Rogue's aim never faltered, but he visibly started when the man smiled. Whether by some magical switch in his brain or by force of will, the hatred and madness disappeared behind that mask. The change between the two was startling. Of course, he didn't believe the story. That kind of glittery-eyed hate didn't spawn from a fucked-up drug deal; it came from betrayal. And besides that, the man did not look like a junkie, much less a junkie desperate enough to kill for his fair share of smack.

The man's motive for murder with a shotgun had to mean trouble. Rogue felt a chill in his gut and recognized it as his instinct, telling him to be afraid for his life. All of the other patrons were frozen, watching the confrontation, and Rogue was the only one with a gun in his hand. He had nothing to fear. Yet that smile... the smile told Rogue that he had to do things differently this time. Ordinarily the man would've been dead after "buddy," but the impulse to fire froze in Rogue's wrist and never made it to the trigger. Rogue scowled, still aiming for the center of the man's forehead.

If he didn't kill the man, Rogue couldn't just let him go. A strange idea came into his head. Maybe he'd like some company on the way to Betelgeuse. Rogue never traveled with other people, and voluntarily confining himself to his ship with someone else hardly sounded appealing, but Rogue didn't question his instinct.

"I'm... taking you prisoner..." Rogue finally said, though the words came slowly, rising in pitch toward the end as if Rogue himself weren't sure. He looked pained for a moment, then all emotion disappeared from his face.

"Stand up." Rogue was still aiming his Luger, but the cigarette was long relegated to the ash tray. He offered the injured man his hand, aware that standing on a foot with a hole in it is somewhat painful. "You ever been to Betelgeuse?"