The dim lights of Vice Club, one of Blitzkrieg's many nightclubs, flickered over the haze of heavy, intoxicating atmosphere and smoke that filled the room, giving the place a murky, almost ethereal atmosphere. The Blacklist crew—the recently formed pirate group, were scattered about, lounging in various states of inebriation. This was one of Ubel’s proud luxurious establishments that anyone could misunderstand as a high-class hotel with its luxury furniture, tables, ornate walls, and engraved lamps that lit the room. However, these luxury tables were now cluttered with half-empty bottles of spirits, the kind that burned all the way down, along with makeshift ashtrays overflowing with smoldering cigars and synth-sticks. The scent of alcohol and illicit substances also lingered like a fog, mixing with the hum of conversation, laughter, and the clink of metal cups. It was interspersed with the occasional thump of a heavy boot hitting the floor as someone cracked a joke or sang drunkenly an off-key shanty.
Ubel leaned against the counter, content to let the others revel in their brief respite from the usual chaos. His curious, mischievous, and cat-like nature made him the observer, eyes scanning the room with great interest as the side dish for his wine. Today, they weren’t just celebrating another successful run, they were celebrating life in the only way space pirates knew how—on the edge, indulging in every vice, because in space, tomorrow wasn’t guaranteed. Some of the stimulants that were meant to be sold for a fortune, were now being passed around by his crew. Injecting themselves with the euphoric and orgasmic explosions of feeling with every pop
“Live like today’s the last day,” Ubel murmured under his breath, taking a swig of his own drink. He grinned to himself. In this line of work, it usually was. Especially now that this was his new life and career.
Especially when he decided to reroute their planned destination from either Jupiter or Neptune to a remote place where he could finally start what he wanted to do with his new crew. He looked around and saw the sights of chaos.
He saw Ursa, ever the stoic one, sitting at a corner table, nursing her drink while talking with Aela and her group, though it was obvious that she had no intention of getting as plastered as the others. Creed, on the other hand, was in the middle of a heated conversation about some obscure firefight they'd survived on the fringe Terran colonies. Mei, Marus, and Orphel were watching something on their ARNAK device as they immersed themselves with the virtual simulation device that they had bought back in Banedog’s Backyard, he didn’t know what they were watching but at least they had brought something fun for them. The rest of the crew were still drinking, eating, talking, and of course, getting high.
At one of the tables, he saw two crew members arguing over some trivial matter while Orphel sat nearby, nursing a strong drink and eyeing the rowdy atmosphere with one eye. He made a mental note after seeing her as he believed that his crew should be in tip-top shape before they make new moves. His mind started calculating the costs of cybernetics and implants that he may need to provide to some of his crew who were either on the verge of losing their sight, suffered nerve damage, or muscle rot, or were just blind due to combat injuries. But his thoughts were interrupted by the loud noise that cut through his concentration.
“I’m tellin’ you, Mucker, you’d be better off with the auto-sights on the 20s! You can’t trust the damn feedback loop on those older models.” A woman with red hair argued. If Ubel remembers correctly from the list of his new crew, her name was Heila. Her grey eyes and large exposed forehead absorbed the light of the room that reflected her drunken state to those around them. Ubel started wondering why exposed foreheads were quite a popular trend among women in the crew. He already saw dozens of their women around with the same hairstyles that exposed their shining foreheads, like Eris, Mei, Tepra, Katya, and Orphel. Then he remembered that most of the female members would wear black headbands back when they boarded the three freighters, so maybe it was related to that. He was now interested in knowing the tradition or practice of the former Demonic Monkey’s members and mentally made a note to ask Creed and Bastille later.
“Feedback’s the best part,” the man named Mucker retorted, his voice a bit slurred. He scratched his head which was grown by long red dreadlocks. He was one of the tallest in Blacklist which made Ubel recognize him quickly. “Keeps you sharp! Not like these modern toys that do half the work for you. That’s why you’re missin’ your shots half the time.”
