Four knocks. You give the customary greeting to the faded metal panel just off the station’s dingiest alleyway, and await your reply. Four knocks give you access to Hangar 7. It started as an in-joke between the station’s ground crew - a little place with a few chipped glasses, a few bottles of confiscated liquor and a few tall tales. Hangar 7 was where they took the clapped-out space junkers who were in no fit state to fly any more. Engine busted? Off to Hangar 7. Nav computer fried? Sounds like a Hangar 7 problem. That kind of thing. Slowly, it became more than just a room, it became a place to swap stories and make deals away from the prying eyes of the main station galleria. It expanded, too. As the clientele came in, so did Hangar 7’s decor. A few bright neon signs cast light on the room’s darkness, while some re-arranged interior panels from bordering shops, and some reappropriated furniture, gave the space all it needed to become a functioning bar. The owners of those shops were paid off, so they never complained to the station officials. Hell, half of them were on the payroll. Of course, even these days, Hangar 7 is a hush hush, invite-only kind of place. Leave the food and drink vendors of the main station to their business, selling the kind of crap you can find anywhere. But if you want something special, you go to Hangar 7. Four knocks is all it takes. The slide of the heavy metal door opens, and the beady eyes of Drax the bartender regard you from beyond the gloom. They look you up and down, taking you in. Judging you. The slide closes. The door opens. Hangar 7 awaits. (originally written as the background for a new Star Citizen community Discord I run, but rapidly expanding into more lore! Want more? Let me know!)