Bounty Hunters

A Thankless Job

Justin heard laughing all around him. He knelt on the steel grating of the station. His wrists burned, the shackles clasped so tight it cut his skin. He wondered where he was, who abducted him, and how he was to escape, questions that couldn't be answered with a black bag over his head.
A woman spoke, "Oh, take it off. Let's see who the lodge sent this time."
Justin heard footsteps approaching him from behind. Whoever it was removed the sack. He found himself in a cargo hold, crates and barrels littered the small room. The men and women surrounding him were humanoid, but they wore suits, the helmets filled with a green haze that obscured their features.
Some stood with their arms crossed, looking him over. Others talked among themselves, their whispers impossible to make out.
His attention was drawn to the woman who spoke. She sat on one of the crates, a small mass of black tendrils writhing in her lap.
Justin was furious. All he could was laugh. How did she know? Who told her? He greeted her in a casual tone, nodding as he did, "Invicta."
"How many of you do I have to kill before you leave me be?" she asked.
"I imagine the body count will only get higher after what you did on that station. That was terrorism."
"Was it?" Invicta replied. He noticed the slight twitch through the fog in her visor, her mouth curling into a smile.
"No remorse?"
Invicta stood, her footsteps lightly tapping against the metal floor. Pulled a small blade from a sheath worn on her leg. She removed her helmet, the fog slowly rising from inside the suit.
She knelt down so their eyes could meet, but her eyes were the last thing he wanted to look at. Her eyes were pale, sickly kind of blue. They were evidence that she was no longer human.
He focuses on other features but only came to the same conclusion. She had sickly pale skin, green veins and bleached hair, cut short and parted to the side.
She brought the knife within inches of his right eye, aimed where he could see down the edge. "Remorse? Not at all."

Bounty hunters? They're not bloodhounds. The term is appropriate, but they don't chase wealth. Anyone can be a soldier of fortune. These hunters chase fame and infamy. This can apply to themselves, as much as to what they hunt. They are defined by their accomplishments. Their skills mean nothing if they can't back it up with experience.
Every war hero is a butcher in someone else's eyes. Every just and benevolent ruler is a cruel tyrant to an unfortunate few. Every myth and legend is a cautionary tale to those who favored a losing side. Such is the way of their strange economy, a market of prestige and renown.
They aren't assassins, but they will take on the role at the right price. They aren't thieves, archeologists, or explorers unless they need to be. For the right price, a hunter can take on any role. They play an endless game of musical chairs, or perhaps I should call it "musical hats."

Fame

A hunter's name means everything to them. It always comes first. The life of a hunter is graced with many faces, but it is one that is spent in lonely isolation. In the galactic community, hunters rub elbows with high society just as often as with the criminal underworld beneath it. They must choose their friends wisely, if they choose to have any at all.
With every encounter, a successful hunter will ask, "How will this affect me?" The answer is rarely obvious and straightforward. They must consider the difficulty of every task and how their skills can be used to offset this difficulty. They must consider the dangers present, both to their health and their image.
Successful hunters have a reputation. They get the job done. Should others doubt their skill, or their convictions, a hunter will soon find themselves scraping the bottom of the barrel just to survive.

Infamy

Ethically speaking, bounty hunters are a shade of gray, one of many in the galaxy. There are laws preventing others from interfering with their hunt, though that means little to those who stand to gain, or lose from their success.
It should also be said that hunters are not allowed to hunt each other. Relatives of a bounty may place a bounty of their own. Any who accept will find their reputation ruined. They will be cast out, ostracized and disowned by their organization.
Of course, those who accept already know this, and likely make their living on hunting the hunters. There is a hunter for every job, and a job for every hunter. Some are less savory than others, but bad publicity is still publicity.

Lodges

Bounty hunters come from all walks of life, even our own. Several humans have made a name for themselves. Every species is welcome, provided they can afford the complex medical procedures to make such interactions safe.
They organize themselves into lodges, a word of our own added to a hundred others. Hunter lodges are varied in specialty, size, and moral ambiguity. The smallest can have less than 5 members. The largest boast numbers in the thousands.
They are loosely organized, a necessity for their profession. When your members are stretched across lightyears, it's best to minimize the paperwork. Lodges are a way to compound the reputations of its members, a way to be seen in a crowd.

