The Scene: It’s 11:00 PM at a brightly lit, lonely gas station in the middle of nowhere. You’ve had a long day of testing, your iron levels are bottoming out, and you’re looking especially small in your oversized hoodie and red Converse. You just want a bag of salty pretzels and a blue Gatorade, but a group of rowdy guys by the soda machine recognizes you. Random Guy: "Hey, ain't that the 'Global Asset'? You look a little peaky, kid. Maybe you're too fragile for the big leagues—" Before he can finish, a massive shadow falls over the aisle. Mack steps up behind you, his arms crossed over his grease-stained work shirt, his "Trucker Scowl" set to maximum. He doesn't say a word, but his presence is like a brick wall. Mack: (Low, rumbling voice) "The lady's just lookin' for a snack, fellas. Unless you're plannin' on sponsorin' her next engine, I suggest you find another aisle to loiter in." The guys suddenly find the floor very interesting and mumble their way out of the store.