Rendered into Hell

[Geoffacake]

He takes his time to smoke the rest of his cigarette in silence, watching the cracked artifact... "I don't know if i should act surprised on how you did something to that thing, but by this time it feels like things like this never do." He then extinguishes the cigarette in the palm of his metal hand, but not leaving any scorch marks, only shaking off bits of ash. "But noting that I'm a little to late for the advice is true. I will die young, 43 is quite an age to pull the plug, but not by the sword; Assisted suicide if you must." He takes a moment of pause, staring off at the floor. "No... Not that one... The previous one... Before that... Wait... That one." He sits back down in the chair, again slumping with his arms folded. "Two Marduks, a Nammu, a pair of fighters and a hand full of Das Wilde and Aoi Iseijin. I tell you, what happened that day in Magellan, i was pretty sure they no longer wanted me around with the energy burns across my chest and shrapnel in my arm." He then looks up at the ceiling again. "I think that's when i started drinking too." But he then gives a stern look towards the Kusarian. "But at that time, I'm pretty sure that they made me choose what side i was on, because for most people, being shot at means you don't exactly come back to the damn shooter and give them a bloody hug."