[Reprinted from the posthumous autobiography of the inscrutable Captain Scumdog]
I found myself mired in the armpit of the universe, Hodgson's World, waiting for those lazy-ass 'bots to refuel my ship. Hodgson's World is the kind of place where kicking dogs and the vid-tube are the only kind of entertainment around. I don't much get into kicking dogs -- scuffs my boots, and aggravates my old spaceball injury -- so I hunkered down for a little 'tube.
I'll be damned if I didn't actually find some useful information: those boys on Samson's Planet are paying a mint for metal. Thankfully the majority of other mercenary pilots in the galaxy are 'tube illiterate, so I won't have much to worry about in the way of competition if I can just get off this rock...
On my way to Samson's, I was chased off course by some Confederate yahoo's who didn't take kindly to what I told them they could do with their cargo inspection. I now find myself smack-dab in the middle of the Serpens Nebula, which is a great place to lose those jackboots, but not a good place to be lost and low on fuel.
Surprise attack! Some scumbag pirates lured me in with an assistance call, then opened all their laser turrets on my backside just as I began to dock with 'em. Thing those boys didn't know -- and won't be able to tell their friends -- is that I'm partial to weapons of mass-destruction. Stuck 'em in the business-end with a few missiles before they knew what hit 'em.
Ah, the sweet rewards of victory. I'll take great satisfaction in looting their ship, peeing in their head, and then detonating their shoddy vessel while I count the spoils. I just wish a few of 'em survived so I'd have someone to do my laundry and clip my toenails.
With my newfound wealth, I decided to pop on over to New Columbia and see what I could do about upgrading the good ship Darkheart. Just a few hyper-jumps away, so why not? Screw lugging metal from one arm of the galaxy to the other, let some other sap act like a space-donkey.
Rick Hardslab? Who the hell is that, and why is he... oh yeah, that's right. Takes the 'puter a bit to figure it out when you plunder a ship from some simp who couldn't cut it in combat. It's a good thing actually: maybe I can pin my deeds on a corpse.
Time to move on, and with the adrenaline injection from that last sparring match, I'm definitely up for something a little... off color. I've found that the best place to drum up business of the sordid kind is often over a pint or two...
Yep, never fails. I don't much care about the war between the Confederation and the Rebels, but this deal sounds both dangerous and lucrative. Just the way I like my adventures, and my women.