Night passed for Graff pretty much like most have before his first OP with the unit, alone but this time though there was some contemplation in him as he drifted off to sleep staring at the ceiling.  Apparently the last person to have his room had an affection for carving as they had etched what appears to be a cartoon cat above his bunk, unfortunately his hours of contemplation and staring at the ceiling cat does him no good.  Graff comes to no huge revelation about death, it seems that life is more random than one would think.  No matter how good of a pilot you are there's nothing stopping you from that AC slug or scarlet laser beam from removing your head or torching off your ammo pile.  It's all completely random...<br/><br/>Still when morning comes it does afford him some peace, all he can do is try and make his shots find their mark before they enemy does the same to him and while he's at it cover his fellow lance and company mates.  Hopefully out of all that his actions (or inactions) won't be the cause of any more deaths in the company.<br/><br/>Making his way into the shower Graff fiddles with the knobs to make the water's temperature palatable to his skin before disrobing and stepping in.