Dumbass manager. That shit wasn't even my fault but I get fucking fired. I guess that's just my luck. Conan sat at the bar downing some Hops and Barley—nothing fancy, just a common beer, as he ruminated on his luck.
His co-worker had misplaced a load-bearing support beam, and in doing so, compromised the entire building's structural integrity. In the end, the building collapsed a few weeks later, and Conan took the brunt of the damages. A few days later, he was jobless. Everyone had somehow failed to spot the mistake, himself included.
Conan burped and sighed regretfully. For the last year and a half, I haven't found a decent job I can hold onto. There's always some mistake that gets my sorry ass fired. It's like I'm destined to encounter misfortune on this shitty planet. Living off bi-weekly paying jobs doesn't do me much good…
After half a dozen more drinks and a significantly lighter wallet, Conan stood, his legs a little unsteady, and walked to the door. He wasn't planning on getting any drunker or spending all his money at this run-down place. But as he passed the counter, an interesting conversation garnered his attention.
"Man, have you heard?
"Apparently, some C-Class ships are looking for adventurers. No damn requirements! Whatever planet it is, it sounds fucking dope—nothing too dangerous. They didn't say much about it."
A middle-aged man with curly brown hair sneered, eagerly spilling the news. Across from him sat another man around his age. He had a bushy long beard and a receding hairline.
"Vince, when have you ever told me something I didn't already know? Heh, I'm planning to register as it sounds very promising. Perhaps I'll be able to establish us…"
Conan heard Wayne's voice grow distant as he pushed the bar's door open and stepped outside. Those two, Vince and Wayne, were not only regulars at the Iron Stag bar, but local gang members. The latter, Wayne, was a mid-ranked member and the former was rather low. Hanging around this bar has given me some good intel, even if by accident. I can more or less trust the source, but should I register? My life has been pretty down lately and I still have enough money to pay a hefty fee for registration… Conan seriously considered volunteering for one of the C-Class ships.
Then, he thought of a problem. He hadn't overheard the Vessel Registry Code. Without it, Conan would either botch his registration or complicate everything. Fuck, do I really have to go back and ask?
***
"You wanna volunteer, kid? Pretty gusty move."
Having stumbled back into the bar, Conan froze as he approached Wayne and Vince, unsure how to respond to the latter.
"I'm just messing with you," Wayne said with a smirk, gesturing toward the empty chair. "Loosen up, man. Take a seat."
Sometime later, Conan stumbled toward the door, his balance uneven, his wallet now glaringly empty. Fucking drunkards conned me into buying them more drinks. Now I'm broke and even drunker… He gritted his teeth, forcing his thoughts to settle as he made his way out. At least he'd gotten the information he needed.
The lobby greeted him with its grandiose furniture and sleek decor—an indulgence he couldn't afford for much longer. Conan placed his hand on the scanner at the room's center. A soft chime accompanied the flash of blue sparks that enveloped him, and moments later, he reappeared on the sixteenth floor.
Inside his modest apartment, he wasted no time. A quick rinse in the shower, a change into more comfortable clothes, and he collapsed into bed, the faint buzz of alcohol still lingering in his mind.
Morning arrived with a vengeance. A brutal hangover hammered at Conan's skull as he swung his legs off the bed. His unfocused eyes locked onto the blank wall ahead, though his thoughts churned elsewhere. This place isn't cheap, and I've only been here for two days. If I leave now, can I get a refund?
The idea sparked some hope in him. A moment later, he was in the lobby, standing before the receptionist—a prim blonde with sharp green eyes.
"Morning, ma'am," Conan said, managing a disarming smile. "I was wondering, can I get a refund for the days I haven't used in my stay? I won't need the room anymore."
The woman looked at him, her expression unreadable. "Yes, sir. We can process that for you."
Not long after, Conan found himself at the bustling Adventuring Office, a place that blended the rowdiness of a bar with the functionality of a registry. Adventurers filled the space, their laughter and banter a backdrop to the smell of cooked meat and spilled ale.
He ordered a plate of Smokebelly Skewers, the office's most famous delicacy. The tender, smoky meat of the common Duskharbor eel melted in his mouth. Not bad… maybe the only decent thing about this town, Conan thought as he cleaned off the skewers.
Once done, he approached the front desk. Behind the counter was a young woman with a bright smile. Her welcoming demeanor contrasted sharply with his simmering frustration.
"What can I help you with today?" she asked.
Conan hesitated for a moment before answering. "I want to volunteer as an adventurer. For one of the C-Class ships heading to Erevos."
The woman's brow lifted in surprise. "Ah, well, there are no real requirements, just a registration fee. Once you're signed up, you'll be assigned to the ship you choose. Which one are you looking at?"
"Eclipse-C-017," Conan replied without hesitation.
"Got it. That'll be 1,000 Credis."
Small sum, my ass! Conan thought bitterly, forcing himself to nod as he handed over the payment. His wallet, already on life support, officially flatlined. At least food and a bunk are covered on the ship… I hope.
***
A few weeks later, Conan was in a spaceship traveling through space at an indiscernible speed. The Eclipse was estimated to arrive at it's destination a month after departure and that was enough time for Conan to think things through more thoroughly as well as gather more intel on the planet. After all, he jumped on the bandwagon without any information apart from the Vessel Registry Code. This could turn out to be a grave mistake… Let's hope not.