If only

[Reeves]

Fontana was cold, enough to make the extremities seize up if only slightly to protest the fact. The air had a certain smell, like freshly opened spare parts that'd been stacked up in their boxes too long. Ever since the station's tumultuous changing of hands, from the Legion to sympathetic bootleggers, the place had begun to develop a different aura about it. All sorts of people paid it visits, enterprising freelancers, commercial ships willing to take the risk of underhand dealings off the beaten path, and of course Liberty's underbelly. Especially the all too familiar radicals it was home to.

Morreti still hated this place, even though the Commonwealth stars had been duly painted over, erased from immediate recollection, there was still enough about the place to put him off. Maybe it would have been simpler to burn it, but thankfully foresight came into play rather than such impulses for vengeance, because now with Kepler's isolation, Fontana was an extremely useful revenue source. Not just for the Alliance, but for the cells of radicals spread out across Liberty, each committed to change in their own ways.

Some corners and crevices still bore burn marks from particle cannons, the type employed by Xenos. Evidently their bombardment and strafing runs on the understaffed station not so long ago was effective. Had they pressed harder, the station's seals might have been breached, which would have only resulted in further catastrophic damage instead of the cosmetic kind. Had this really been a product of his leadership? He'd been the loudest voice lobbying for further independence and strengthening of the cause, but he hadn't been the only one. Certainly, he must have done something right, if people were so inclined to keep crediting these developments to him.

Truth be told, he didn't care. No part of him could find any enjoyment in milestones or achievements, not when it felt like a chunk, or perhaps even half of him was missing. Just like the emblems on either wing of his Eagle that had pulled in to dock, he was a mangled remnant, too stubborn to break and yet not the whole thing that he once was. With a deft movement of the hand after departing his pilot's seat, he raised a finger to an ear, calling the person he came here to meet. "If you've got yourself a room here, we can talk there. Just need the door number. Bar's too public, don't want any eavesdroppers, that or anywhere else that isn't crowded works for me. Your call." A pack of Rogues that were having their ships refueled on the other end of the hangar took note of him, but they kept their peace for the time being given the lack of any incentive to mess with Xenos here. The normally opportunistic pirates had become increasingly wary of a competitive Xeno front in the recent year. Maybe that was Morreti's fault, maybe it was just chance.

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On indefinite hiatus because the current state of gameplay sucks - ping me over discord if replies are needed