As Ros stepped into the prison dining hall she sighed. Three years at the Emeran prison, floating above the near lifeless world of the same name, had numbed her to the noise and stench that tended to fill the eating area, not that it made her feel any more comfortable in a prison where most men showed her more interest than the few women other than her. She suspected however that her father's reputation scared most people off, after all if you're related to the trainer of the scariest military unit in the whole Alliance people tended to give you a wide berth. Not that she minded, particularly as she felt her left arm twitch slightly.<br/><br/>She picked up that day's food (what she assumed was soup and a meat she decided she was better off not identifying), and picked her way towards the only empty table left. On the way one of the men, a wannabe gangster legendary for the poorest attempt at a robbery she'd ever heard of, wolf-whistled as she passed. She cursed under her breath, it wasn't her fault the prison uniform hugged her ass tightly, her requests for better fitting uniform went unanswered. But with military-grade bionics on one side she knew teaching the man a lesson would cause more problems than it solved, so she bit her lip till she had found her seat.<br/><br/>"How the hell am I supposed to make it through twenty more years of this?" she muttered under her breath.