The first thing that Clo'Telok would probably notice upon stepping off the small boat that would serve to ferry him from his ship and to shore would be how alive Smuggler's Cove was. Situated in the shadow of a massive dam that likely served to both provide power to the settlement and as a physical barrier against larger indigenous wildlife further inland, the collection of buildings would be a haphazard collection of metal prefabrications, simpler shacks built of scrap, wood and other local materials... and everything else in between. Despite the vast and somewhat jarring differences between their construction, however, most would be arranged in accordance with what looked to be an organized urban plan, with large central roads branching off into dozens of smaller streets and alleys. Each and every one seemed to be occupied, filled with an equally dizzying array of individuals. The overwhelmingly vast majority were human, likely Frontier born and the descendants of the original colonists - their clothing, however, indicated all walks of life. Engineers, traders, mercenaries, locals who had been born on the world itself and just trying to make a living. Enough variety that most would simply ignore Clo'Telok in spite of his unusual appearance and degree of cyberization - plenty enough visited Smuggler's Cove that he wasn't too far outside those that had visited in the past, and that aside everyone there knew the rules.

You minded your own business unless you were fine with someone else digging into yours.

The pattern would hold as the cyborg made his way further into the settlement, approaching what resembled a streetside bar and food vendor and ordering himself a drink. The owner of the establishment, aside from providing the drink requested, would largely ignore the cyborg until directly addressed - and the question put forth would only get something of a confused laugh at first, the man shaking his head albeit mostly to himself in thought. The response that Clo'Telok was looking for would come later, albeit probably not the one he was hoping for.

"Gonna assume you've not been here before. If you're looking for work like that this place ain't it. Head a bit further in, towards the dam. Big indoor marketplace, goes a couple of levels underground and you've got more warehouses out there. Mercs head out that way if they're looking for work, just be careful asking around. You get too nosy and they're going to take notice, probably not in the way you want."

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As Clo'Telok left the streetside stand and started moving deeper into the makeshift smuggler's colony in the direction indicated to him the buildings around the cyborg would begin to subtly shift in their make and construction. While none of the buildings towards the waterfront were exactly ramshackle it was clear they'd seen better days - both the buildings themselves and the materials used to construct them. The further one got from the salt and sea spray, though, the less corrosion there was on the metals, wood and plastic - and the more the locals seemed willing to invest in long term improvements. A number of the buildings further in would be built from higher quality prefabricated sections, modified and pieced together in ways that were probably never intended but that worked well enough. And towards the back of it all would be the complex that Clo'Telok had been informed off - a long row of massive warehouse like structures.

Entering any one of the ground level entrances would paint quite a different picture than the rusted exterior presented, however.

Depositing visitors out onto a ground level floor, the tropical sunlight would spill through what appeared to be retractable roofing to illuminate a long and relatively wide street that the buildings had been constructed over, packed with shops and businesses on either side. The roadway itself would be similarly populated by locals, there both to sell and buy from the numerous businesses that inhabited the space - some legal, many more not so much. While the western end of the complex would appear to cater largely to civilian interests and local needs, however, that scenery would change as one looked to the eastern end of the complex. The sun blotted out somewhat by the shadow of one of the colony's many air defense cannons and the massive dam that loomed over the settlement, many of the individuals towards that area were far more obvious as to their professions. Mercenaries, arms dealers, smugglers and others of similar persuasion and profession, with many of the spaces that might have otherwise been occupied by storefronts taken up by various mercenary companies and the like.

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If Clo'telok hadn't stood out before on the periphery, he did now. While technology wasn't something that anyone balked at out in the Frontier despite the more rustic aesthetics that the DIY colonies and their inhabitants tended to lean towards, the cyborg's appearance was not even remotely typical of most found in Smuggler's Cove. It was something that would be made all the more readily apparent to Clo'telok as he moved through the mercantile quarter's streets, even in the portion that seemed to have been claimed by those of a more mercenary persuasion. Many of the loud voices and ongoing conversations would quiet as the cyborg approached them, individuals that had been largely minding their own business now finding their eyes drawn towards the obvious outsider. Even in spite of that, though, none would bother to approach him. Whatever his appearance might have been, Smuggler's Cove at least held to something resembling a set of professional standards.

