[The Pantheon - The War Room]
"150 Million Credits," Alex looked at his balance. "It's a good start."
"Dawn," Alex ordered. "Open the Mercenary Guild."
The holographic map of the galaxy shifted. Thousands of red dots appeared. Each dot was a fleet for hire. The Galactic Net was filled with listings:
The Iron Legion: Reliable. Infantry focus. Cost: 10,000 GC/month.
The Plasma Brotherhood: Heavy firepower. undisciplined. Cost: 50,000 GC/month.
"Too weak," Alex swiped them away. "I don't want security guards. I want world-enders."
"Sort by: Price (High to Low). Filter: Illegal/Exiled."
"Warning," Dawn hesitated. "Hiring Exiled Fleets will damage your reputation with the Galactic Council. These units are classified as War Criminals."
"I'm a drug lord, Dawn," Alex smirked, sipping his coffee. "I don't have a reputation. Show me."
[The Listing]
One listing appeared at the top. It was marked with a Black Skull.
Unit: The Void-Walkers.
Commander: Admiral Valerius (The Butcher of Sector 9).
Strength: 1 Dreadnought, 10 Cruisers, 5,000 Elite Shock Troopers.
Status: Wanted by the Federation. Currently hiding in the Asteroid Belt of Proxima.
Contract Price: 100,000,000 GC (One-Time Payment for Loyalty).
"A hundred million," Luna read the price. "That's two-thirds of our fortune."
"They were exiled because they refused to surrender a planet they were protecting," Alex read the bio. "They aren't criminals. They are stubborn. I like stubborn."
"Buy them."
[The Call]
[Transaction Complete.] [Expenditure: 100,000,000 GC.] [Connecting to Flagship: The Revenant...]
The screen flickered. A face appeared. It was an alien, humanoid but with pale blue skin and scarring across his left eye. He wore battered, black armor. This was Admiral Valerius. He looked tired, angry, and dangerous.
"Who is this?" Valerius growled. "I told the Federation I would self-destruct before I surrendered."
"I'm not the Federation," Alex leaned forward. "I'm your new employer."
Valerius checked his console. He saw the transfer. +100,000,000 GC. His eyes widened. His fleet had been starving for five years. This money could repair their ships and feed his crew for a decade.
"A human?" Valerius scoffed. "A primitive from C-137 bought us? You think money buys my sword, boy?"
"Money bought your survival," Alex said coldly. "Your ships are leaking fuel. Your crew is starving. I just saved you from the scrap heap."
Valerius gripped his console. "We are warriors, not pets. If you order us to do something dishonorable..."
"I don't want you to kill civilians," Alex interrupted. "I want you to protect my coffee."
There was a long silence. "Your... coffee?"
"I run the largest stimulant export hub in the sector," Alex explained. "And I need a fleet to make sure the Banking Guild pays full price. Can you handle that, Admiral? or should I ask for a refund?"
Valerius looked at his crew. They were looking at the food rations they could finally afford. The Admiral stood up and saluted. It wasn't a salute of respect, but of contract.
"The Void-Walkers are yours, High Command. We will be in Earth orbit in T-minus 4 hours."
[The Arrival]
Four hours later, the sky above Neo-Atlantis darkened. It wasn't a storm. Eleven massive warships broke through the clouds. They were jagged, scarred, and radiated menace. They parked right next to the Debt Collector's trade ships, their cannons tracking the Banking Guild vessels aggressively.
The Banking Guild pilots immediately stopped scanning the coffee containers and started loading faster.
"Dawn," Alex watched his new fleet. "Send Valerius a bonus. Tell him to paint the ships gold."
[System Notification] [Asset Acquired: S-Class Fleet (The Void-Walkers).] [Military Power: Galactic Tier 3.] [Current Balance: 49,500,000 GC.]