A small, vicious lizard known as a shriketongue darted under the nearest rock as it sensed the approaching object. Dozens upon hundreds of miles in all directions, there was nothing but cracked earth and sunbaked desert, married by the ubiquitous rock formation erupting out of the ground. On the horizon one could see mountains and even they had little in the way of green. The only life that seemed unaffected were the beasts wrought of radiation or those with millions of years of evolution in surviving climes like this. The repulsorcraft gave only a hint of passing as it sped across the landscape, rocketing at half mach 1. Craters made from bombs of wars past were strewn along the landscape, so large they were easily avoided by the operator of the vehicle, unaffected by the w-force encased in his armor. 

The pilot sat far aft over the repulsorlift engine of the VEC and controlled the diminutive vehicle with a set of handlebars and rear-set foot pegs with foot-controlled yaw and pitch controls. The array sensor before him had a HUD showcasing two miles of geographical sonar in all directions around him, with indicators for heat, boost, coolant, and turbine pressure beside it. Twin lascannons were mounted at its front, and the stern had a small payload of pressure-detonators that could dismember a light combat tank. It helped him get to where he was going, but it lacked the style of his last piece of hardware. The VEC lifted a meter in the air and closed on a large rock in two hundred feet, flying over it harmlessly and leaving it in a shower of dust that perpetually followed his path of trajectory. 

Dirk Crimson caught a reading on the array, announcing the concentration of constructs followed by relatively cool bodies in the unrelenting sun. Immediately he began to slow the VEC, traveling a mile in about fifteen seconds clean and now moving at 1/3rd of his original speed to make the last mile until he arrived center street of a sand covered settlement. The buildings were made of sandstone or grafted steel from fallen crafts, and humans in cloaks hurried into the hovels they called homes. Various vehicles were grounded or parked beside a large cantina, or down the street at what was probably a repair shop, or maybe an inn. Many places in the past sold themselves as a 'melting pot' to welcome all new comers and bring in trade and talent, but Crimson had seen enough of them to know variety tended to mean lack of order, drawing the worst dregs from every location to a single place to find a fortune. With his arrival, they had finally brought the worst to the table. 

He dismounted his VEC, grounding it beside one of the boxy Parsec Land Cruisers. He took out the signature key and slid it back onto his necklace he kept behind his cuirass. Only his fingerprint would be able to use the key to unlock the VEC unless someone took the time to get inside of it and manually override his signature, which would take far longer than it would for him to finish his job. A Grogyn with its three buck-teeth tentacles sputtered a sonorous warbling, threw its three fingered hands into the air at the sight of the Bounty Hunter, loping away with its coat flapping in the wind. Crimson paid the humanoid no mind, not expecting it to tell anyone or any sort of law enforcement of his arrival. That sort of force didn't exist in the Euron-Wastes. 

The conical entrance of the Cantina slid open, Crimson stepping in to the relatively low-lit establishment. Shapely human women danced on a stage far right of his position as a seedy looking man with an admittedly authentic voice sang a hard but melodic litany with the backdrop consisting of unsyncopated rhythms and a steady drum beat. The cantina itself seemed lively, with species of all kinds mingling and chortling in their native tongues whilst a death knell rang out, Crimson turning to see a business deal turned wrong as a man was taken by the arms by two thugs, begging for a second chance before he was stabbed by a xenos overboss. No one lifted a finger or aided him. An android servant popped up from behind the bar counter, lanking its way out of the counter and gesticulated to the xenos, giving off various beeps of binary. The xenos waved him away and the Android did what it had been told to do, dragging the corpse out of the booth and past Dirk Crimson, into the desert sands to be picked at by the buzzards.

The Bounty Hunter didn't care. He wasn't here for that Xenos, nor the man. Hands calmly resting atop the holsters of his twin DX-15's, he stepped down into the cantina's pit, calmly striding past the crowd who either wisely parted or didn't notice his advance. Small booths littered the walls while four stairs led into what looked like a VIP area in another chamber of the establishment. The thought was compartmentalized in his head before he made it to the counter. An eight armed Bargonian filled out orders and cleaned a plate, its bulbous nose hung loosely and its four black eyes sparkled in the light of the hydro-lanterns.

"ARK number 6. Who is that?" Dirk Crimson asked him pointedly. 

The Bargonian stopped its five tasks, all four eyes now focused on the newcomer. "Who's asking?" It croaked, throat inflating to accommodate the human tongue.