>>58120041
>Maybe it was like wine or cheese, you thought, heading towards the other side of the junkyard.
>Whover else was here in the junkyard was at the office.
>Carefully, you picked your way around the scraps and wreckage.
>Boots would’ve been nice here. You were getting paranoid about stepping on something sharp.
>The building looked exactly as cruddy as you expected.
>Far uglier now you saw it in daylight.
>Faded paint clung to the structure in patches.
>Long stripes had peeled and scraped away over the decades.
>Old gas station memorabilia leaned against the foundation.
>Overgrown grass obscured some of the logos.
>The windows looked like they hadn’t been cleaned in years.
>The grime was thick enough to block any vision inside.
>And, to your surprise, the… ‘person’ wasn’t inside.
>It would’ve made an ideal place to hide, yet there they were.
>Sitting at a table beneath a sheet metal awning, fiddling with tools.
>Once again, you tapped into aurasight.
>It wasn’t a person.
>It looked like a person.
>That wasn’t.
>That portly man in overalls, a trucker’s hat, and a greasy, sweat-soaked shirt fit the bill of someone who might work here.
>But the night Aggron arrived, the police explicitly told the owner he couldn’t come back.
>That wasn’t the owner.
>But it was a convincing disguise.
>The man grunted and breathed heavy, laboring over electronics at his table.
>Engrossed as he was, he was perceptive enough to pop his head up not long after you stepped out.
>The thing put on an elaborate show.
>It pretended standing was a struggle.
>Huffing and puffing, using the table as leverage to get up.