Cleo was the cook. Beretta was content with dry toast, or better, protein packs. She plopped a pair of silver pouches on the table, picking up hers, strawberry flavored, and ripping open the little tab on the corner. She brought it to her lips, squeezing the protein into her mouth like yogurt. It was chalky but familiar. She remembered playing cards for protein packs in the barracks. Vanilla represented 500 credits, strawberry was 600, chocolate was 1000. Only now that she was a free citizen did she realize how overvalued her squad had perceived them. A case of chocolate, chalky yogurt went for 20 creds. But when you were in the military, a chocolate protein pack was almost worth dying for.<br/><br/>"Orphan, huh?" She eyed the barcode. She almost envied his origins. "Better than being sold to Hex-Corp for your family's debts. I suffered for their sins. Don't even know where they are now. I hope they used their freedom from corporate debt wisely. I'd hate to think I was sold as cheap labor for nothing."<br/><br/>She watched as he drew his pistols. Her own was pointed at his balls under the table until he made a show of removing the magazines, then she relaxed, placing it back in the holster on her thigh.<br/><br/>"I was in the agri-corp until I was fourteen. Then they sent me to NervStrike. Got my mods. Then got sent right to the front. You ever on the front lines? We were fighting Nutri-Gen back then. They were trying to secure the merchant routes in the Archadian Arm. Lots of naval combat. That's where I learned to fly."