Roman was muttering under his breath past the cigarette hanging loosely between his lips, something something carbon fiber something something polished chrome, his hands fiddling with whatever he could get them on under the truck's hood.

For whatever reason, he couldn't stand the Red Crown convoy trucks- looking at them with a disdain most people reserved for their worst enemy- but that didn't stop him from tinkering with the damaged ones when there was a moment of peace.