[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=008080]William Harper[/color][/i][/b][/h1]
[img]http://images2.fanpop.com/images/photos/8400000/John-Preston-christian-bale-8481603-500-480.jpg[/img][hr][b][color=teal]Location:[/color][/b] I.A.V. Retribution, Upper Level [hr][/center]

	Harper did a remarkable job releasing a slow sigh of relief, blessedly unnoticed. He pace remained steady, regardless of his desire to move with much greater speed. Given the circumstances of his assignment (the pilot of a Black Ship headed toward the Rim, outfitted with a skeleton crew dotted with a sociopath or three), he wondered if he was safer back in prison. This was very much [i]not[/i] what he had in mind when he aspired to freedom. But at least the food was better. 

	All the same, turning one's back on a blue-gloved Agent wasn't the prescribed behavior of a man in his situation. His actual situation, anyway. It might be the prescribed behavior of someone unconcerned with getting a slug to the back, and/or someone genuinely insulted by said Agent nonchalantly bringing up red marks in their fitrep. No, everything was a gamble, nowadays, and would remain so until he could quietly rejoin society somewhere that didn't care about his history. Get through it one day at a time. 

	On the up side, now that he was back on the Upper Level, he could definitely catch the aroma of coffee. It was to the rear of the vessel, past crew quarters. Harper shook out the stress of the previous moment, and strode thoughtfully toward the source. Down the corridor, far back, almost to Upper Engineering. The newly assigned Flight Officer was familiar with this vessel type - this area was supposed to be a Recovery Ward and some manner of Medical Office. Instead, when he entered the room that hosted the emanations of roasted heaven, he was surprised to slap retinas upon... 

	[color=008080]"A Barbershop?"[/color]