Redhawk Caldera In Germany Before the War

He could see it clearly now; the anger and disappointment etched into her furrowed brow and displeased scowl. In ran the length of her body in waves. Down the length of her spine and through the rest of her youthful form. Whip stopped eating now and he regarded her with an odd fondness. A fondness reserved for the few and far between. Perhaps she, like Junior before Ferret, like Ferret before Whip, shared the same curse passed down in their birthright. Perhaps it was too early to tell, but Whip saw beauty in it.

"No," he answered. Whip did not know the fate of his brother, nor did he even know that he had been here in the first place. "Maybe they ran," he offered, thinking it was the most likely of all possible scenarios. The call of war was not a siren song to all. Some ran away scared, leaving nothing behind but disappointment. Whip knew this. Whip lived this. It was shameful, but honor leads only to an early grave.

"It's okay to be angry," he told her, stepping over the corpse. "I feel it too."