[At the entrance to Sector 5, several very long tables have been set up outside. Low light is provided by street lamps hung up just for the occasion, a cozy dining room in the middle of the street. There's turkey, mashed potatoes, candied yams, cranberry sauce, and many, many other Thanksgiving favorites. A warm, printed message at the center of the table asks:

In the tradition of the holiday known as Thanksgiving, please feel free to enjoy this meal and think about all the things over the last year for which you are most grateful.

Come one, come all! Food covers the tables, enough for the prison's entire population, courtesy of the bots. Have a nice big dinner with your fellow inmates, and get your CR on!]

[Oh look, its another black face. Are you tired of these yet, Marina? This one is a little different, mostly because he looks perpetually angry and there's the torn remains of a brightly colored outfit of some sort around his neck. Oh and his right arm is covered in blood and has a really nifty ring on it?]

Who's the cheap trick who thinks they're in charge here? You and me've got some words we need to exchange. You're a fuckin' idiot if you actually think I'm gonna hang around this joint.

[There's a splotch of red on his chest – like he had been stabbed earlier, and now he suddenly wasn't?? But if its an actual wound, he doesn't seem to notice it. He also seems to be a little tired...its not like he tried multiple times all day to teleport out of his ball and chain or anything, why would you judge him like that?]

I ain't really the type to do a lot of talkin', so I'm all for skipping straight to the part where I break you over my knee if you don't make it snappy, you piece of shit.