A hunter scoffed. "Give it a rest, you psycho. Don't forget the rules of Project Zero-Transit."
Project Zero-Transit didn't outlaw murder, but it strictly forbade damaging the cargo or disrupting the flow of commerce.
They could brawl and assassinate specific targets, but mindless, indiscriminate slaughter was a death sentence.
Besides, many of the women onboard were elite buyers, high-ranking medical staff, or VIPs invited by the executives.
Kill the wrong one, and not only would they forfeit the bounty, they'd be dead before they hit the floor.
"Did anyone try buying intel off the crew?"
"Yeah, but nobody knows anything."
"Or rather, the ones who do know are too terrified to sell."
"Damn it," someone muttered. "She's just one woman. How is she hiding this well?"
Just as the argument reached a boiling point, a man with a jagged scar across his face hurried into the room.
He had clearly just returned from a scouting run, his eyes gleaming with greedy excitement. "Boys, forget about Serena for a minute. Do you know why they locked down the specialized medical wing?"
That instantly hooked the room's attention.
"What happened? Is it something that pays?"
Vance "Scarface" Miller grinned viciously. "Of course it pays. Why else would I bother asking?"
At the mention of a payday.
The entire room leaned in. "Spit it out. What happened? Where's the cash?"
Relishing the spotlight, Vance lowered his voice, acting incredibly secretive. "I bought a little tip off one of the lower-deck grunts."
"Word is, one of the special cargo pieces headed for inspection at Whitecliffe Harbor just went critical."
Special cargo?
The hunters' eyes sharpened instantly. "What kind of cargo? What went wrong?"

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