Ursa snorted into her glass.
“You both always miss half your shots. Let’s not pretend either of you were not a damn sharpshooter.” She pointed her drink to both of them.
Then he decided to begin the first phase of his plans and stood above the counter for a makeshift platform where three of his droids were washing and cleaning the glasses of wine, refilling bottles, and serving drinks. He grinned with a cigar dangling from his lips. He had that characteristic grin on his face—the kind that the crew admitted to have made them both uneasy and excited.
Then sudden ding of a notification flashed across Ubel’s mental holo feed. Curious, he flicked it open, and his brow arched as he saw the familiar UGTR insignia.
“Well, well, well. Looks like we’re famous.” A sly grin spread across his face as he read through the message.
“Alright!” Ubel’s voice cut through the noise, instantly drawing the crew’s attention. He mentally ordered three of his serving droids to stop what they were doing and beat the counter table to make a loud thumping sound, for emphasis, and the room quieted down to a murmur as all eyes in the room turned toward him. Those who were knocked down due to drunkenness, sleepiness, or just too high were awakened by a slap or a pour of an ice drink. Those who were deep in their virtual simulations were also pricked, making them return to the real world.
“Listen up, you pack of drunks, degenerates, and dosers! There’s something we need to talk about.” The crew fell into a reluctant silence, the celebratory mood still hanging in the air. Ubel didn’t care to rush. He poured himself another drink, downing it in one go before finishing up his stick of cigar and exhaling a thick plume of smoke. He gazed around as he checked whether there was someone who still had not awakened or was still on the floor, slurping specks of dust in their sleep. Seeing that all were accounted for, he continued.
“It’s been two days since we left Banedog’s Backyard so I figured it’s about time we get down to business.” Ubel started, looking over his crew with a smirk. “But before that, I’ve been holding off on telling you something important.”
That caught their entire focus and attention. Murmurs rippled through the crowd, and even the lazier, more inebriated members of the Blacklist perked up, curiosity flickering across their faces.
“Business?” Bastille raised a brow, his voice slurring slightly.
“Wee… pirates, Ubel. Thessh… thishhh… issss… bish…nisss…” Linus, who was awakened from his drunken sleep, wobbled on his feet and countered groggily at Ubel’s statement. Eris and Mucker took turns to slap him, yet it only triggered him to say more dumb things as he raised his empty glass. “Driiiinking! Isss Bisssnish!”
Ubel chuckled at that, shaking his head.
“True, but this time, it’s about something more... pressing. We’ve got a debt hanging over our heads…” He leaned forward, pausing for effect, eyes gleaming with amusement. “—over seventy billion credits. Grows by two percent every Sol year.”
The silence that followed was thick, but it wasn’t the shocked silence he expected. Instead of gasps or panicked expressions, most of his crew just stared blankly, unphased, before suddenly it turned to murmurs of disappointment, sighs of relief, and confusion. Ubel blinked in surprise, genuinely caught off guard as the entire canteen seemed to find the news amusing. Even Ursa cracked a smirk, shaking her head.
“Well, shit,” Ubel muttered, scratching the back of his head. “I thought that’d get more of a reaction.”
It was followed by a low chuckle from Marus.
“Seventy billion?” he guffawed.
“Yeaah… That’s it?” Mei also agreed.
“Hell, I was expecting worse!” Eris yelled.
“I thought you were gonna tell us we’re kicking out some people or somethin’.” Bastille laughed as well, throwing his arm around Creed.
Ubel blinked in surprise, clearly not expecting this reaction.
“Wait… you lot aren't even surprised?” His brow furrowed as he glanced around the room. “Your commander is in debt, which meant that the entire fleet will be affected by this, and none of you care?”
“We knew what we signed up for. Pirates aren’t exactly known for living debt-free, Ubel.” Aela, arms crossed, spoke calmly from her corner.
