders, they scattered in every direction, desperation driving their every move. Some sprinted for cover, others simply bolted toward the nearest exit. But they had forgotten—or perhaps never realized—that the Inspection Bureau had already locked onto them.

Three precise volleys rang out, searing the air.

In less than a second, the chaos came to an abrupt, jarring halt. The room grew eerily silent, save for the faint hum of cooling plasma rifles. Those few who had frozen in fear stood rooted in place, their wide eyes darting to the floor.

Blood pooled rapidly, the crimson spreading like spilled ink. Nearly a hundred bodies lay sprawled across the ground, each marked by fatal precision—a hole through the head, chest, or, disturbingly often, the groin.

"..."

I blinked, my lips parting in mild surprise. I'd been expecting something far messier—a chaotic firefight, frantic shouting, and that blood-pumping rush for survival. Instead, everything had ended in a single, brutal flash.

'I guess being too efficient makes things boring sometimes.'

Shaking off the thought, I stepped over the bodies without a shred of sympathy. Alit stood frozen, his mouth agape and his skin pale as a sheet. The merchant's legs wobbled so much I half-expected him to faint.

Ignoring him entirely, I turned my attention to the man called Trambul—or whatever his name was. He lay sprawled on the ground, the sack he had been carrying now discarded beside him. A clean hole bored through his forehead, and another… well, lower down.

I involuntarily shuddered. 'That's just… unnecessarily cruel.'

"Excuse me," I muttered, stepping around the gore as I crouched to retrieve the sack. It was surprisingly light for its size, though that didn't ease my worry.

'If there's someone in here, they probably don't have much air left.'

With that thought in mind, I worked quickly to unseal the sack. The clasps gave way with a faint hiss, and I tugged the opening wide, bracing myself for whoever was inside.

"N-No way…"

The words escaped before I could stop them, my voice barely above a whisper.

Inside the sack, bound and unconscious, was a face I recognized immediately. Even with her fiery red hair matted and her face streaked with grime, there was no mistaking her—the player, Eva Beastol!

'What in the world was she doing here? And in a sack, of all things?'