The Mercenary Guild sat in the Second Ring like it owned the station's district.
From the outside, it was all status. Ornate metalwork. Decorative columns. Polymer trim carved to mimic white marble for people who needed their wealth to look ancient. Gold-lined glass arches caught the station lights and threw them back like a promise.
Inside, it was worse.
A high-domed ceiling displayed the Solaran Empire's crest like a holy symbol. Murals of old battles wrapped the curve of the dome, violence polished into art. Bone-white walls held holo displays for contracts, ship leases, insurance packages, and recruitment feeds. The Guild sold war the way a mall sold perfume.
Several ads flashed a mercenary's life in clean colors. One of them carried Elias's face beside a stack of stats and confirmed kills, packaged like a brand.
He didn't look at it for long.
In the back of the hall, service counters ran in a row behind rope barriers. A dozen lines of mercenaries waited in colorful armor and mismatched kit. Some looked exhausted. Some looked bored. A few young ones in new gear wore bright eyes like they hadn't learned what the Guild actually did to people.
Elias stood in one of the lines with his hood up, surrounded by contractors he never cared to know.
"Next contractor," the liaison called, bored enough to be cruel.
Elias stepped out of the line and approached the counter.
"Guild ID."
Elias lifted the silver chip from his neck and placed it on the scanner.
The terminal pulled his profile up in a flash of light.
The liaison's eyes flicked over the holo, then lifted to Elias like he didn't trust the screen to be right.
His posture straightened. Not out of respect. Out of spite.
"What is the nature of your business here, Mr. Journeyman?" he asked, already annoyed, like he'd dealt with Elias before and hadn't enjoyed it.
"Ship registration." Elias' svoice stayed blunt. "Legacy 06 interceptor. Callsign Hangman."
A wry grin crept onto the liaison's face.
"I see. Unfortunately, that's a war-frame class. Proper registration requires a guarantor and a license." He leaned back slightly, letting the words hang. "Do you have one?"
"I don't." Elias didn't blink. "Assign one."
The grin thinned.
"Understood." The liaison tapped twice. "Where did you acquire the vessel? I'll also need the title to submit for licensing."
"Recovered from pirates. No title exists."
Elias watched the man's face like he was waiting for the punchline.
"That's why I'm here. To register it."
The liaison's expression didn't change, but his voice rose just enough for the room to hear.
"Mr. Journeyman, we cannot register unadjudicated war-frames with no title. On paper, that's a stolen vessel." He tapped the terminal again, harder. "Unless you can provide a bill of sale, a salvage ruling, or a chain-of-custody release from Port Authority, I can't help you."
He held Elias'sgaze.
"And I'm not risking my job for your… recovery."
Elias placed his palms on the desk, calm and patient, leaning in just enough to make the liaison feel it.
"I'm here to get it registered. If you can't help me, get me someone who can."
The liaison pulled back. His throat bobbed. But he held his ground.
"No."
Elias didn't speak. He just held the stare, face dead calm.
"Mr. Journeyman," a bell-clean voice said, "is there an issue?"
Elias's eyes slid past the liaison.
A young woman stood there in a pressed navy Guild uniform, hair pinned into a neat bun. Familiar. The kind of familiar that lived in his contact list, not his life.
"Miss Sarah," Elias said. "I'm having issues with registration."
The liaison flinched, then rushed the explanation like a man covering his own skin.
"Director Gatewell, it's an unadjudicated war-frame. No title. Unknown chain-of-custody. We can't register it."
Sarah clocked the tension in one glance.
"He's Platinum rank," she said, flat as policy. "I'll take it from here."
She turned to Elias, voice professional, not warm.
"Mr. Journeyman, head through the hall on your left. We'll discuss this in my office."
Sarah's office was spacious in the way expensive rooms always were: clean lines, quiet surfaces, nothing you could grab in a hurry.
She crossed to a coffee cart tucked against the wall, cups stacked like ammunition.
"How do you take your coffee, Mr. Journeyman?" Her voice had a professional ring. Composed. More than the last time he'd seen her. Not softer. Just decided.
"If you're offering," Elias said, flat as ever, "black."
"Good." She handed him a steaming paper cup. "Have a seat."
A wide desk sat in the center of the room, faux-wood veneer trying to look like a legacy. Multiple holo screens hovered above it in a neat fan.
Sarah set her cup down and pulled up his file with practiced hands.
"You have three legal walls to get through," she said, typing. "First: title. You need to legally own the craft." A salvage-title form appeared, fields already prepared. The screen pivoted toward him.
"Second: a war-frame operator's license."
"Third: registry ping. You need your vessel painted friendly."
Elias'seyes flicked over the form. "Salvage clause?"
"Yes." Sarah didn't look up. "You salvaged the Hangman from a pirate cruiser after losing the Judge, correct?"