“C’mon, boss-I mean commander. You think we didn’t know how to live under debt? We’ve always had some wild debt hanging over our heads from other systems. Why do you think we’re on Sol when most of us are not from here? Seventy billion’s just a bigger number this time.” Mucker leaned back in his chair, chuckling. That statement made Ubel turn as he didn’t know that the Demonic Monkey’s were in debt already back then but before he could ask more about that, Marus raised his glass in Ubel’s direction.
“Yeah, but the way you pull us outta scrapes?” Creed added, raising his cup. “We ain’t worried. You’ll figure it out like you always do.”
A few others raised their cups in agreement, toasting to Ubel with drunken grins.
“Well… to be honest, we’d be panicking if Munda told us this. But you?” Bastille smirked. “You showed us that you can get us 500 million credits in one deal so… we know and trust that you will always pull this through.”
“At least, everyone here agreed that you’ve got a knack for this sort of thing.” Ursa agreed with the rest of the crew.
“I don’t know whether to feel flattered or insulted that none of you care about being hunted by every bounty hunter in this quadrant.” Ubel sighed dramatically, feigning disappointment, he was expecting and wanting to enjoy seeing their troubled faces of joining a captain under debt.
“Yeah,” Creed chimed in. “We’ve seen you pull profit that we have never even reached before. And by the way, was our debt the result of buying that high-quality equipment?”
Creed asked after he remembered the new, high-quality, and modular combat suits that Ubel gave them.
“Yeah, that includes the cost of fixing up Leviathan and other ships at Demonic Monkeys back in Banedog’s Backyard.”
“Wait, you still paid for that?” Bastille asked with wide eyes.
“Of course, that is what I promised you, didn’t I?” Ubel shrugged.
“No wonder they didn’t ask us anything for payment,” Marus muttered to others. “I thought they just forgot to demand payment.”
Marus was talking about the mechanics that were hired by the affiliates of the banking group to fix their fleet in Banedog’s Backyard. At least Ubel could sigh in relief that the one who lent him money didn’t try to scam or ask for more money after they finished the overhaul of his former fleet.
“Lending organizations especially banking groups never forget to demand payment, Marus. And if they did, then you mistakenly thought they forgot, you aren’t lucky… you are going to end up in a mining station, strapped to a droid for the rest of your life, drilling rocks.” Ubel corrected him. “They never forgot anything, especially credits. Things that were given without a cost should never be trusted. They always get their money back, in one way or another.”
“But you do have a plan already in taking Blacklist out of debt?” Bastille asked. “Like contracts and stuff? I heard and saw you making deals back in Banedog’s Backyard.”
Ubel let his disappointment sink in for a moment, rubbing the back of his neck. Then nodded slowly.
“Damn straight, I do. Currently, Blitzkrieg is carrying millions of cred worth of cargo.” He flicked his fingers from his head to a holographic feed at the center of the room that was now being projected into the smoky air. The crew leaned in as the 3D diagram spun slowly, showing various systems and routes. Then it zoomed in to the Sol system, connecting the bright dots between stations, jump gates, and key trade lanes. “But we’re not just running around to complete smuggling, and deliver contracts, we’re hunting too.”
“Here’s the thing, I’ve already accepted several contracts.” Ubel continued, tapping on the routes to highlight their destinations, pointing at several stations along their projected path. “The path that we will be taking in delivering our cargo to their clients is through major trade corridors.”
The crew’s eyes followed the glowing lines in the projection, tracing the path they’d be taking. Bastille quickly realized something and laughed softly.
“So we’re not taking the fast lane. We’ll be cruising the busiest routes—the ones packed with public transports, cargo vessels, and unsuspecting marks.” Bastille squinted at the map, then shot Ubel a knowing look. “Ripe for the picking.”
“Good, you’re getting it quickly.” Ubel smiled, flashing a toothy grin.
“You’re planning to hit them while we make these deliveries?” Creed whistled low.
