Chapter 3: A Slightly Illegal Pit Stop

Max sat in the captain's chair, staring at the holographic screen as B.O.B. finished scanning for space stations. His foot tapped against the metal floor impatiently.

"Alright, Bob, tell me you found something useful."

B.O.B.'s monotone voice responded, "Affirmative. There is a refueling station within range. It is an independent trading hub known as Outpost 217. Warning: Outpost 217 is classified as a 'den of crime, smuggling, and morally questionable decision-making.'"

Max sighed. "Yeah, that sounds about right."

"Would you like to proceed?"

Max considered his options.

1. Stay in deep space with limited supplies until he starved to death.

2. Go to the sketchy space station and risk getting robbed, scammed, or vaporized.

"Well, Bob, I've survived a teleportation accident and an alien banana war. How bad could a little crime hub be?"

"Statistically? Extremely bad."

"…Set a course."

---

Arrival at Outpost 217

The ship's engines rumbled to life, and within minutes, a massive station appeared in the distance. It was less of a space station and more of a floating scrapyard held together by duct tape and bad decisions.

Ships of all shapes and sizes were docked along its outer ring—some sleek and high-tech, others looking like they'd been through a dozen wars and barely survived. Flashing neon signs in multiple alien languages flickered along the station's hull, advertising everything from "DISCOUNT LASER GUNS" to "HOT SPACE DATES - NO REFUNDS."

Max arched an eyebrow. "Well. This definitely screams 'high-class establishment.'"

B.O.B.'s voice chimed in, "Please note: The likelihood of being scammed, mugged, or abducted at Outpost 217 is approximately 97%."

Max scoffed. "What happened to the other 3%?"

"They left their ship and immediately fell into an airlock."

"…Right. Let's try not to do that."

---

Welcome to the Shadiest Market in the Galaxy

Max stepped off the ramp of the SS Quantum Disaster and into the chaos of Outpost 217.

The docking bay was loud and full of shouting merchants, arguing customers, and at least three people getting punched at any given time. The air smelled like burning metal, questionable street food, and bad decisions.

Max adjusted his jacket and muttered, "Okay. Blend in. Act natural."

A second later, a guy in a trench coat approached him. "Hey, buddy, wanna buy a slightly-used black hole?"

Max blinked. "A what?"

The guy opened his coat, revealing a glowing, swirling void in a glass container. "Only used once! Very stable!*"

(*There was no proof of stability.)

Max took a step back. "I'm good, thanks."

The guy huffed. "Your loss." He then turned to a nearby alien with tentacles. "Hey, buddy, you wanna buy a slightly-used black hole?"

Max shook his head and kept walking. He needed to find fuel, food, and preferably some answers about this crazy universe.

His stomach growled.

"Okay, maybe food first."

---

The Worst Café in the Universe

Max found himself at a grimy little diner called "The Cosmic Grease Pit"—which, in hindsight, should have been a red flag.

The menu was a holographic screen that listed food options in a mix of alien languages and occasional English translations, such as:

Mystery Meat Surprise (It's a surprise because we don't know what it is!)

Plasma-Fried Space Lobster (May or may not be radioactive!)

Discount Oxygen Burger (Contains 10% actual oxygen!)

Max squinted. "Why would I order something with 'discount oxygen' in it?"

A robotic waiter hovered over. "Welcome to The Cosmic Grease Pit! Today's special is Deep-Fried Tentacle Nuggets! Comes with a free stomach stabilizer!"

Max sighed. "You know what? Just give me whatever's least likely to kill me."

"One Basic Nutrient Bar coming up!"

"…That works."

As he waited, he overheard a conversation from a nearby table.

A rough-looking alien with a scarred face whispered, "I heard there's a bounty hunter in the station. They say he's looking for some guy who stole a Federation ship."

Max immediately froze.

Oh. Oh, that's bad.

He casually pulled up the hood of his jacket and grabbed his food, slipping out of the diner as quickly as possible.

---

Trouble Finds Max (Again)

Max hurried down a side alley, trying to process his rapidly increasing list of problems.

1. He was technically a fugitive.

2. Someone was already hunting for him.

3. His only defense was a system that gave him bananas.

The System beeped.

[ERROR: Random Power Activation Triggered.]

Max stopped. "Wait, what?"

His hands tingled as glowing energy swirled around them. The System spoke again.

[Congratulations! You have unlocked a new ability: THE POWER OF SOAP SUDS!]

Max stared as a sudsy foam formed in his palms.

"You have got to be kidding me."

Before he could even begin to process how useless that was, a rough voice growled behind him.

"Hey, you."

Max turned slowly.

A massive, armored figure loomed over him, a blaster rifle slung across his back. His helmet had a glowing red visor, and the WANTED insignia on his shoulder made it very clear who he was.

The bounty hunter cracked his knuckles. "You're coming with me."

Max gulped.

"...Can we talk about this?"

The bounty hunter raised his rifle.

Max sighed. "Figures."

Then, without thinking, he flung his hands forward—hurling an avalanche of soap suds directly into the bounty hunter's face.

The man let out a very undignified scream as the foam completely blinded him. He staggered back, slipping on the now extremely soapy floor.

Max watched in astonishment as the bounty hunter tripped, hit his head on a trash can, and immediately knocked himself out cold.

There was a long silence.

The System beeped.

[See? Do not underestimate the power of soap.]

Max exhaled. "Okay. I'll admit it. That was amazing."

Then he looked around and realized—

"Oh crap. I gotta get off this station right now."

He turned on his heel and bolted, because if there was one thing he knew for certain, it was this:

When life hands you soap suds, run before more bounty hunters show up.

---

Next Stop: Even More Trouble

Max sprinted back toward the docking bay, heart pounding.

His ship, a stolen Federation vessel, was already a huge target. And now? He had just pissed off a bounty hunter and possibly half the station.

As he reached the ship, B.O.B.'s voice chimed in.

"Captain, I detect increased security activity. Shall I prepare for emergency departure?"

"YES, BOB. YES, YOU SHALL."

The engines roared to life as Max jumped into the pilot's seat.

"Prepare for takeoff. Engaging thrusters in three… two… one—"

The ship blasted out of the station, just as several armed figures burst into the docking bay, shouting in rage.

Max slumped back in his chair, exhaling. "Well. That could have gone worse."

B.O.B. replied, "Technically, it could have also gone much, much worse."

Max sighed. "Thanks, Bob."

[NEW QUEST: Escape to a Safe Planet! WARNING: More bounty hunters may be on your tail.]

Max groaned. "I hate this universe."

And thus, Max's adventure continued—now with bounty hunters, soap-based warfare, and a growing list of enemies.

What could possibly go wrong next?