Thomas Ragg.

What a stupid cover.

Faint beeps in the distance. Chatters all around. The smell of fried food and a kid crying because his fries fell over. Thragg’s — or, better, Thomas’ — eye twitched violently. Had he developed a nervous habit? The tall, all-muscles man forced out a grin below his mustache as he handed a bag filled with food to an old lady in line who took forever to hand out the money to pay.

Twitch.

Thomas forced the money inside the cash register, and, once he was given the next bag and looked up at who he had to deliver it to…

“…You.”

His eyes widened. His face hardened. His eyebrows furrowed. No more fake grins. Not for someone who had helped to destroy his homeplanet barely a year ago.