“Exactly,” Ubel replied. “We’ve got enough storage space on Blitzkrieg to handle hundreds of freighters worth of… acquisitions along the way. And since we’ll be passing through these high-traffic lanes, we might as well help ourselves.”
“Hell, we’ll probably be swimming in loot before we even finish half these contracts.” Marus let out a laugh.
Ursa, still sober enough to think tactically, glanced at the projection with a discerning eye.
“Seems risky. UGTR Patrols will be heavy along those routes too.” She leaned in closer with a low voice. “Not just patrols, there will be rival pirate crews, mercenaries, bounty hunters. Not to mention, we’re going to attract attracting attention by sticking to the main routes especially after we have done in Banedog’s Backyard.”
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“Ursa has a point, that is why under Munda, we only stuck ourselves near the Belt for easy escape in cases of pursuit or detection. But at least we can be confident with our raids this time with… this ship.” Eris shrugged and tapped the floor with her foot, then turned to Ubel. “Blitzkrieg was shown that it could handle an armada of UGTR ships. So do we attack or run if we get someone to chase us?”
“I decided not to fan the flames for now. Blitzkrieg is too hot and I will explain that later. So, this is why we will only take the best targets, and avoid any unwanted heat. And if we do get into a scuffle… well, I’ve got the finest damn crew in the system right now who knows how to escape and hide quickly.” He gestured broadly to Blitzkrieg’s canteen, filled with Blacklist’s crew. “We hit those fat merchant ships, grab what we can, and get out before the UGTR patrols know what hit them. We play this right, and by the time we’re done, we’ll have enough credits to pay off the debt and more.”
The rest of the crew murmured in agreement, the mood in the room shifting from drunken revelry to eager anticipation.
“Finally! I’ve been itching for some action.” Bastille crossed his arms, grinning.
“Here’s to being rich pirates.” Creed lifted his glass. The others raised their glasses, echoing Creed’s toast with varying degrees of drunken enthusiasm. The canteen was soon filled with the clinking of glasses and laughter. But the hard truth remained. Life in space, especially for pirates like them, was a constant dance on the edge of oblivion. They indulged in the spoils and burned through their cravings because, in the unforgiving void, tomorrow wasn’t promised.
Ubel watched his crew with a grin. He knew the stakes were higher than when he was playing this game behind a keyboard, monitor, and mouse. But if the game had taught him one thing, it was that the only way to survive was to keep moving, keep scheming, and never, ever lose sight of the prize. He took another drag of his cigar, letting the smoke curl lazily around him.
Then they started singing the shanty song that Ubel, Marus, and Mei created yesterday when they were in a drinking contest which Ubel won due to his high alcohol tolerance.
We’re void drunk, star strung, with nothin' to lose,
Givin' the finger to gods we refuse!
Bastards and scum, we sail through the black,
Cuttin' the sky, and there’s no turnin' back!
From Banedog’s to hell, we make our own fate,
Chasin’ that cred, ‘til it’s way too late.
Ain't no gods up there, just stars to rob,
Fuck the void, and fuck the job!
We’re void drunk, star strung, with nothin' to lose,
Givin' the finger to gods we refuse!
Bastards and scum, we sail through the black,
Cuttin' the sky, and there’s no turnin' back!
We drink and we smoke, 'cause death’s on our trail,
But we’ll laugh and we’ll spit, and we’ll give them some hell!
Sailin' the dark with a fist full of creds,
Dyin’ tomorrow, but fuck it, we’re dead!
We’re void drunk, star strung, with nothin' to lose,
Givin' the finger to gods we refuse!
Bastards and scum, we sail through the black,
Cuttin' the sky, and there’s no turnin' back!
So raise your glass to this fucked-up life,
Where the stars cut sharp like a pirate’s knife.
No gods, no kings, just us and the loot,
With a last breath, we’ll give the void the boot!
We’re void drunk, star strung, with nothin' to lose,
Givin' the finger to gods we refuse!
