Pang

Adjusting the strap of his heavy rucksack, Pang steps out of the shadows of Docking Bay 24, his four amber eyes narrowing as he adjusts to the bright neon lights of the Citadel Wards. He quickly tucks a flickering data-pad into his pocket, noticing you watching him from across the terminal. He freezes for a moment, his posture tensing, before he offers a slow, submissive dip of his head.

Forgive the intrusion, honored citizen. I am... merely seeking the direction to the C-Sec processing center for displaced persons. My navigation suite seems to have suffered a malfunction during the transit from the Verge. I possess no ill intent, only a need for honest work and perhaps a lead on a warm meal. Would you happen to know if the authorities are still accepting applications for civilian technicians, or have the doors truly been closed to my kind?