Status: Returned

Arzad. Infamous site of turmoil. I am back. The war rages on. As always, I am in the middle of it. The ranks of the Matari have swelled. Seems they have a better propaganda campaign than we do.

Still, it is good to be back on the front. Our time in Otosela was not wasted, but treachery seized some of the fruits of that labor. Still, we are better for our time spent there. Now, we are back on the front lines again, where we should be.

Leela and I have grown closer. I don't know what she sees in an old merc like me, but with luck, her vision will stay blurry. On the other hand, considering her shitty life until now, I probably do seem a saint.

Transferrance

Garta Yttria was a stern, tall, cruel looking man in his sixties. His clothing was stylish, in a minmatar way, and he wore a neatly trimmed beard that served to enhance the lines of his face. It seemed he was a man whose life had always been a source of much frowning. It was difficult to imagine him with a smile. His eyes studied his daughter and the large Civire before him. The Civire was around six feet tall and built for battle, his muscles all toned. He was bald with a face of scruff and a pair of dark shades over his eyes. The Caldari's face was expressionless and the voice that came from his lips echoed years of war. It was spoken softly, but the threat of violent force underlied it. He was a capsuleer, and he seemed to know the cards were on his side. Garta was seething.

Ryven spoke in a deliberate manner, each word standing on its own. "Leela is no longer under your care.". He seemed to ooze venom on the word 'care.' "She is coming with me."

Garta exploded. "Who do you--what the fuck?! She's my daughter! She is MINE. You can't just barge in here and steal her out from my home."

Ryven seemed amused. "First, yes, I can. Second, she is an adult. You keep her locked up here to service your security forces like a damn brood mare. I have seen the injuries left by your 'care.' You will be lucky if all I take from you is Leela."

Garta turned crimson with rage. Ryven's shades, a set of ocular biometric scanners and tactical overlays, read the rise in the man's blood pressure and increasing rage. A fight was imminent.

Garta launched into a haymaker punch, swinging a long slow powerful strike toward Ryven's face. Ryven, sped up by his implants, dodged deftly to the side and delivered a rapid punch to his opponents temple. Garta gasped and stumpled to the side as Ryven kicked a booted foot into his kneecap, shattering it. Garta screamed and collapsed. Ryven placed his boot on Garta's throat and pushed his shades onto his forehead. His blue eyes were ice, freezing Garta's blood in his veins.

"You no longer have a daughter. If we ever see you again, I will burn this world to the ground. Do you understand?"

Garta could only nod, gasp for breath, and watch the devil walk away, arm in arm with his daughter.