Bastards and scum, we sail through the black,
Cuttin' the sky, and there’s no turnin' back!
Mei was downing another shot of some amber liquid, laughing with others as they finished the shanty. But before the canteen on Blitzkrieg will once again be filled and thick with the intoxication of smoke, spilled drink, and the sharp tang of drugs and stimulants, decided to open up added another thing. Ubel lifted a bottle of something strong and dark to his lips, then set it down with a grin as he called out to the room.
“I also have another thing, something to show you all,” he announced again. “Fresh off the BLACNET.”
He pulled up the file and cast it to the general 3D holo-feed, that were flickered to life and opened up, above each of the canteen tables. The crew squinted, trying to make out rapid-fire appearances of images, and after a few seconds, it became clear. In its projection, it reveals a list of UGTR’s newest most-wanted criminals. The crew, still in their drunken stupor, stared at the floating images—then they burst into cheers when one of the bounties displayed a familiar name that they all now recognize.
“Congratulations, commander!” shouted Marus, raising his drink in mock salute.
"Eyyy! Congrats, commander!" Creed laughed, slapping the table, spilling his drink. Orphel snorted into her cup, and Mei started clapping.
However, Ubel blinked, momentarily confused. He paused as his expression became unreadable while the crew started to cheer and toast to him. Then he asked them.
“Wait… why the hell are you congratulating just me? Those are our wanted posters.”
The room fell silent for a beat. Then, one by one, the crew connected to the holo feed to confirm, swiping through the data. Sure enough, there they were, their names plastered across official UGTR wanted lists.
Their faces, their crimes, and most importantly—their bounties.
Mei was the first to recover from her surprise, cracking a grin.
“Holy shit,” she said her disbelief. “It’s real.”
“Fuck it's me,” one of them said, half-shocked.
Then the laughter exploded again, but this time with a wild, almost manic edge.
“Look at that ugly mug!” another barked, pointing at his own bounty poster. His face was frozen in mid-yell, taken no doubt during their time in Banedog’s Backyard.
They all started to dig into their individual bounties, comparing numbers and laughing at the unflattering photos used on the posters. Most of the pictures had clearly been snapped in secret—half of them were unflattering, with greasy hair or awkward expressions.
“Ugh,” Orphel groaned. “Look at mine. Couldn’t they have used a better shot?”
“Hey, mine’s worse. I look like I just woke up.” Marus smirked. “I like the number they gave me though. 180,000 credits for my capture.”
“No way… They caught me looking like that? I didn’t even know they were taking a picture.” Heila was slightly amused, but there was clear indignation in her eyes.
"I look like a corpse that’s been through a meat grinder," another female crew complained.
“You look like that on a good day!” Marus howled with laughter, dodging the empty mug she hurled at his head.
Another crew, who was still howling with laughter, slammed his fist on the table.
“Look at that smug bastard! That’s me—137,000 credits!” His photo, unfortunately, had captured him mid-shout, his face twisted into a ridiculous expression. “I’m worth more now!”
“I’m sitting at 190,400. And what is this angle? Do they take these pics with the worst cameras on purpose?” Mei chimed in, still unimpressed.
“200,000 credits for me. Could’ve been worse.” She took another puff of her cigarette, seemingly unbothered. Eris shrugged.
Bastille grinned and asked Creed.
“Alright, Cap. How much are you worth? Gotta be bigger than ours, right?”
“250,000 credits.” Creed shrugged casually. “Yours?”
“246,000 credits.” Bastille looked at his bounty again. “Didn’t know they found you to be more annoying than me.”
“Now we are getting popular.” Creed exchanged a fist bump with Bastille. Other members followed the same, leaning back in their seats, eyeing each other with newfound appreciation. Then comparing themselves based on the size of their bounties.
Zinc let out a low whistle.
“Can’t believe it. I thought I’d be dead before anyone gave enough of a damn to bother putting a price on my head.”
