NOVPUBSlave Collars are a common commodity for players in TSO. After all, with them, one could easily gain fleets of pirates under their command and make a fortune reselling the repurposed ships for a hefty profit.
Because of that, I'm very familiar with the standard price of a single collar.
The problem is, even though I don't like Christy as a person, I'm going to need her assistance again in the future—that much is certain. Maintaining a friendly, cooperative relationship would be ideal.
"I'll give 300k each," I offered after some brief thought.
It was a price slightly below the regular retail cost, a figure they could probably accept without too much fuss. The perfect figure for testing the waters.
At my proposal, her lips curved into a bright, delighted smile. "Looks like Mr. Customer here understands the value of this collar quite well. But... unfortunately, that's still not good enough for me. Fifty million each, deal~?"
Just like that, she threw in a couple extra zeroes. Yeah... she was absolutely trying to rip me off.
"If you'd said fifty thousand, I might've taken you up on it," I replied, shaking my head. "But fifty million? That's ridiculous. 500,000 Credits."
To be honest, I could've agreed to her absurd price. I'm not exactly short on cash. Spending around a hundred billion Cols to convert hundreds of pirate ships into my personal army? It would've been well worth the investment.
But here's the catch.
If I just nodded and gave in now, I'd probably be treated as Christy's personal ATM from this point forward. This negotiation wasn't just about pricing and value—it was about determining who would hold the upper hand in our relationship going forward.
"Too much?" she scoffed. "We developed and patented a brand-new stealth system exclusively for this collar. Do you have any idea how much funding went into the research? Fifty million. Take it or leave it."
"..."
Christy was standing firm on her initial price. If she was just going to push her figure anyway, then why even bother asking for my offer?
She knew who I really was—Gerard, the heir of the wealthiest, most influential conglomerate in the entire universe. Was she using that knowledge to inflate her quote, thinking I wouldn't bat an eye?
"One million," I said flatly. "If I purchase 186 units, that totals 186 million Credits. You'd walk away with a profit well over 150 million." I turned on my heel and started walking toward the door. "If you don't want to accept that, I guess I'll look for another supplier. I'm sure Miranda has something cheaper anyway."
*BAM!*
Just as I turned away, something exploded behind me. I didn't even have to glance back to know what it was—the collar she had been holding.
"Don't you dare bring up that bitch's name in front of me!" Christy growled.
Her voice, for a moment, lost its feminine quality—borderline masculine, as if the persona she wore had almost slipped off.
And the reason for her rage? The name I casually mentioned—Miranda. Another black market dealer... and Christy's biggest rival.
But Miranda wasn't just some small-time operator. She was infamous for replicating Christy's designs, creating nearly identical products that matched her specs. The catch? She sold them at massively reduced prices. That price advantage alone won her plenty of customers.
Of course, there was a downside. Since Miranda was only copying Christy's designs, she often skipped on safeties or quality control. She haphazardly slapped together whatever components she could find to recreate the functionality. As a result, about 45% of her products would break down or malfunction in a short time.
That's how it was back when this was just a game.
Now that it's become reality, there's no way I'd risk equipping my future "employees" with faulty collars. That's precisely why I came to Christy—for originals, not copies.
"Well, I get why you're pissed," I said with a shrug, still not turning back. "Her last quarter sales were at least five times yours, after all. Let's see... She's claimed around 40% of the black market trade share. You, on the other hand..."
"BULLSHIT!"
Christy roared, her fury spilling out like a cornered beast.
"She's only raking in sales because she deliberately targets my work—undercutting my prices with her garbage units! She's a talentless fraud who can't invent anything on her own!"
"A valid business tactic, considering how profitable it's been for her..."
I smirked as I finally glanced back at her, my tone deliberately provoking.
"The problem here is that you're too fixated on performance. You lack the business insight to recognize what your customers are actually willing to pay. That's where Miranda excels." 𝑛𝘰𝘷𝑝𝘶𝑏.𝑐𝘰𝘮
I noticed a sharp twitch at the corner of her eye, and I could clearly hear her grinding her teeth in barely contained rage.
"Well, given the choice, I'd rather not rely on her substandard junk. Two million per collar—that is my final offer."
Right—besides being a feared and notorious villain across the stars, Christy was, at her core, just an inventor. One unafraid to push boundaries and explore unknown frontiers in her pursuit of perfection.
But she wasn't cut out for business. Not even close. Her mindset was to build superior products, then sell them at premium prices to a handful of elite customers—enough to cover her expenses and keep her research funded.
A classic case of a proud creator—unwilling to compromise her work, even at the cost of broader success.
With this mindset, there's no way she could "fight" against Miranda, who operated with the philosophy of selling as many units as possible before the market inevitably collapsed.
