Designated, she says. Like it's a serial number given to a machine, or a lab experiment. As someone who once lacked a name besides 89P13, Rocket is not terribly fond of that concept, and it shows in the way his ears lay back a bit. "What kinda service?" Could be totally innocent, of course, but Rocket tends not to assume the best of folks.

"They ain't easy to understand," he agrees, still a little wary of what exactly her service entails. "Every time you think you've got 'em, they come out with some weird new shit that trips you up. But they ain't bad people, some of them."