Black Market Hunter

My name is Chen Hao, twenty-six years old, and my profession is an Interstellar Hunter.

Sounds pretty cool, right? But if you ask me what this line of work is really about, all I can tell you is that it means doing shady jobs for people in the chaotic Interstellar Black Market. Catching fugitives, finding missing persons, escorting cargo—as long as there's money, I take any job.

Of course, every now and then, I run into some really strange tasks.

Like right now. I'm sitting in the busiest spot in the Black Market—the "Interstellar Tavern"—with a low-quality synthetic drink in front of me, listening to the noise coming from all kinds of bizarre creatures around me. The tavern is thick with smoke, and the air is filled with cheap perfume, metallic oil, and some kind of indescribable strange odor. A few Three-Eyed Aliens are playing cards in the corner, their third eyes darting around, looking sharper than any scanner. Behind the bar, the老板娘—the tavern mistress—is using her eight tentacles to mix over a dozen drinks at once, moving so fast it's dazzling.

"Haozi, what are you spacing out for?"

A gruff voice interrupted my thoughts. I looked up and saw Old Gun walking over with a drink in hand. He's my master—or more precisely, the man who raised me. Around fifty years old, short and stocky, face full of stubble, with a black eyepatch over his left eye—a souvenir from a mission he took in his younger days.

"Nothing," I said, picking up my glass and taking a sip, the liquid sliding down my throat with a metallic taste. "Just wondering when today's mission will come."

Old Gun chuckled and sat down across from me: "What's the rush? In the hunter business, patience is key. Missions will come; it's just a matter of whether you take them."

Just then, the tavern door swung open, and a guy as skinny as a bamboo pole walked in. He was wearing a flashy multicolored coat, his hair dyed in seven different colors, and he walked with his back straight, as if the entire universe was beneath his feet.

"Yo, Black Fox, what brings you here today?" Old Gun waved at him.

Black Fox is a well-known情报贩子—information broker—in the Black Market, with connections so deep they say he even knows the color of underwear worn by the高层—high-ranking officials—of The Alliance. He came over to our table, sat down as if he owned the place, scanned the tavern, then lowered his voice and said, "Old Gun, Haozi, I've got a big deal. You in or not?"

Old Gun and I exchanged glances; we could both see the interest in each other's eyes. A "big deal" from Black Fox usually meant high risk, but also high reward.

"What kind of deal?" Old Gun asked.

Black Fox pulled a data chip from his pocket and placed it on the table: "The Hunters' Guild just posted a bounty—chasing down a 'Gene Fugitive.' The reward is five hundred thousand Star Coins."

I nearly spit out my drink. Five hundred thousand Star Coins? That's more money than I could make in ten years of ordinary missions!

"A Gene Fugitive?" Old Gun frowned. "What's the story?"

"Not sure," Black Fox shook his head. "The intel only says the target is female and is currently hiding in the abandoned Space Station No. 13. The client wants 'proof of life or death,' but specifically emphasizes capturing her alive if possible."

"'Proof of life or death,' but capture alive?" I couldn't help but mock. "Is the client out of their mind?"

Black Fox shrugged: "Rich people's thoughts are none of our business. But I have to say, the bounty is tempting. Haozi, weren't you just short on cash to fix your ship?"

I rubbed my chin; I was indeed wavering. My ship, the "Falcon," had been with me for five years, and lately the engine kept acting up. Each repair costs tens of thousands of Star Coins. Five hundred thousand Star Coins would be enough to completely overhaul the ship.

"Old Gun, what do you think?" I looked at my master.

Old Gun was silent for a moment, tapping his fingers on the table: "This deal is too suspicious. A Gene Fugitive? Didn't The Alliance ban genetic modification long ago? Why would a bounty like this suddenly appear? And with such a high reward, there's definitely something shady behind it."

"Master," I set down my glass, "in our line of work, which mission ever goes smoothly? Besides, five hundred thousand Star Coins!"

Old Gun sighed: "You're too eager for quick gains, kid. But…" he paused, "if you want to go, I won't stop you. Just remember to be careful in everything."

I grinned: "Don't worry, Master. Have I ever let you down?"

