The GREAT COLLAPSE has ended.

Corporations folded. Empires shrugged.
Somebody, somewhere, still needs their stuff delivered,
their rivals "located," and their unpaid invoices collected.

Enter the BOUNTY HUNTERS' GUILD — part union,
part chaos, fully optional dental.

You are a freelancer with a beat-up ship,
a questionable Notoriety, and a cargo hold that smells faintly of regret.

Somewhere out there, a Bounty Board is updating.
Somewhere, a rival hunter is about to take YOUR mark.

Coffee's in the mess hall. Engines are warm.

Time to clock in.