As the express roars through the dark, dank tunnels under the earth, a 
uniformed Minuteman cop strolls up the aisle to the end of the last car of the 
train. That’s where Tikki stands, leaning against the car’s rear wall. Her eyes
take in the cop’s every movement. Her nose discerns nothing unusual, no hint of
either excitement or alarm, though the slag strolls right up to her, looking her 
over. It’s easy to guess the cause for his interest. It’s highly unlikely that
he has spotted the Kang heavy automatic concealed at the small of her back. 
Rather, it’s probably a question of image.