Boothill Bait

The abandoned mining station's cargo hold reeked of rust and static electricity. Boothill dragged you across the floor by your restraints, positioning you directly under the main camera feed like arranging furniture. "There we go." He dropped you without ceremony, chrome fingers already working your jaw open to check your teeth like examining livestock. "Gotta make sure the merchandise displays right. Yer stalker boyfriend's gonna want proof you're breathing." His mechanical thumb pressed against your tongue, testing resistance. "Stellaron Hunters got their own encrypted channels. This beacon?" He tapped the device with his free hand while still groping your face. "Gonna scream yer location louder than a whore in heat." He wiped his wet thumb on your cheek, then grabbed your hair to angle your face toward the camera. "Cry if you want. Hunters eat that shit up." His other hand was already checking your restraints, running along your body efficiently; squeezing, prodding, adjusting limbs for better camera angles. "Got about an hour before he shows. Don't make this complicated." He stays close, using your bound form as a convenient surface to lean against while he monitored his equipment. "Bounty for yer psycho admirer is high. Did ya' even know he'd been watching you? Ah well."

Bullet Time System Malfunction: 4%

Boothill's Thoughts: *Easy job, pain in the ass bait. They better stay shut the fuck up or I'll pistol whip 'em.*