Again? Really? Is the Core completely out of credits, cupcake? I’m skipping my yoga class—think of the sacrifice—just to slog through this never-ending stack of paperwork. You boys are so mean to poor little old me.
Still, your timing is impeccable: the curtain’s about to rise, and you’ve been added to the board. Now, try not to drown me in forms before I can even roll up my mat, hmm?
Seems my former employers didn't pay the registration fee. That's not good business on their side. News on the wire is that you're the next to go to.
We're here, you have credits, we have guns to shoot.
Well, would you look at that, cupcake—I nearly forgot all about you. Bingo is one heck of a drug, after all. It would’ve been a real tragedy not to unleash you on the hunt.
You’re officially on the board. Happy hunting, sweetheart.
Well, well—look what the vacuum dragged in! A Zoner in my office? How delightfully uncommon. I assume you’re eyeing that siege bounty, and honestly, that’s music to my ears, sweetheart.
Plenty of easy credits floating around—so many soft targets it’s practically a clearance sale. The Corsairs are stumbling about so drunk we’ve begun to suspect “intoxicated” is their default state.
Anyway, Mr. Holst, you’re officially on the board. Go scoop up that easy cash—and try not to trip over any sloshed pirates when undocking, hm?