Black Fox patted my shoulder: "That's the spirit! Haozi, I have faith in you. But I should warn you—the Hunters' Guild is only giving three days for this mission. If you don't find the target within three days, the bounty's gone."

"Three days?" I frowned. "That's a tight timeline."

"That's why it's a big deal," Black Fox stood up. "Alright, I'm off. I've given you the intel; it's up to you whether to take it. Oh, and the chip has some basic info on the target—check it out yourselves."

With that, Black Fox turned and left the tavern, leaving Old Gun and me staring at each other.

"Haozi," Old Gun looked at me, "are you really sure you want to take this?"

I picked up the data chip, fiddling with it in my hand, feeling the faint current running through it. The temptation of five hundred thousand Star Coins was too great—so great that I ignored the warning in Old Gun's words.

"I've decided," I stuffed the chip into my pocket. "Three days is enough."

Old Gun shook his head helplessly: "Fine, since you've made up your mind, go ahead. Remember, safety first. If you run into danger, don't be a hero—get out fast."

"Got it, Master." I stood up, brushed the dust off my clothes, and said, "I'm heading to the Hunters' Guild now to confirm the mission."

"Wait." Old Gun called me back, pulling out a modified Pulse Gun from his pocket. "Take this. It's better than that piece of junk you carry."

I took the Pulse Gun. It felt solid and heavy in my hand, with great balance. This was Old Gun's backup weapon—more than twice as powerful as the one I usually used.

"Thanks, Master." I tucked the gun into my belt, turned around, and walked toward the tavern door.

Just as I reached the door, I suddenly stopped. Behind me, Old Gun's voice came: "Haozi."

I turned back and saw Old Gun staring at me with an expression I had never seen before—a heavy seriousness.

"Remember," he said, "no matter what happens, trust your own judgment. Sometimes, what the eyes see isn't necessarily the truth."

I was taken aback for a moment, then nodded: "I'll remember."

With that, I pushed open the door and stepped out of the tavern, into the bustling chaos of the Interstellar Black Market.

The streets were packed with people—all kinds of alien creatures coming and going. The sounds of hawking, haggling, and starship engines blended into a strange symphony. I weaved through the crowded masses and headed toward the Hunters' Guild.

The Hunters' Guild was located in the center of the Black Market—a tall metal building with a shabby sign hanging at the entrance, crookedly reading "Interstellar Hunters' Guild." Inside, it was quieter than outside. Rows of terminal screens flickered with various mission information, and a few hunters sat in the corners studying the details.

I walked up to the front desk and handed the data chip to the receptionist: "I want to take this mission."

The receptionist was a robot. It scanned the chip, and the screen immediately displayed the mission details:

Mission Number: GH-7721

Mission Type: Pursuit

Target: Gene Fugitive (Female)

Location: Abandoned Space Station No. 13

Reward: 500,000 Star Coins

Time Limit: 72 Hours

Client: Anonymous

The robot's mechanical voice rang out: "Confirm mission acceptance?"

"Confirmed."

"Mission recorded. Hunter Chen Hao, ID H-1087. Good luck."

I turned and left the guild, but a faint unease lingered in my heart. An anonymous client, a sky-high reward, a Gene Fugitive… none of this felt right. But the temptation of five hundred thousand Star Coins was too strong. I told myself that as long as I was careful, everything would be fine.

Back at the ship docking area, I found my "Falcon." The old ship sat quietly, its hull covered in scratches and patches, looking like a battle-hardened veteran. I boarded, started the engine, and the ship let out a low rumble as it slowly lifted off.

Through the cockpit window, I watched the Interstellar Black Market shrink in the distance, and a thought suddenly crossed my mind: Could this mission be the turning point of my life?

I shook my head, dismissing the absurd idea. Whatever, I'll finish the mission and get the reward first.

The ship accelerated into space, heading toward the abandoned Space Station No. 13.

But just then, the ship's communicator suddenly rang.

"Chen Hao, someone is monitoring your channel." An unfamiliar voice came through. "If you want to survive this mission, don't go to Space Station No. 13."

The line went dead.

I stared at the communicator, my mind full of doubt. Who sent this warning? Was it goodwill or a trap?

And that data chip—aside from the mission info—seemed to be hiding something else. Something I hadn't noticed before.