The safehouse is a bit cramped, as it is jam-packed with equipment for distilling energon from any fuel source imaginable, though coal is particularly not recommended. Bubbling chemistry sets made of glass blown in fantastic shapes twist above lab tables. The light is harsh, flickering, and artificial, as there are not windows. The air smells a bit funny, and the floor is ominously sticky. Contents: A black luxury transport Fleet Fleet seems to finally notice Catechism carrying around boxes. He turns towards her. "Er... need some help with that, Air Commander?" "Or a Crossword puzzle.." <>