<div class="floatright">(https://orig00.deviantart.net/43e6/f/2017/233/0/a/bobnude1_600x900_by_whiskypaint-dbktecc.jpg)</div><strong>Name:Max</strong><br/><strong>Location:Jone High Port Loading Bay 2B</strong><br/><strong>Station Time:15:39</strong><br/><strong>Tagging: "Greg"</strong><br/><hr/>Recruit Maxine McKenzie of the Jone Port Authority slipped into the loading back, her standard issue slug throwing pistol gripped tightly in both hands. All the evidence pointed that there was _something_ big in here, one of the largest privately owned docks in the station. Months of painstaking research on a case she was told she should ignore. Her heart pumped furiously in her chest as she realised how many different ways that what she was doing right now was purest insanity. If she was wrong, she'd be cashiered, her career over practically before it started, if she was right she was charging headlong into a stronghold of the worst kind of criminals on her own, with a pistol that probably couldn't peirce her own compact armour. A dark blue lightly plated uniform, the toughest armour she could requisition by calling in every favour hid what few feminine features she had, her helmet hiding her hair and leaving only a smooth freckled face showing, a chinstrap holding it in place.<br/><br/>The bay guards had been dispatched with a quick call to the local fast food, she felt somewhat proud of that deception, the guards having carried in spoils to share with their friends and allowing her the oppertunity to ingress. If she could gather enough evidence and get back out again this could be a success and she could come back with the weight of a heavy response team behind her. Assuming again she was right, she mused as she pressed herself up against one of the cargo containers, keeping a keen ear out for company and eyeing the locking mechanism.