<div class="floatright">(https://orig00.deviantart.net/43e6/f/2017/233/0/a/bobnude1_600x900_by_whiskypaint-dbktecc.jpg)</div><strong>Name:Max</strong><br/><strong>Location:Jone High Port Loading Bay 2B</strong><br/><strong>Station Time:15:41</strong><br/><strong>Tagging: "Greg"</strong><br/><hr/>'Fuck'<br/>Max mentally cursed, a new delivery would mean that someone would almost certainly be out to inspect it. She was eyeing the surroundings, looking for a place that she might hide, perhaps to view the inspection from afar when she noted the rattling from the insides, swallowing hard, as her mind raced, checking possiblities, it'd be an extravagent way to kill her if she'd been spotted to deploy a crate with some form of security inside. Slaves alive inside the crate... She'd dimly entertained the posiblities in her grimmest moments but these were like to come out. A third party perhaps? Now of all times? That seemed almost absurd.<br/><br/>None the less, her consideration had cost her, she had her fall back plan to enact by the time it opened and could consider little else. Adjusting her shield, marking her as a member of the station police force, she spread her legs into a firing position and raised her gun, taking a deep breath as she tried to steady nerves that caused her right leg to shake. Fucking adrenaline.