Charles Morgan's Interview

As Riz Zamin made his way out of the bar, Murdock's eyes fell on another man standing up and heading his way. He wasn't exactly elderly, but was obviously a lot further along than Murdock. Scars told stories of battles past. Hard, cracked hands told him that this was a man who was no stranger to hard work. And the intelligent glow in his eyes signaled that it was more than just menial labor.

"Murdock is what they call you," he said, taking the recently vacated seat. "Have not heard of that name much."

He put a small cup of hydro in front of Murdock. Murdock of course accepted it.

"And after tomorrow morning, I doubt anyone will hear it again," he replied with a nearly imperceptible smirk.

"My name is Charles Morgan. Most just call me Boots," the man said.

"Not exactly a name I'd pick for myself. ...But I get the feeling that you're not really here to talk about that," Murdock said.

"I hear you're looking to take on a crew. Well, I can run most things on your rig. Some call me an expert! I think they have it wrong. I am just well versed in sailing, repairs, living off the ocean...," the old man bragged.

Hm... if this braggard knew half of what he claimed, he'd definitely be an asset. And judging by his appearance, he probably remembered at least as much as he'd forgotten.

"Alright Boots... you're out in open water and your crew's busy hauling something big up from the depths. Could be anything. Could be the ticket to easy days for the rest of your life. Hell, probably is. But then your lookout catches sight of a Smoker speedboat on the horizon. They see you, too. You've seen my ship. You can imagine what it's capable of. What do you do?" Murdock asked.

His answer would tell Murdock if his instincts were right about this guy.

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