IC: Zekev "You like talking about this, don't you?" Zekev gave a small smile. "The old Matoran with bad breath and worse manners. He was killed by the sharpshooters at the start of that ambush." Zekev's thoughts turned back to that fateful day. To be honest, it scared him a lot. He had only made it out because he had run out of coffee and was cranky and refused to take point that day. He was at the rear with Cor when the Heavy Tanks blew the lid off Captain's tank. The coincidences that happen... "The Matoran died that day too. He was helping- I think Captain- by manning the new tank we had. I was at the back of the column sulking, and you were screaming in my ear about cries for help. We turned to shoot, but the forests were so thick. Captain told us to retreat. "Our tank, I think it was the Grey Basilisk, broke down outside Vingt. We slid into the city, stole the last tank we had before the authorities seized it, and then, well..."