Far away from the  King Raven's crash site Kirill Turov, sat quietly on the balcony of one of the many abandon hotels of some little spit of the Tyran mountains. Hardly what he would call mountain really, more like hills...if that. Bumps really. Mounds.  Kirill grinned sardonically as he twirled his slowly smoking cigar between his lips, working it to the edge of his mouth to allow him room to take another swig of vodka from the little flask he kept in his pack. "Hardly worthy of our attention, eh comrades." he mutter in soft Gorasini to no one in particular. The sounds of combat drifting in slowly and sluggishly over<a class="externalLink" href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mK2T2aPooy4&amp;feature=related" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">the warm voices of his comrades</a>singing softly into the dying wind from a little hand-cranked record player that he kept with him.<br/>This was how he usualy spent his days, staring out into the grim, insufferable Tyran landscape, watching and waiting.  For rescue? For his comrades? He never could tell.<br/>As far as he knew, he was the last of his people.<br/><br/>However, the action in the village had proved an interesting diversion to his constant boredom and depressive thoughts. He had watch the COG's coming in, in their usual manner, loudly and obviously on some mission for their beloved Coalition only to get lit up like a fucking holiday tree. They had no sense at all, their method of warfare had not changed a jot since the Pendulum Wars as if it hadn't occurred to them that their entire goddamn population had been wiped out by their own stupidity and now they were fighting a guerrilla war.<br/>But it just hadn't just gotten through their thick skulls...still bold as brass and just as dumb. As if he couldn't reiterate that point enough in his own mind.<br/><br/>He watched the survivors with mild interest through the scope of his rifle, he pressing a slightly dirty gloved thumb over the sight to clear some of the dirt away from the lense, brushing away a few flecks of dirt. He licked his thumb and pressed it again to the scope, this time cleaning it almost completely, save for a few spindly scratches that marred the surface.<br/><br/>The Raven had crashed into a building below, what looked to be some business or political venue of some sort, he couldn't quite understand the faded sign that was emblazoned on the wall. Tyran was such a fucking complicated language. Even after sixteen years it frustrated him.<br/><br/>In any case, half the building had already crumbled from the shock of the King Raven making a new sky-light and the rest of the building seemed ready to join it.<br/><br/>The dust and smoke was rather heavy from the crash, but Kirill could already see that the COG's were fubar. They had at least 2 dozen grubs closing in on them with signs of more on the way. As usual, the Coalition had kicked over the hornet's nest and soon  this place would be crawling with the bastards.<br/><br/>"So much for the locals, eh, comrades?" Kirill remarked to the empty air next to him.<br/>"We best get a move on, before the tourist trade really starts popping here." he gave with a soft sigh of resignation, laying down his rifle against the balcony.<br/><br/>He stood to his feet, bending over to grab his stuff, quickly packing his bedroll, cooking gear and personal effects including the music-box into his pack. With a grunt of exertion he swung it over his shoulder, wrapping his other arm through the loop of the pack's straps and hefting it onto his deltoids.<br/>With a soft stamp of his boot, he extinguished his campfire and grabbed his lancer.<br/><br/>Kirill returned to the balcony, surveying the scene one last time as he placed his fingers gently over his sniper rifle.<br/>In his mind, he knew it was time to move on, maybe head down out of the mountains to the coastline. Yet curiousity was niggling in the back of his mind.<br/><br/>He drew his weapon sights back up to eye level. The COG soldiers were all dazed, trying to extract themselves from the wreckage, though most of them still seemed to be alive. Pity. He could have gotten some good salvage off them.<br/>His crosshairs landed over one particular COG, the one that looked to be the squad's NCO. He was bleeding profusely from the arm and he had lost his helmet in the crash. That meant his nice juicy and tender forehead was staring Kirill right in the face.<br/><br/>Kirill felt his finger hover over the trigger, his emotions starting to get the better of him. Hatred boiling in his blood against the COG for the slaughter of his people. In his mind, he had already pulled the trigger, and ended the man's life. In that half second though between command and dely, a young woman stepped into his sights, as if by providence.<br/>Kirill paused, before looking down the sights once  more.<br/>The round could easily penetrate two armoured bodies, but the woman was tending to his wounds, and looked no more than a girl...like...she would have been....<br/>Kirill lowered his rifle. If there was a God, then surely he smiled on that COG today.<br/><br/>However, time was running short and Kirill could hear the growling and grunting of Locust grubs slowly closing in on his location. Whether they knew he was there, or not, it was time to go. He made his way down the stairs out of the building  and disappeared into the labyrinth of alleyways.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>