Even paranoid, even twitchy, even with a bandage around his head, even hungover, even coming down from one hell of a cocaine high that is obviously completely outside the realm of his typical behavior, Dr. Armstrong can find it in him to be annoyed and offended by someone suggesting he's like the common folk. As he sees the weaselly-looking man stop and interrogate Saturday, he sees a vision of his own future, with the special delivery box he's carrying. The corporate man is going to stop him too, just as he stopped the young woman before him.

May as well deal with it now instead of later.

"Are you quite done holding up the line, sir? I'm sure the little miss has places to be and I, personally, am tired of faffing around waiting for you to discover how to do your job efficiently."

He has no qualms pulling rank even as the bandage, uniform and nametag that irritatingly leaves off the title he slaved away for in medical school reveals that he has no rank to pull. He gives a look to Saturday, looking for a sort of guarded allyship against this annoying bureaucrat.