The room she enters is a concrete box, little more than two meters on a side. 
A single bare bulb set into a fixture on the ceiling comes on as the door swings 
open. Against the left-hand wall sits a black steel footlocker. Tikki’s
emergency kit. The footlocker’s contents include a Kang, an exact mate of the
pistol holstered at her back, and ten clips of ammunition. There are also a few 
certified credsticks and various forms of ID. Almost anything she might need to 
get out in a hurry is inside that box. Tikki likes to be prepared.