A slender man in his mid-twenties walks into the main concourse at Invergordon, and smiles, feeling at home. As he makes his way on the catwalks and various corridors to the main hub of Invergordon, he welcomes the smell of metal, grease, oil, and other industrial smells that were never hidden or kept isolated. For Junkers have no need for such niceties as nice smells and brushing away reality that surrounds them in favor of a skewed visuals and dulling smells. Practicality is what they enjoy. The blatant truth in front of them to see and judge. That, and the occasional synth weed.
As the man entered into the common hub, he noticed the amount of traffic coming in from the various docking and mooring points. Invergordon was becoming alive once again. *Time for me to set up shop* the man thought.
As he nestled himself into a corner near the center of the hub, he unfolded his chair, clicked a button on a seemingly inconspicuous walking stick, and BAM! A bright green neon sign filled the air above him, reading:
Vallon's Synth Weed Emporium
The man, the entrepreneur, the "High" marauder, Jake Vallon was ready to start his day right. With a toke and with providing the fine people at Invergordon a means to enjoy their time here...
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