Makkani gazed out over the grasslands outside Lahan, breathing in the cool air. Things had been bad. Could've been worse, but still bad. He sighs as he feels the sort stinging sensation on his back. Mere minutes after the whip had cleaved his flesh, the welts began to form. Ye gods, he hated welts.

Particularly frustrating, though, was the one area which had not welted. Bleeding long and hard, and only stopping when Makkani had taken a cold shower and applied some strong anti-toxins, it was clear that the blow would leave a scar all the way from the back of his upper right shoulder to his lower left abdomen. To forever marr his image.

He eyed the piece of paper in his hand. "The 138th unit... one of the finest. Always wanted to have a shot..." He slips the paper back into his pocket, still muttering to himself. "Now what...? Will I be forced to pilot one of those oversized montrosities?" He closed his eyes a bit, remembering his first time piloting a gear. The roar of the jets, the screams outside, and his inability to control it. He was helpless, feeling as if born and bred an idiot, as his gear had crashed headfirst into a residential apartment building.

"Well, things aren't so bad..." Makkani remembers General Yasha's words. '...I am not one who would rule over the heart. That belongs to another...' Her voice rang through his head. He smirks a bit as he falls forward into the grass, sighing as a feeling of rest overcomes him. "...can hardly wait to see her... gotta get my coin back..." On that rather odd note, Makkani fell asleep among the tall grass, the pain of his wounds drifting away into nothingness.