Putting on a heavy, dark brown duster over his last clean shirt, a black vest and pants of the same color, Captain Allen Brekk briefly checked the grimy mirror of his personal quarters to see how he looked. Having been inspired by old holo-vids about lone gunslingers out on the frontiers of civilization, he looked very much the part like one of those desperados and he even had a worn out bolero hat on a nearby shelf.

It was a very common practice among Spacers such as himself to dress in manners that tickled their fancies for he knew of pirate crews that liked to style themselves after the popular image of those old seafaring scoundrels of yore to mercenary companies that emulated the uniforms of certain eras of ancient history. Some Spacers even went as far as to complete their outfits with matching arsenals such as the Captain himself who owned a Plasma Revolver which, despite its low battery capacity and rate of fire, it struck very, very hard when it hit.

Grabbing his gun which rested the same shelf next to his hat, he holstered the weapon by his right hip before taking his hat and putting it on. In what seemed like a lifetime ago, his younger self would have thought that he really looked dashing dressing like that but now a days he did it more out of habit than any love of the style and he sure as hell was not going to go buy himself a whole new wardrobe when he had more important things to spend on, like fuel or food.

A message had come during his breakfast, that his fixer had something for him, a potential job. Knowing full well that these things were usually first come first serve, the Captain was eager to be out of the ship as soon as possible.

Once he was fully dressed, he made his way out of his quarters and into the hall again where not far from the door to the bathroom was a stairway which led down to the main hold which also served as something close to a living room. An airlock which connected to a loading ramp was located on the east side of the main hold where the Captain waited for a moment for the ship to depressurize before a metallic groan was heard and the loading ramp's bay door opened.

The first thing Captain Brekk noticed about Port Garatha was of course that familiar stench of garbage left to rot or to be burnt, chemical exhaust from the countless ships that came and went plus the musk of various sapient aliens or unwashed humans... which reminded him that he probably need to have his ship's water filter checked out. When the loading ramp fully extended, he stepped down towards the grimy, rust covered deck of the docking bay where his ship had been parked for about a week now.

Two dozen other vessels of varying shapes and sizes also shared the space of the area known simply as Docking Bay 9 with at least four of them having been stripped away of many parts needed to make them actually fly. It was not unusual on many worlds and orbital habitats for Spacers to retire by partially dismantling their ships and transforming them into something close to a permanent home, something which at the back of his head, a part of Captain Brekk told him that he should have done so years ago after that job on Radogost.

After he stepped out, the captain placed his left hand in one of his coat's pockets where he fished out a small flat, circular device which had three buttons on it. The first of which was used to make his ship open or close its loading ramp, the second was to activate a security system while the third was an emergency system which would drain the ship's entire oxygen supply, a just in case system for any potential onboard thieves.

Pressing the button to close the ramp, the Captain then headed towards the Docking Bay's main exit where around the place, cargo was being transferred about by robotic workers. An argument seemed to breaking out in front of one of the ships, an alien spacer captain like himself was arguing with a port authority officer over parking dues which made Allen glad that he was already paid up for the week, of course he still had others to pay.

Soon enough, he arrived at the main exit which also served as an entryway for those engaging in foot traffic. The area was crowded with sapient life forms, mostly port officials and those registering to secure passage for either cargo or for people (which quite normally was one and the same).

On one corner, he saw a group of four armed individuals (which for one of them was indeed possessing four arms) lounging about, chatting casually while taking part in the use of some mild narcotics like smoking dried nac leaves. Muttering a curse, the Captain lowered his head and pulled his hat down in an attempt to avoid being seen while he tried to move behind anyone who heading for the exit as well.

As much as possible, he did not wish to be seen by them for these were members of the Mrogo Cartel of whom he owed quite some money to. Thankfully it seemed that luck was on his side today for a large shaggy alien pack beast with a pair of curling horns was being herded out by a small robotic handler, roughly the size of a human child with a circular disc for a head.

Using the pack beast as cover, he was able to conceal himself from the gangsters until he was able to exit the dock and into the streets of Port Garatha. A foul stench then assailed the Captain's nostrils as the alien beast suddenly then let out a torrent of semi-solid manure and he gagged at the stench of it before quickly sprinting off, away from the smell.

Taking a moment to retch, cough and curse, he did his best not to vomit out his breakfast while considering that perhaps luck was either really not on his side or just had some really sick, twisted sense of humor. Once he recovered, the Captain took a moment to take in his surroundings.

As usual, the area outside of Docking Bay 9 was a busy place where pedestrians walked along the sidewalks; vendors hawked their wares while performers did their routines as public transport drivers were on the lookout for any potential customers. There was no true sky above Port Garatha, save of course for one of stone and metal for the entire place which rivaled the size of a terrestrial metropolis was built into the hollowed out cavern of an asteroid.

In the past, the port had once been a prosperous mining colony; it still was but instead of being owned by a legitimate government or an interstellar megacorp, it was run by whoever was the biggest, meanest and toughest syndicate or cartel that could hold power in their parts of the port. The sound of gunfire rang out in the distance, followed by a thunderous crash and Captain Brekk shrugged and guessed that some gang had a drive by, just a regular day he mused.

There were time when the Captain thought that someone anyone really just needed to come over lay down the law, hard. Anything else would be way better than having all these gangs and syndicates have free run of the place he thought with disdain as he went his way.