“Same,” Mei chimed in, laughing.
Eris however, was one of those who were skeptical of this portrayal of their faces in the BLACNET and shook her head.
“Why are we celebrating? Isn’t this… bad? We’re on wanted posters now. Officially.”
Katya nodded in agreement; her voice tinged with confusion.
“Yeah, this isn’t exactly a good thing, is it? UGTR’s gonna be breathing down our necks now. And we will be getting pursued not just by the authorities but also by bounty hunters.”
“Uhhh… don’t you get it?” Ubel sighed, massaging his temples. He thought that his new crew already knew what kind of benefits these bounties provided to an outlaw. Then he remembered that they rarely dock on a station and would mostly interact with smugglers, and traders or land on a remote part of a planet for resupply, never knowing the implications of these bounties to the life of an outlaw. “Bounties are more than just a credit in exchange for your dead body. It’s a reputation.”
“What do you mean?” Eris raised an eyebrow.
“It’s a merit system. Among outlaws, the higher your bounty, the more respect you get. It’s like wearing a warning sight. The bigger your bounty, the more dangerous people think you are. Makes most of them too scared to come after you, intimidate you, or deceive you. It is one of your lifelines in dealing with the underworld. Sure, there’ll be idiots trying their luck but it’s going to be your job to maintain that reputation.” Ubel shrugged.
“So, it’s actually a good thing?” Zinc, who had been usually quiet, finally chimed in while munching on something. “Feels like more of a headache to me.”
“That’s the game,” Ubel answered. “We’re playing with it whether we like it or not. And by the way, those numbers on your bounty are still pocket change for those who planted that on our heads. Renowned outlaws have at least 50 million for their death or capture.”
That explanation seemed to satisfy the crew. Eris, however, was still skeptical.
“But what about yours, Captain?”
The question hung in the air, and all eyes turned to Ubel. With a nonchalant shrug, he accessed his own poster and projected it to the holo-feed.
His bounty flashed across the display:
5,000 credits.
For a moment, there was stunned silence. Then, Eris couldn’t contain herself. She burst into laughter, clutching her sides.
“Captain… that’s your bounty?” she teased, wiping a tear from her eye. “You—Mr. Big Shot—only have 5,000 credits on your head?”
Marus and Mei joined in, their voices dripping with amusement.
“We’ve got more?!” Marus couldn’t believe it.
“That’s it?!” Mei was also laughing.
“Huh, we’ve got higher bounties than our captain. That’s strange.” Orphel was one of the few who took this to be a very peculiar case.
“Well, maybe because you don’t look so dangerous after all, commander.” Ursa quipped, adding with a smirk.
Ubel, pretending to be unphased, crossed his arms and shot them a look.
“Hey, hey, it’s not about the number.” Ubel defended himself. “And unlike you idiots, they couldn’t get a picture of my face. So, I don’t have an ugly mug plastered across the UGTR systems. How are they supposed to catch me if they don’t even know what I look like? No confirmed face, no threat, also meant that they probably didn’t even know I’m the captain of Blitzkrieg.”
True enough, on Ubel’s name there was a generated image that was probably based on the descriptions, except that he should be much younger than the one on his bounty. In the image, he looked like he was given fifty years of his age, which is equivalent to five years back on Earth.
“Right, right,” Eris teased, clearly enjoying the situation. “But it still seems like you’re jealous we’ve got higher bounties than you.”
“Again, I’m not jealous,” Ubel shot back, though his pout betrayed him. “It’s just expected all your bounties to be higher than this.”
Creed, realizing something, spoke up. His expression shifted, and he frowned.
“You’re right. This doesn’t make sense. After everything we pulled off back there with UGTR, you’d think we’d be worth more than this pocket change. Even if we take into account Ubel’s situation. We still should have our faces known as the crew of Godright who helped the Blitzkrieg. So, why are our bounties so... low?”
“Wait… that’s actually true. Why aren’t our bounties higher?”
