"I know a few guys who would love to meet you." Dirk snorted as her hair shimmered from one shade to another. He had meant what he said, when he mentioned how useful the changing colors were. Disguises were a great boon for certain bounty hunters. He was going to speak more about it, but then Jocasta asked him a question. Dirk answered promptly.

"My job is fun," He said levelly, and though it was impossible to tell with the helm, it was somehow clear he was looking directly into her face. Dirk wasn't being entirely transparent, but he did feel like he was being honest in a sense. He always liked to say he kept himself out of the job, but that generally meant he did not grow attached to marks. No one ever warned him about the double edge to that sword. That he truly liked bounty hunting beyond a paycheck. When Dirk was young, he had read a quote from a man who lived in the latter part of the Second Millennium, before the cataclysm and rise of human expansion. 

"There is no hunting like the hunting of man, and those who have hunted armed men long enough and liked it, never care for anything else thereafter." 

He didn't put much thought on it as a boy, but it had stuck with him all through his years. How true it had turned out to be. 

"Well if that's your idea of fun, why not tell me about [i]your[/i] last job?" Jocasta asked wryly, lounging across the hot tub and twirling a finger in the water as the bubbles increased.

[hr]
[i]Planet Rhylonn 7[/i]
[i]2 Months Previously[/i]...

Ambrose Talerman smirked, the wind rippling through the streets, his suede jacket undulating. Across the rooftops illuminated by the noonday sun, shooters looked down the scopes of their long guns, prepped and ready to fire when Ambrose or Herdilane himself gave the word. The day was hot, causing every man to perspire heavily even after a mere ten minutes under the blazing rays. Every man except Dirk Crimson, his phenoplate armor coming with a small, albeit outdated coolant system that regulated the temperature within. Biosignatures played along his feed, indicating the locations of every shooter in his field of vision. Their long guns were even older than some of the modifications of his signature red armor, but they a punch to their shots. He could only take a few of them before he was pierced, and there was always the possibility of making it through some of the thinner gaps. 

"How 'bout it?" Ambrose called theatrically, making a spectacle out of the ordeal. "First hit wins?" 

Dirk didn't answer for a long, drawn out moment. He glanced over his shoulder instead, secretly finding two more enemies at his 4 o'clock. The gun on the left room, above the awning, was plasma based. Customized in a way even his helm couldn't decipher. That could be a problem, he thought. Turning back to Amborse, he gave a nod that elicited a laugh of satisfaction from the underboss of the Black Novas. 

"When do we start?" Dirk asked, cooly. 

"When do we start? Good question, when do weee-" Ambrose's voice lowered as if it were to trail off, but he pulled on Dirk. His hand had taken the hilt of the gun even when he said 'Now!' Dirk had been a Helldropper in another life, honing his skills to the edge. Even so, it was a close thing. He had to guess there was only a fraction of a second different, which was enough when gun-fighting. Dirk pulled his DMX-15 Heavy Blaster a split moment after Ambrose, but he fired and aimed twice as fast. The super-heated ball of energy tore through the smiling show-off's stomach, knocking his body with the sheer force of the bolt's punch. His own gun shot was off, discharging to fire slightly to the left before the pistol spiraled to the ground out of his limp hand. 

He fell to his knees, disbelief on his face as blood began to trickle with ever increasing frequency out of his torn abdomen. The silence of the settlement lasted another breath, and then shots rang out as Dirk rolled, dust roiling into the whipping wind as laser fire, slugs, and plasma shots struck where he had been just a moment prior. He took aim and fired, knocking a man off the roof with a well placed shot even as a lasbolt hit his breastplate. He gave a grunt and shot to his left twice, one shot hitting its mark, boiling the man's hand instantly and ruining his gun. 

Crouched, blue flame erupted from the jump-pack he had on his back. Intake vents on the top of the pack greedily sucked in air to feed the jets, and the turbine blades expelled a long plume of vapor as Dirk was lifted from the ground with impressive speed. It was just quick enough to keep him from breaking a bone on landing, but that was only if there was a flat surface to land on. It looked like he was heading down the street for the manor of Herdilane. Red streaks and glowing green shots fly by him, but Dirk kept his focus on the target. He wouldn't and couldn't maneuver, and it costed him the pack. A lucky shot hit center mass between the jets, and Dirk felt his throat tighten and balance falter from the sudden lack of power. He unhooked the pack and let the momentum send him careening, not to the roof he aimed at, but the window he felt he could hit. Positioning his body aerodynamically to assist his descent, he crashed through the wide expanse of glass Herdilane had been, just moments before, looking out and enjoying his drink. 

Dirk rolled, ungracefully to break through the Black Nova boss's desk and hit the wall, splintering the wood. Heraldine, a man who looked to be in his early 60's but was likely far older than that due to body augmentation, looked as if he had pissed himself. He dropped his glass and ran for the door, but Dirk was up and on him, slamming the boss into the wall. Outside, men cried out and orders were being given, but he didn't care. Now on his knees, Herdilane eyed Dirk with a mixture of nervousness and fear. 

Dirk produced a small, smooth sphere with a grinded out middle and red glass where a light might blink were it activated, the center looked to be where the two sides of the ball detached. 

"Swallow this," Dirk told him. 

"Sw- What?" Herdaline asked incredulously. He seemed to be gathering his impudence, looking at the sphere suspiciously. "If you think I'm going to swallow anything, you can fuck right off." The barrel to one of Dirk's DMX-15 blasters pressed under the boss's chin firmly, the heat from the freshly used barrel still scalding. It made Herdaline yelp in an undignified manner and shudder. He now looked a bit more cornered, having lost his will as quickly as it had come. 

"Listen here, bitch." Dirk stated. "Either you swallow this, or I'm making it a suppository. Your move."  
[hr]

"The old bastard didn't know it wasn't a real bomb until he was in shackles and I had another 2 million." Dirk said, Jocasta and anyone else who listened practically seeing his smile behind the helm's visor.