Snippet #2787861

Francisco hit his last few keys and looked up to Miles Hagan. He had heard of Langara. It was supposedly a beautiful place that you could never visit else you might wind up on the murdered end of things. Nothing against you personally, as Miles mentioned. They were hostile to, well, just about everyone.

"Welcome to Freeport, Mr. Hagan. I think you'll find business here to be booming. What is your industry? Please look to the white ring for the photograph," Francisco Dellèvon gestured to the glowing ring and smiled.

Visas worked a little differently in Freeport. Every identification was more or less the same here. So long as your identity was verified, there wasn't much else to do beyond renewing the document itself. Updating the picture whenever you changed physical appearance, or genetics, or address, or anything at all that would prove the document counter to reality. It doubled as a passport, but seeing as it was a document more on the lax side of the grand scheme, it wasn't accepted as the sole proof of identity in stricter locations. Thankfully most places with an ounce of tourism - like Terra or Canus - accepted a Freeport ID with little cause for alarm.