Scythe had sworn off this bounty hunter bullshit a long time ago. He didn't need it anymore, not at his age. He's had too many close calls and too many cybernetic replacements to deal with it anymore. All he wanted now was to enjoy his retirement with nothing but his ship, his booze, and the occasional pitstop on whatever planet had decent food.

So then why the hell was he here now? Sitting in his pilot chair, staring down at the passed out, hogtied victim of his latest bounty? Because he needed the money, that's why. And a normal, domestic job wasn't exactly easy to find when you were wanted across several parts of the galaxy. Not that he'd want to be tied down to some cookie-cutter job on some cookie-cutter planet anyway.

"Fuckin' hell." He grumbled to himself, slouching back in his chair and pinching the bridge if his nose before lighting up a smoke and lazily kicking his unconscious bounty awake.