If someone didn't bother you, you didn't bother them. It kept the peace, and kept the local economy flowing.

That was, at least, until Clo'telok approached them.

The mercenary that he would pick out of the various groups inhabiting the quarter had likewise been conversing with a small group of his contemporaries, although that conversation would quickly fall silent as one of them noticed the approaching cyborg, alerting their comrades with a silent nod towards the outsider that would draw the rest of their attention to him. What had started as just a wayward series of acknowledging glances would shift into something else as it became abundantly clear that Clo'telok was approaching them specifically, however - while they held their ground with no intention of leaving the ease with which they had been conducting themselves would take on a slight note of anxiety, right up to the point of the cyborg speaking.

The words that left his mouth, however, would seem to release most of that tension with an almost palpable sense of relief.

"'Emplo-'? You're looking for work?" The confusion on the mercenary's face was evident as a hand came up to scratch his hair, glancing back to his associates that could only offer shrugs in response - he was on his own here, be it trying to comprehend the outsider's choice in wording or formulating a response of his own.

"Yeah, me too. Gotta be more specific yourself. What kind of work is it you're looking for? We get all types down here."

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Oddly enough there was little outward reaction from the mercenaries before Clo'telok as he seemed to slip into a trance, multiple sentences seemingly falling from his mouth in tandem - only a glance from one to another, a slight shrug from the second. All types came through Smuggler's Cove, and not all of them were right in the head. So long as he didn't try to pull a gun or knife on them, though, it wasn't really their problem. People minded their own business around here for the most part, and what went on in his head was none of theirs until he made it so.

The line about seeking to prove himself, though, would draw a reaction - slumped shoulders and a resigned sigh from the second mercenary who'd remained largely silent up through the exchange thus far. Everyone wanted to get rich quick, double for fame, especially within their line of work. It was a dangerous way to live, and there was no real knowing when your number was up or if you were in a room with the guy that had that one special bullet with your name on it. So of course people wanted shortcuts. Anyone who'd survived beyond the first few years knew that it just didn't happen. The jobs were hard, hours were long and if you did stumble across a big break it was because of luck or because it'd gone looking for you - not the other way around. The best you could do until that happened was keep at the grind stone and hope you lived long enough to build a career.

"Look, uh-?"

"Clo. Appreciate the attitude. We do. Always good to see a new face around here, but... reality ain't like that, man. If you're looking for a one and done job to get rich and famous quick that's just not how it works." The second mercenary said, cutting in over the first as they started to talk. Neither of them made any movement towards Clo'Telok and kept a respectful distance, but it was clear from the expressions on their faces that they either took him for a complete novice who'd just started out or a born idiot - in either case someone to be sympathized with. Another momentary glance between the two and an unspoken exchange largely characterized by one jerking his head further down the street and the other shrugging in response, and the first would look back to Clo'Telok before scratching at the back of his head and speaking again.

"Look, if it's a heist you're looking for rumor is the lot down in one of the bigger hangers are putting something together. Ex military types from the look of it, impossible to miss - they got armed guards outside the doors. Your ass on the line if you want to go poking at it, though, they're a paranoid lot. Haven't shot anyone yet but we're guessing it's just a matter of time from how they look at people getting too curious."

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A doubtful look crossed over the more talkative mercenary of the two in response to Clo'Telok's words, but nothing more would be said on that count. Only a word or two of acknowledgement more would be spoken as Clo'Telok made it clear their conversation was over - and as neither of the two men were particularly eager to continue it things would be left at that as the pair returned to their earlier discourse. Much of the pathway would continue as it had earlier, although the further and further Clo'Telok went into the darkened portion of the underground and the closer he came to the dam that towered over the small settlement the more dilapidated and poorly cared for the surroundings would become. Likely the result of the humidity - between the proximity to the dam and water flow and the lack of sunlight mist and water had been allowed to collect in places, resulting in mold ridden, discolored concrete and certain lighting fixtures not being maintained as well as they probably should have.