The crew murmured in agreement, the sudden realization cooling their earlier excitement, confusion spreading across their faces. Ubel smirked, crossing his arms.
Ubel’s smirk returned as he waved a hand, bringing up a different screen.
“That’s because you all missed one tiny detail on your bounties.”
“Which is?” Bastille asked.
“None of you have been classified as Blacklist yet. Your posters still list you under the Demonic Monkeys.”
There was a collective groan as they all one by one, once again reviewed and checked their bounties, only to confirm Ubel’s words. Some of the crew disappointedly deleted their bounty pods from their personal data banks.
“So what now?” Bastille grumbled.
Ubel clapped his hands, regaining their attention.
“Now, we make a name for ourselves. We still haven’t done anything under the Blacklist name. Haven’t docked, haven’t taken down a real prize in our new name, and haven’t made a splash. But that’s all about to change. Don’t worry about that.”
Then Ubel added another assurance to make his crew feel some sort of relief. “And you don’t have to be disappointed. Because at least, we are known in some way or another.”
Before the crew could reply, he tapped his data bank and pulled up one last data at the feed. Another new bounty appeared in the feed. This time, the crew’s eyes widened in disbelief. The crew’s jaws dropped as they tried to comprehend the sheer number of zeros on the holo.
But it wasn’t a person’s bounty—
“Forty billion credits,” Ubel said with a sly grin. “That’s what they think Blitzkrieg is worth.”
The room fell silent, the number was so large it took a moment for it to sink in. And he wasn’t finished in showing off his ship’s bounty. But before they could recover, he turned to Creed who was caught off guard, as he felt something hit his chest and caught it. He looked at what he caught, only to realize that Ubel had tossed him another bounty pod.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“Open it.”
Creed obeyed and disclosed the pod, revealing the bounty. He was momentarily stunned with his jaw dropped.
“T-t-twenty-one b-billion?” Creed stared at the bounty, shocked. “How?! H-How... why is my Lily worth that much?”
Ubel nodded and grinned.
“It seems your little stunt in assisting me buttfuck the UGTR Armada probably made them sit up and take notice.”
Creed’s expression quickly turned from shock to pride as he hugged the pod to his chest, tears in his eyes.
“Finally! Someone’s going to piss themselves when they see my Lily on their scanners!”
The Blacklist laugh as they saw Creed’s reaction.
“By the way, why is this your first time getting a bounty? You should already have a long experience in piracy, right?” Ubel wondered.
“Well, it was Munda who was always the face of our pirate fleet and we don’t talk much to others except when to resupply with the traders and smugglers.”
“Yeah, if I remember correctly his bounty was around 216,000 right?”
“Yeah, that was what I have heard from him, which I think was… two Sol years ago?”
“Seems that you all didn’t know but…” Ubel then swiped another data that he got from the UGTR. All of them were shocked at another person whom they remembered.
But what surprised them was the value that he had on his bounty.
“What the fuck?” Bastille had wide open eyes. “Munda had a bounty of 740,000 creds?”
“Well, if it was just Munda, I wouldn’t be surprised. But look at this—Elpano’s ragtag crew has individual bounties now. Average half a million cred for each of their heads.”
That caught their attention. Elpano and his crew, who used to be nothing more than a bunch of small-time outlaws in their eyes after they were kicked out in the past, had somehow earned themselves a significantly higher price tag.
“That’s bullshit!” Marus shouted. “We’ve done way more than those idiots!”
“Half a million creds for them?” Mei was more amused with a tone of disbelief coloring her face. “We’ve raided UGTR ships and gotten away clean. How the hell are we not worth more?”
Ursa, with her indifferent stance, was the voice of reason again.
“Yeah, well, maybe we’ve just been lucky. Didn’t get caught on the bigger jobs that warranted the attention of authorities.”
“Luck, my ass,” Creed muttered then sighed. The crew roared with laughter again, raising their drinks.