(I'll be off as well. One last addition I guess.)
Making his way home after a long day of prototyping and discussing armed transport protocol with the Deputy Commisioner, Galen carried his briefcase of papers in one hand, drumming a short beat on the side of his leg with the other. Walking down the uniform concrete sidewalk towards his respectably-sized house a few blocks away, he noticed a small group of what looked like drunks staggering their way in his direction. "Some people" he muttered, hoping to prevent any potential interaction with the undesirables of the night. As they neared closer, one staggered towards him slightly. "Aren't you the successful businessman, huh?" he said, reeking of bad alchohol and who knew what else. "Bet you got yourself quite the life huh big man?" he continued, starting to walk very close behind Galen. As this came to his attention, he pulled away the left side of his coat, using one hand to quickly draw a Burgess folding shotgun, engraved with sweeping recessed lines in his off-hours and gleaming in the light of the street lamps. The gun snapped together with a sharp click, which was apparently more than enough to quickly send the drunk men along on their not-so-merry way. Folding the gun back into it's waist holster, he sighed and continued home, walking into his own silent house and preparing for the night, quickly feeling the weight of exhaustion resulting from another day's hard work.