"Well, no." Elias corrected without shame. "I stole it from them after the Judge was destroyed."
Sarah paused, just long enough to acknowledge the word, then kept typing like it was a spelling correction.
"Mr. Journeyman," she asked, voice precise, "what is the current condition of the previous owners?"
"They're dead."
"And their cruiser?"
Elias understood the question now. "Destroyed."
Sarah tapped the desk. The form flattened into the surface like a document seal.
"Then from where I'm sitting," she said, "a contractor encountered hostile action, lost his craft, and salvaged an interceptor from the enemy."
She finally looked up.
"The books don't care if the cruiser was occupied or operational at the moment you took it. The clause covers recovery from a hostile vessel after loss."
A stylus slid across the desk toward him.
"Sign. Fee is fifty thousand."
"Understood."
Elias made a quiet note: she didn't just know the rules. She knew how to make them behave.
She continued typing, bringing up a dozen other forms.
"This part is the trickiest," Sarah said. "You'll need a license to operate a war-frame. This fee is one million."
Another document pivoted toward him. Her signature was already stamped across several fields.
"This is why I wanted you to contact me instead of grinding through the main hall." Her tone stayed professional. "I'll sign as your guarantor. No fee for that."
"Nothing costs more than something free," Elias said, calm and firm. "What do you want?"
Sarah's voice sweetened, but her eyes stayed sharp. "I can just say you owe me."
Elias didn't smile. He looked tired.
"Understood. One favor. That's it." He signed before she could counter. "You still don't gain anything from this."
"I'm getting this station's vanguard contractor back to the front lines," she said. "Nothing more."
Elias didn't look up from the stylus. "You're competent."
Sarah's posture lifted a fraction, pleased despite herself.
"But not at lying."
Color rose in her face. She forced her composure. "That's irrelevant."
Her gaze drifted to her screens, and for a second, she looked like she'd forgotten what she was doing.
"Registration is next," Elias said, almost annoyed at himself for derailing her.
"Right." Sarah's fingers resumed. "This is the best part." She kept it professional, but there was energy in her voice now. "Time to pick your new callsign. The old is Hangman. We can clear the flag. How about Juryman, or Crusher, or…"
"Hangman," Elias cut in.
Sarah paused. "Hangman? Isn't it bad luck to reuse a name?"
"That's irrelevant." Elias used her words back at her. "The name fits."
Sarah's eyes narrowed a fraction. "Fits what?"
"The work."
"If you're going to reuse a name," she said, "why not Judge? That fits too."
Elias didn't blink. "The Judge is dead. I put her to rest myself."
He signed. Stylus down.
"Hangman remains."
"Understood." Sarah let it go and continued. "With registration complete, total fees come to 1,800,000 Cr. The charge will post today." Her fingers moved across the holo. "The sortie hold has been lifted. Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Journeyman."
Elias didn't react to the price or the news. Didn't signal whether it was good or bad.
He took a sip from his cup.
"While I'm here," he said, "I need to rearm."
Sarah's grin flashed, pleased to do business. "Of course. Here's our surplus catalog." She slid a holo screen toward him. Cheap torpedoes. Budget rotary mags. Everything tailored to a Legacy 06 interceptor.
Elias scanned it once.
"This all you have?"
Sarah hesitated. "Now that you're licensed for a war-frame, you do have access to military-grade." Her fingers hovered over a locked menu. "But those aren't cheap." A beat. "Nothing on the list I gave you works?"
Elias judged the options as if they were a threat. Which they were.
"I have a limited payload now," he said. "I can't afford a dud. I can't afford underpowered."
Sarah exhaled, then tapped again. The catalog shifted. Fewer listings. Cleaner specs. Bigger numbers.
"Alright," she said. "How does this look?"
Elias read the descriptions, then selected two Shield Breaker torpedoes with heavy warheads. Then he added six hundred rounds of 20mm AP-HE for the rotary sabot-driver.
"I'll take these."
Sarah stared at the total.
"Just to confirm," she said quietly, "that's ten million in torpedoes and two million in sabot ammunition." She looked him in the eyes. "With the fees you just paid, that's your whole bounty."
Her gaze flicked to the number again. Then back to him.
"That's a year in the First Ring."
Elias didn't flinch. He just signed for the order.
"I'm buying outcomes, Miss Gatewell. Not ammunition."
"Well then." Sarah watched his hand sign away a fortune just to go back to work. "Thank you for your business."
Elias stood. "All the credits in the universe are worthless if I'm dead. " He turned for the door like it was already calling him.
"Thank you for the coffee," he added, already halfway out. Cold. Almost human.
Like the words cost him something.
"Anytime," Sarah replied to his retreating back. Warm. Human.
Hers didn't.