Pizza at the Fill-up Station
Grant had a lot on his mind. He had just been presented with a large fortress guarding both information and prisoners, and he was a metaphorical lone knight about to lay siege. Grant wasn't real good at subtlety, in general. It wasn't that he was loud, that he hit like a bomb, because he had played the long game before, camped in the cold and watched the same door for weeks to wait for the moment to open it. It was just that he was built for direct conflict, and he liked it better. He wanted to look his enemy in the eye, tell that person to stop, and hope that they did. He wanted all conflict to start with encounter, if possible, and subtlety--the quiet strike, the sniper bullet, it didn't allow for that. It was a skill of other people. So it was Grant vs. Fortress, Episode I.
And it wasn't looking good.
At least he knew that nothing was going to happen until nightfall. He wanted a look at the fortress, its walls and its occupants, and despite that streak of honesty, he wasn't going to do it in broad daylight. So.
He decided to take up the offer, and go for pizza. Get to know another person in town, remember why he liked people, real people, people that didn't torture his friends and imprison innocents. So the old truck with rust on the bumper and cracks in the windshield bounced up to the fill-up station and pulled behind it. He knocked on the door on the side of the garage. "Pizza!"