Most notably, however, the further one got into the less well maintained area the fewer people there seemed to be - and those that did frequent that space stood out all the more because of it. A few minutes of walking would eventually bring Clo'Telok to what he was looking for... a large hanger door sealed shut, with two armed guards posted outside a smaller door set inside the larger but clearly intended for people. Both guards would be wearing a mishmash of casual work clothing, although the weapons they held would be anything but unprofessional - sporting a pair of R-101 carbines and sidearms strapped to their hips, the weapons clearly military grade and either bought off the black market if not outright stolen.

Both were alert enough to immediately take notice of Clo'Telok, and both would rather casually ready their weapons as it became clear he was directly approaching them.

"Hanger's been bought and paid for. Otherwise you don't bel-" One started to speak, although her voice would falter as the cyborg started to talk - the neutral expression she'd been wearing quickly replaced by a scowl, clearly unhappy that the rumor had been making the rounds.

"Another one?" The second guard asked, glancing to his cohort but not lowering his own weapon.

"Yeah, looks like." The first grumbled, clearly irritated as she reached up to the side of her head where an ear piece sat. "Sarge-? Yeah, yeah, we're fine. Look, we got another one at the door. Clotelok. Yeah, asking just like the rest. What d'you want done?"

Despite clearly speaking with someone on the other end of the audio piece neither of the two guards would lower their weapons, and so long as Clo'Telok didn't take any actions himself the hallway would merely remain tense. Another several seconds would pass, then a minute- and the first guard would let loose an irate sigh as the conversation she was holding with the unseen superior came to an end and both hands returned to her weapon which would now lower, alongside that of the other guard beside her.

"You were the one that came in on that piece of shit Goblin, right? The Amalgam?"

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"No. It's not me flying it." The guard responded, taking a long moment to regard Clo'Telok in silence. Her expression, while largely inscrutable, did betray some degree of thought - although it might very well have just been her personal sense of judgement and caution grappling with whatever she had been told during the brief radio conversation earlier. Whatever she had been told by the person on the other end, however, the tension would quickly bleed away, weapon lowering slightly to a more relaxed position. An action mirrored by the man beside her, albeit with some hesitation as he nonverbally took after her lead, glancing from the cyborg, to her and back again. And along with those actions... a long, heavy sigh, although not all of her earlier irritation was gone.

"Look. You're not coming into this hanger. No one goes in or out." The guard started, albeit her tone was at least somewhat more polite this time around as she looked back to the other guard before nodding to a bare bones electronic tablet on a crate behind him. Glancing back, the man would go to retrieve it before extending the item out to the mercenary before them.

"But you're right. Right enough to avoid being shot, anyways. Bossman said to leave your information with us, and a method of contacting you. We like what we see, we'll get in touch after a few days. Until then you'd best stay on Smuggler's Cove if you want to improve your chances. You don't hear from us in three or four days you probably didn't make the cut."

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With Clo'Telok turning the leave both guards would start to considerably relax once again - and while at least one of them would keep their eyes on him as he lurched down the street back in the direction from which he came, both would now have their weapons lowered.

As Clo'Telok returned to his ship, ferried out into the water by the same type of small boat that had taken him ashore, time would pass. The sun would dip below the horizon, warm ocean breeze passing over the tropical paradise as the small settlement came alive at night. Both the soft yellow glow of more traditional lighting could be seen from shore alongside the more garish glints and hints of various neon colors, and despite the encroaching night and darkness various ships could still be seen both arriving and leaving from the port of call. Hours and hours would drag on until the barest hint of pastel reds, oranges and then yellow-blues could be seen on the horizon and the sun crept into view, light washing over the island... before the process repeated itself again. Not once during this cycle would the settlement seem to slow or sleep, and on the third day a larger transport roughly 150 meters in length - a bulk cargo hauler - could be seen arriving.... and curiously, not touching down off shore as the vast majority of craft were demanded to. Instead it would approach the markets towards the back, sinking towards the ground before disappearing from view completely as it landed during the earliest hours of the morning.

Not long after, whatever personal methods of communication Clo'telok used for electronic correspondence would alert him, in which he would find a short and to the point message.

"You're in. Hanger A2. No guests or weapons."

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