Maharombi Spaceport - Iron Ferret's Hangar - Noon
It had been three days since the showdown inside the industrial complex, allowing the bounty hunters and mercenaries to sort through the procured loot and recover the wounds sustained in the raid. During this time, bounties were claimed and the sensitive intel retrieved from the server farm inside the factory was on its way to being handed over to the authorities, at a reasonable price. While the payoff from the bounties alone was substancial, barely over half of the money made in the job had gone into paying the parties involved that allowed it to happen. Vehicles that were borrowed had to be repaired, people who were injured needed their medical bills paid, precious, precious ammo that was spent needed to be restocked to both the Bounty Hunters and Jaina's mercenaries. There was too, the need to pay the middlemen who had looked the other way while they turned that particular area into a small warzone and made it possible.
Upping their game came with its consequences and extra spenditures, but despite that, the profit was still substantial. The crew of the Iron Ferret was no longer going after the small-time bandits that were a dime a dozen on every street of the Democratic Imperium.
The captured pirate ship stood silent in the middle of the large hangar, easily big enough to fit a few of the small Jinssoku freighters. The front entrance was closed, allowing the hangar's air conditioning units to keep the room temperature at a bearable level, while the overhead windows allowed the daylight to shine through the building, revealing the suspended dust particles that always seemed to seep through every nook and cranny in that Desert planet. The freighter stood deactivated with its back facing the hangar doors, and the cockpit facing the people assembled in the open space in front of it.
Stacked against one wall to the sides stood what remained of the stolen munitions and guns from the Warehouse raid, and had becomed significantly smaller in size once it had been used in the last job. There was a green net thrown over the green metal and wood boxes, ready to be transported back inside the ship. To the opposite side and against the other wall, were a few of the larger tools used for maintenance, which were also slowly gathering dust, and the most noteworthy thing there were the bullet marks from when the ship got jumped when the bounty hunters had just landed on the planet, by the very same gang that they had brought down.
Desmond mused over that as he glanced to that spot of the hangar, scratching the stubble on his face there was a twisted poetry to that. The bounty hunter was wearing his usual off-duty clothing, the beat-down, faded cargo pants, a gray jacket open and with its sleeves folded up to his elbow, with a white T-shirt underneath it. His face was still spotting several of the small cuts and bruises, and there was still a large bandage across his nose from when it had been split during the fighting. As ever, he didn't look very pleased with anything in particular.
Despite being missing for three days with the Iron Ferret's shuttle on some errand, on the same night that they had finished the job, he had returned with the same disposition of getting things done and making money as ever. The bounty hunter sat behind a wooden desk, which was as much beat-down as the clothes he was wearing, a few feet in front and under the cockpit of the Iron Ferret. Underneath it was a metal box, away from the view of the others.
In front of him, there was a small line of people forming as the mercenaries and bounty hunters filed up to get their pay, looking like entirely different people once the dust and grime was washed away and the combat gear removed. Most of them were still injured, with bandages around their wounds, one even with his arm imobilized by a sling, while another stood on a crutch. Only the most injured weren't present at the time, but that still didn't stop their friends from collecting their keep.
Puffing out a small cloud of smoke, Desmond inserted a sizeable sum in DA bills, then sealed the yellow paper envelope that he had deposited them in. "Next," he called out after handing the paper envelope to the mercenary in front of him, one of the man's cheeks was criss crossed with stitches, making him seem like he was leering all the time.
Desmond drew another puff of smoke from the cigarette as he started to count the pay for the next person in line.
It had been three days since the showdown inside the industrial complex, allowing the bounty hunters and mercenaries to sort through the procured loot and recover the wounds sustained in the raid. During this time, bounties were claimed and the sensitive intel retrieved from the server farm inside the factory was on its way to being handed over to the authorities, at a reasonable price. While the payoff from the bounties alone was substancial, barely over half of the money made in the job had gone into paying the parties involved that allowed it to happen. Vehicles that were borrowed had to be repaired, people who were injured needed their medical bills paid, precious, precious ammo that was spent needed to be restocked to both the Bounty Hunters and Jaina's mercenaries. There was too, the need to pay the middlemen who had looked the other way while they turned that particular area into a small warzone and made it possible.
Upping their game came with its consequences and extra spenditures, but despite that, the profit was still substantial. The crew of the Iron Ferret was no longer going after the small-time bandits that were a dime a dozen on every street of the Democratic Imperium.
The captured pirate ship stood silent in the middle of the large hangar, easily big enough to fit a few of the small Jinssoku freighters. The front entrance was closed, allowing the hangar's air conditioning units to keep the room temperature at a bearable level, while the overhead windows allowed the daylight to shine through the building, revealing the suspended dust particles that always seemed to seep through every nook and cranny in that Desert planet. The freighter stood deactivated with its back facing the hangar doors, and the cockpit facing the people assembled in the open space in front of it.
Stacked against one wall to the sides stood what remained of the stolen munitions and guns from the Warehouse raid, and had becomed significantly smaller in size once it had been used in the last job. There was a green net thrown over the green metal and wood boxes, ready to be transported back inside the ship. To the opposite side and against the other wall, were a few of the larger tools used for maintenance, which were also slowly gathering dust, and the most noteworthy thing there were the bullet marks from when the ship got jumped when the bounty hunters had just landed on the planet, by the very same gang that they had brought down.
Desmond mused over that as he glanced to that spot of the hangar, scratching the stubble on his face there was a twisted poetry to that. The bounty hunter was wearing his usual off-duty clothing, the beat-down, faded cargo pants, a gray jacket open and with its sleeves folded up to his elbow, with a white T-shirt underneath it. His face was still spotting several of the small cuts and bruises, and there was still a large bandage across his nose from when it had been split during the fighting. As ever, he didn't look very pleased with anything in particular.
Despite being missing for three days with the Iron Ferret's shuttle on some errand, on the same night that they had finished the job, he had returned with the same disposition of getting things done and making money as ever. The bounty hunter sat behind a wooden desk, which was as much beat-down as the clothes he was wearing, a few feet in front and under the cockpit of the Iron Ferret. Underneath it was a metal box, away from the view of the others.
In front of him, there was a small line of people forming as the mercenaries and bounty hunters filed up to get their pay, looking like entirely different people once the dust and grime was washed away and the combat gear removed. Most of them were still injured, with bandages around their wounds, one even with his arm imobilized by a sling, while another stood on a crutch. Only the most injured weren't present at the time, but that still didn't stop their friends from collecting their keep.
Puffing out a small cloud of smoke, Desmond inserted a sizeable sum in DA bills, then sealed the yellow paper envelope that he had deposited them in. "Next," he called out after handing the paper envelope to the mercenary in front of him, one of the man's cheeks was criss crossed with stitches, making him seem like he was leering all the time.
Desmond drew another puff of smoke from the cigarette as he started to count the pay for the next person in line.
