The Flesh Fair
Bounty hunters. Well-equipped persons whom pursue supposed criminal and fugitives in pursuit of a reward. In the vastness of space they were only a shade different than mercenaries. In the Cyber-Knight's experience, they were worse. One could easily pay off a mercenary, get them to either discard their task or turn on their employer. But bounty hunters? They were terribly persistent in their single-minded pursuits, and Westley had encountered, trapped, or dispatched his fair share of them over the years.
Today, he'd arrived at the Flesh-Fair to discreetly take care of a employer who'd lately been relentlessly in deploying bounty hunter after bounty hunter to capture the Cyber Knight. The first few attempts had been fun distractions at first, but now they were becoming an annoyance.
And so, sporting a light grey balaclava and a stylish black garb over his signature undersuit, Westley emerged from an office onto the dense, neon-purple lit streets of the Flesh Fair. For now, his bounty hunter problem was taken care of, and the silenced pistol he'd used for it was holstered beneath his jacket. This called for a mug of Ventuian mead at the bar a few streets over.