Hero of Coronado

[pillow]

First time at the Fort. To say it was cramped was the understatement of the century; the ground turned flesh and bone, hundreds of personalities looking up at the scorched and battered strike ship. The cracked cockpit glass slid open with an ear-piercing screech, trying its best to fit through the bent hull and let the man inside stand up. The view was certainly something; he's seen the cityscape of Manhattan, the industrial hellhole that used to be Leeds, the ice deserts of Hamburg, but never something as special as a ragtag group of bandits all collectively forming an army so vast that even Liberty itself, with all its might, would be left speechless at. Helmet off, his right arm stretched above his head in a wave. He choked up - briefly. Who wouldn't? So many eyes piercing right through him like the sharpest of blades. "Free folk," He looked raggedy, but strong, collected. The years have not been kind, yet his resolve remained unbroken. The pilot looked through the hangar, scanning for silence. Once satisfied, he broke it himself.

"Coronado's a graveyard!"

His voice echoed, bouncing violently on the metal walls of the Fort's hangars for what seemed like an eternity, the roars of victory from his new compatriots erupted in a volley of unrelenting force, bringing even more people to look at the "Hero of Coronado". Talk about a flamboyant first visit to the Xeno capital.