Engine grease stained Ivan Malexum's hands as he addressed his motley crew, half human, half a motley collection of alien mercenaries – a gruff Kroot warrior with jangling trophies, a wiry Vespid with iridescent wings folded tight, and a hulking Ogryn who rumbled softly in the back. They were gathered in the cavernous hangar of his ship, the Heretical Hope, its name a sardonic reflection of its captain.

"Alright, listen up," Ivan rasped, his voice gravelly from years of void travel and recycled air. "Intel says there's a pirate base on that moon – easy pickings. But here's the wrinkle – there's a shantytown of Arkians huddling near the base. Non-combatants. We hit the pirates, hard, but…" He trailed off, his gaze flickering to the alien contingent.

A snarl erupted from the Kroot, a flurry of clicks and whistles. "Waste of time! More xenos to purge!"

Ivan slammed his fist on a nearby crate, the sound echoing in the vast space. "Easy there, Slash. We're not barbarians here. Arkians keep to themselves, cause no trouble. This ain't about some righteous crusade. We hit the pirates, take their loot, and get out clean. Understood?"

The Krot grumbled, his mandibles twitching. The Vespid chirped rapidly, its translator buzzing. "They say it's a risk. Arkians might warn the pirates."

Ivan sighed, a weary crease forming between his brows. "Look, I get it. But innocent lives ain't part of the deal. We can secure the perimeter around the shantytown. If any Arkians try to flee and warn the pirates, well…" He shrugged, his gaze hardening. "That's a different story. But we don't go in guns blazing, spooking civilians." A grudging nod from Slash was his only responses.