She was surprised how long it took her to recognize him. The length of time was, in fact, not even lengthy in outer perspective. It took her seconds of recollection, spotting the ashen strands and burning eyes that haunted her regrets and frustration since that event. The slight prickling of wariness drew into a triumphant hatred that could have stood to boil the downpour around her. A dismal, curious expression had pulled into a seething but silent snarl through the drenched bandages along her face. She hoped, in the prominent recesses of her recollections, that the brute had been expired in the most undesirable manner during the war. As fate would have it he shared the air of the downpour with her. She stood there in hatred heavier than the weight of the air, eyes narrowed into an exclusive focus that stood trained on the lone Captain. In pure ignorance to her strict orders against engaging combat, she approached the male a few short feet and drew out a sleek black weapon with an extended stock. Clicking something on the side, blue electricity bolted at the tip of the gun similar but heavier than those she had dual wielded decades ago. Any part of her expression gave away the intent of malice. While she had initially stopped, her intent on approaching him had been quick but brief, and Heinkel stood a fair distance away, arm extended with the weapon pointed. Doing so fared to be more important than her orders, which seemed to be an extreme calamity for her mentality and her once-calm demeanor. “You are supposed to be dead.”