A hunters quarry

Hunters may have a wide variety of jobs. While many specialize in one thing or another, it's not uncommon for a bounty hunter to take any job that comes their way, so long as it gets them noticed.

• The rich and powerful: As it is above, so shall it be below. Those who claw their way to the top will turn back and see countless writhing hands eager to bring them down. The rich and powerful often step on toes during their climb… not a wise choice

• Lowly Criminals: Crime can make you wealthy. It can ease your burden and make you famous, but why would that be a good thing? No criminal wants to be noticed. Crime does pay, one way or another, and hunters are often the ones who collect.

• Organizations: Sabotage and subterfuge are common jobs for hunters. This can include the theft of technology, or even a run-of-the-mill assassination. It doesn't matter what kind of organization it is. Corporations, rival lodges, even religious institutions could be profitable targets.

• Remnants: Relics and artifacts are always in high demand. There are entire lodges who dedicate themselves to providing the subtly in abundance. Delving into ruins can be dangerous, but it's among the highest paying jobs a hunter can take.

A thankless job

Bounty hunters live lives built on risk and reward. Every job they take will likely leave someone upset. A bounty hunter can be a paragon of virtue and still find themselves hated, refused service, or even attacked.
The smart ones tend to stick to the galactic community's central worlds, somewhere where laws can be enforced and where everyone is too busy to notice them. The cities are vast and there is always plenty of work.
To be a bounty hunter is to take a job no one else will do, and be chastised for doing so. Criminals need to be held accountable, technology should be shared, and knowledge must be obtained. It's an undervalued profession, at best.

Justin refused to look away. She got the better of him. It was only fair. If not here, he would meet his death elsewhere in time.
Invicta stood and nodded to someone behind him. The shackles were removed moments after.
Justin narrowed his eyes. "What is this?"
"I don't kill humans, at least if they're unarmed. The lodge knows this. That's why they sent you." She tossed the knife in front of him and took another from one of her crew. "I can't let you go though. Guess you get to have a chance at killing me after all."
Justin picked up the knife, stood, and immediately dodged as Invicta lunged forward to strike. The smirk on her face remained. It only made him want to kill her more.
She dodged a feral swipe, but failed to evade the left hook that followed. It was like punching hardened steel. Justin wondered if it hurt him more than her. She laughed, brought the knife around and lunged again.
Justin stepped to the side, but overshot his footing. He fell to the ground and laughter erupted all around him. He caught a glimpse of a small red canister. It was no bigger than his hand, a fire extinguisher.
"I'm kind of insulted, honestly." Invicta said. She backed away and allowed Justin to rise. "Usually they send ex-military, someone who can hold their own. You must be new. That, or they just don't like you."
She drove the knife forward as Justin turned to face her with the extinguisher in hand. He pressed the button and a white smoke burst from the nozzle and into her face.
She screamed, not in fear or pain, but in rage. "That wasn't exactly sporting."
"I'm fighting for my life," he screamed. "You expect this fight to be fair?"
Invicta raised a brow, gestured to her crew standing idly around them, and asked, "Is it not?"
He cocked his head, "Hell no."
She wiped the dust from her eyes. They burned, her vision blurry and showing no signs of clearing. "Good to know." She gave a quick glance above Justin and back down before turning her back to him.
She placed her knife on a nearby crate as Justin looked to the ceiling. A black mass fell from a series of pipes and onto his face. The tendrils seemed to grow, cracking as they wrapped firmly around his skull.
Justin let out a scream. He dropped the knife and tried to rip the creature from his face. The tendrils wrapped around his shoulders, their hold getting tighter, and tighter still.
They forced Justin's arms to his side, constricting until the screams of horror shifted to cries of pain. Invicta couldn't see it, and she was thankful. It wasn't a pretty sight.
Despite this small blessing, she wished she could ignore the sound. The screams faded, an encore of torn flesh and fractured bone.