It had been disappointing, trolling the seven levels of Torrence. Once part of the 'new and improved' living structure base, it had in the last decade or so fallen well beyond seedy- something that had on more than one occasion proved beneficial to Baptiste in these sort of moods. Today, however, had not ended in a lucrative manner. Neither for his wallet or other baser pursuits. He had harbored some small micron of hope for the last building on the seventh level, situated right before the loading bays, but once Baptiste rounded the corner that took him from the lift to the deck told him that micron of hope had been wasted. Even as he walked past the litter, trash barrels and the whore on the second level above him he eyed the well armed Patrol on the stoop of the section that used to house one of the more fruitful 'trade' spots in Torrence. Evidently it had been sterilized. Beyond the alcove the papers that covered the door screamed legalities of how, why, and who closed the establishment down. He kept the cursing in his head as he nodded and passed by the Patrol to the beaten up dispenser that the bot had been fiddling with while Baptiste made his way along the deck. As the crates were moved into the loading dock behind him, Baptiste fiddled with the newly "fixed" machine- It was best to be inconspicuous when the Patrol was concerned, he was simply wanting a Carb. Even if the damn dispenser still didn't work. He shoved the machine, cursed, and headed back the way he came just as any normal, disgruntled person would do. Perhaps it was time to hit more familiar ground. Com with a familiar person. Maybe he'd get a break and a bit of luck.