Rose nonchalantly rose from his seat, as he waited for everyone to file out the room. He took to the tail of the line with two guards tailing him to bring up the rear. Their footsteps pounded on the linoleum floor and bounced around the empty hallway, their echoes ricocheting. Rose glanced at the bright fluorescent light that the station had lining it's hallways. He got spots in his eyes from looking at it, and immediately regretted his heinous decision. He shifted his eyes along the bright corridor, growing tired of the same old bright and clean look of the place. Suddenly, Rose stopped and stooped over. This caused the guard behind him, who was walking at a brisk pace, trip and fumble into him. "Sorry, thought I saw a nickle," muttered Rose. "Keep moving dickwad," growled the guard as he regained his balanced and pushed Rose forward.

As they arrived at the ship, Rose's thoughts were confirmed. He had indeed flown a similar model of ship on one of his coke runs to Trabajas. If he recalled correctly, he jacked the ship from some smuggler and accidentally crashed it in a police pursuit, but none of that really mattered. He would be able to help pilot the thing easily enough.

As Drew fumbled with words over his excitement, Rose slapped him on the back and, attempting to make acquaintance, said, "Easy there pal, don't soil your pants. If you need a change of underwear it's going to be a long while before you get it."