Youssef took one deep breath of the recycled, stale air of Ceres Station and exhaled with a exasperated sign. He knew, the whole time he sat on the transport from new Tycho, he damn well knew not to get his hopes up, but after several months on transports he was desperate for fresh, free air. The same air he had become so accustomed to on Providentia, however the moment he stepped off the airlock onto Ceres station he felt his heart sink a little. The air tasted like sweat and metal, much like everything else on the station. "Excuse me" he said when he realised he was blocking the airlock doorway and took a step off to the side. Looking around the docks they reminded him very much of his old home, New Providence Station. Grubby, cramped and constantly in a state of flux. People entered, others exited, shouts and calls echoed down the long hall in languages as varied as the skin colour of those around him. His prosthetic arm hissed quietly as he lifted his duffel bag off the ground and onto his shoulder, and after another, lesser sigh, he moved off into the station. He was sure, even with his belter features, that he'd been noticed and the more time he got to spent about his business without any OPA or UN spooks creeping on him, the better.