Rude had spent his dinner in silence, as usual, and got to work after a quick nap. That was one thing you never really got used to living without. Siestas. You don't Siesta in Midgar because to need to enjoy the light while it's there. Because, really? It's not there. The fog's just a little lighter is all.

And so, Rude was busy hunched over his desk, glasses in the place of his shades, tinkering with a potential bomb. That meant it would potentially explode when desired. The other side of 'potential' was it would blow up in his face.