Loki's nimble, slightly tobacco-stained fingers expertly rolled a marijuana cigarette. He licked the edge of the paper to secure it and popped it into his mouth, lighting it with a worn lighter that was already running low on gas. Lukash often said, "The less you know, the better you sleep," when Loki once asked him where Freedom got her weed. Now he didn't really care, as long as he got high.

Wherever they got the dope from, it was always a blast. Loki took a drag and blew a cloud of smoke upward, leaning back against the chair and propping his feet up on the table. His pupils dilated slightly, and Loki's gaze slid to the darkening, overcast sky outside the window. It was a quiet day today. Even the idiots from Duty behaved more or less decently. In the light of the single desk lamp, the anarchy-promoting posters that adorned the station's gray walls and the large Freedom emblem, painted by masters like Writer, were faintly visible.

The door swung open and Loki glanced at the stalker who had entered. He wasn't expecting guests, but he was clearly pleased, or maybe it was the weed. "Huh? Hello, man." — Loki greets him softly. — "Come in, take a rest from your journey."