And there it was, a Prosecutor-class in landing sequence at bay. Not like it was a rare sight, in fact Fontana of all places was the best place to see one of these, its natural habitat now that many of them found their ways at the hands of pirates after the fall of Veracruz. This one had a rare distinction, though, the orange taint from its wings replaced with blood-red and the Legion-later-Insurgency crest hastily scrubbed, there was some effort put to hide the past history of the ship, albeit the shape itself would always remind of what it originally was.
The pilot emerged from the cockpit, in an unremarkable flight suit that bore no obvious marks nor declared any affiliations, anyone would confuse the guy with just some nobody, a gun-for-hire or smuggler, but that was precisely the intention, specially in the now former Hesperia full of people that had a bad opinion on the Legion.
As soon as he set foot on the station he began glaring around the bar, looking for any hint that could reveal if any of those bystanders could be the guy he was sent by his captain to meet, someone that would likely look out of place, and with a bit of luck and to make things easier for him, someone wearing a standard-issued Bristol uniform, a pin, badge or something like that.