One was chasing perfection; the other, quick and easy profit. It's painfully obvious who'd win in the long run.
I'm not sure if my words truly got through to her, but Christy went quiet. Her expression was unreadable but… not long after, a familiar smile reappeared on her face.
"Alright, you got me. Two million per unit, deal." She gave a shrug, looking somewhere between amused and exasperated. "Damn it, boy. You really know how to talk. I can't believe you actually made me recognize my own flaw with just a few lines..."
"I wonder what you're talking about? I'm just out here trying to buy high-quality gear at bargain-bin prices," I said with a grin, stepping forward and extending my hand to seal the deal.
Christy chuckled, the sound soft but genuine, before gripping my hand in a surprisingly firm shake.
"So, 186 units of collars, for a grand total of 372 million credits. That amount's still a bit shy of covering my overall production costs, but the per-unit profit's definitely not bad."
She spoke as if to confirm the deal. But I just smiled, shaking my head casually. "Who said I only need 186 units?"
Sure, I captured 186 pirate ships—but only the corvettes were single-seaters. If I include all the crew members, the actual number would go well over a thousand.
"Two thousand units. I need them within the next hour," I stated clearly. "Can you manage that?"
"You…"
Her eyes widened in surprise before she let out a helpless sigh, shaking her head as if defeated. "You really got me good. With this, I've got no complaints about our exchange, Mr. Arthur."
I felt satisfied as well—because with just around 4 billion Credits, I'd secured the goodwill of one of the most talented black market inventors in the entire universe.
"Hm?"
After she let go of my hand, Christy winked and casually walked off. Curious, I looked down at my palm—only to find a small, neatly folded slip of paper tucked there.
I opened it with a flick and saw a set of coordinates scribbled inside. And on the lower left corner... a vivid purple kiss mark.
This... No matter how I tried to rationalize it, there's only one conclusion to draw. It's that, isn't it?
A shiver ran down my spine.
The sheer discomfort was so strong, I instinctively wanted to crush the paper and toss it on the floor. But doing something like that in her presence would almost certainly offend her, so I forced a stiff smile onto my face and silently walked away.
Anyway, negotiations were finally over!
After that, the shipment of 2,000 Slave Collars was delivered to our dock, packed tightly in reinforced crates.
They arrived in less than an hour—proving that Christy was indeed dependable when it came to matters of "business."
Even better, everything was already registered with me as the designated "owner." All we had to do was wrap the collars around the pirates' necks, and the process was complete.
With the primary objective of our visit successfully achieved, the three of us returned to our respective ships and headed out toward the location where the captured pirates were still floating in space not far off.
Thankfully, no one had tried anything while we were away. The entire fleet was still in neat formation, patiently awaiting orders.
The task that followed, though, turned out to be surprisingly time-consuming.
We summoned everyone over to the largest ship in their fleet—their only dreadnaught-class vessel—Black Halberd.
In the said ship's dock, I stood tall in the Model 2065-S Truman Suit, a newly acquired one to replace the last suit that had been tragically melted by Glop-kun.
Behind me was Nyssra, leaning her massive railgun over one shoulder threateningly. While Eva stood to my right, arms crossed before her chest, her gaze as sharp as ever.
With those two by my side, I wasn't the least bit worried about getting mobbed by a group of pirates.
"Step forward one by one! I'm going to put these collars on you myself!" I shouted, amplifying my voice to ensure everyone could hear it.
Despite that, not a single person moved even after several seconds passed.
"Seriously? You're still not cooperating after coming this far?" I sighed, clearly disappointed.
Drawing my blaster, I aimed at a random pirate and pulled the trigger.
I'd intended to hit his shoulder—to intimidate, not kill. But I guess my aim was just a bit off. The shot went clean through his chest, leaving a gaping hole behind. He died on the spot.
"...Anyway," I said with a shrug, acting like it was nothing. "Still not cooperating?"
Fortunately, killing just one of them seemed to do the trick.
The rest of the pirates scrambled to form a line, allowing me to collar them one by one. The collars, upon touching their necks—or the closest thing to a neck in some of these bizarre species—automatically melded with their skin as if fused there.
The outer surface of each collar adjusted on activation, perfectly replicating the skin tone of its wearer—like a chameleon blending into its surroundings.
Of course, not all of them made it easy. Some decided to be difficult, refusing to lower their heads to let me reach their necks.
For those stubborn ones... Eva stepped in. She folded them over with brutal efficiency, quite literally reducing their height so I could finally access their necks.
And just like that, a total of 1,495 pirates… were now officially my new "employees."
With that tedious task behind us, it was time to move on to the next phase of the plan.
