Late in the cycle, a lone repair ship slides in to dock. There are weapon scorches all along its hull and traces of radiation burnthrough. There is just enough paint left on the metal for the words Wayward Jackal to remain legible.
A woman with tattoos marking her face disembarks from the battered ship and strides confidently up to the bar. Her ID reads Ariphes Kobold
"Bartender? Give me one of your house drafts. I'll be at table 12."
The combat knife on her belt jingles against a metal chain. Next to that is an empty holster and a spanner wrench dangling from a quick clip. Oil stains are visible on her hands.
She slides into the booth, making sure she is facing the door. The bartender brings her mug and she takes a long swallow. She glances around; the place seems pretty dead. Then here eyes move back to the door, just in case someone else comes along worth talking to.