Saturday pokes an exhausted head around a stack, sword out. It's been a long day; she's hungry, sore, bruised, and tired to the bone. Ought to be in bed, but she's checking every corner with the dogged determination of someone who needs to feel in control of something about their life right now.

If that sound's another drone with a copy machine or something, though, swear t'fucking god -

"Oh. Hey, Gambit."