Still thinking about what he was about to undertake, Kaz made his way down to the mech bay first to check on his mech. He really did not like anyone handling her whenever he was away, but he also understood that it was unavoidable sometimes. He thought about the first time someone jockeyed his mech during his first transfer as he made his way through the hanger, passing several people along the way but not acknowledging any of them. He wasn't trying to avoid them or be rude, but he had other things on his mind that would not let him think about anything else. Even distracted, however, Kaz's eyes were constantly moving, focusing in on each face and each person, measuring them up and assessing their threat level as quickly and efficiently as he could. He did this unconsciously; a product of intense training for many years. It occasionally made others feel uncomfortable upon meeting him for the first time, but he couldn't really help it anymore. It was a permanent function by then, so he chose just to embrace it and move on.<br/><br/>"Hell of a machine," he heard someone next to him say. Kaz turned and found himself face-to-face with another tech. This one was male, of average height and weight, with blond hair and a five o'clock shadow. His hands were already greasy, his fingernails dark where they should be white. Easily in his late twenties to early thirties, the mechanic had a juvenile look to him. "She's not new, but I bet she's solid as hell."<br/><br/>Kaz scoffed, turning his eyes back to his war machine. "People often mistake the word 'new' for 'better.' I'd rather take her into Hell itself then ride in something new."<br/><br/>"Hey, the new plasma cannons are pretty damn great. Melt the hull of a cruiser in no time." Kaz could tell the mechanic was getting defensive right off the bat, telling him all he needed to know about the man and the kind of work he did.<br/><br/>"Sure they are, until the firing chamber jams and the whole thing backfires, instantly blowing a whole in the poor soul in the pilot's chair and setting off an electromagnetic pulse, frying out anyone else who happened to be nearby. Or the banks take a hit and will no longer store the energy needed to propel the plasma forward at a high enough velocity to actually be effective. But i'm sure you've thought of those things too."<br/><br/>The tech's face twisted slightly, scowling at Kaz. "Typical flyboy, think you know everything."<br/><br/>Kaz turned again to the man, his expression blank and practically void of any care whatsoever. "Sub-par technologists and mechanics always have the same problem: When someone disagrees with your point, you only see your side. That's why you'll live the rest of your life in the middle of the crowd, never impressing anyone." He stayed for a moment, giving the mechanic a chance to offer some sort of intelligible rebuttal, but when none came, he turned and started back toward the central plaza. "If you value your job, do yourself a favor and keep your hands off my rig."<br/><br/>The elevator ride back up and away from the hanger was a quiet one, having no one to share the space with. Kaz did not mind that in the very least; in fact he preferred the still silence of space to the tumultuous noise of the Commons or the shopping areas. Despite this, however, Kaz could think of nothing better in that very moment than a cold drink in a quiet bar somewhere on station, a place where he could let his mind slip away into imagination or memory while nursing a glass of good scotch or bourbon. He was no where near the level of an alcoholic, as he drank very infrequently, but occasionally, and especially after receiving a proverbial kick-in-the-groin kind of assignment, a drink was not a bad thing.<br/><br/>Kaz stopped by his living space long enough to change out of his uniform and into something much more casual. He wore a pair of nice jeans and a pair of Vans,  something of a vintage relic on the Pioneer. On top he wore a black t-shirt with the Knight insignia on the left shoulder, and a white symbol emblazoned across the chest, indicating his call-sign: the castle piece on a chess board. In the air, he was called Rook, a name granted to him for his penchant for being as direct as possible. There was very little gray area in his world, and within that world he felt free to move as far as he wanted. As long as he did his job and did it well, no one would bother him.<br/><br/>When he reached the Plaza, Kaz pulled up the holo-map to find a quiet place to spend his evening.