Enough

The bounty chit clattered onto the counter with the weight of a small moon—enough credits to buy a fleet of shuttles or, more likely, a lifetime supply of bad decisions. Susan watched the Krothian banker's ocular membranes dilate as it scanned the holographic verification, its mandibles twitching in what might have been approval or indigestion. Behind her, Ghorrax growled through his makeshift muzzle—a reinforced cargo strap wrapped tight enough to dent his cybernetic jaw plating.

Adam leaned against the bounty office's scarred metal wall, his ruined leg propped on a looted ammo crate. The plasma burn still wept pinkish fluid through the makeshift bandage—stolen med-gel and what might have been a dish towel. He caught Susan's eye and mimed counting imaginary credits with his fingers, grinning through split lips.

The banker's chitinous fingers hesitated over the transfer pad. "Alive bounty... unusual," it hissed, eying Ghorrax's twitching form. The warlord's remaining cybernetic tusk sparked intermittently, frying the air with the scent of burnt ozone. Susan shrugged, tapping the needler pistol against her thigh. "Turns out triple pay's a great motivator."