Leo, as he liked to be called, was oblivious to the conflict at hand and enjoying a nice, relaxing drag from a real cigarillo, a short and narrow cigar, now that he was finally out of the ship. His mobile suit was safely powered down and hidden away in a natural cave, the cockpit hatch open to allow its pilot the pleasures of a good smoke. The cave would've been too small for the majority of the mobile suits in Angelo's forces but the Gundam F91, a representative of over 30 years of technological advances over the Geara Doga, only stood at about 15 meters tall and was thus well hidden from view within. He was supposed to be scouting around but screw that, he needed a puff or ten.

Leo smoked and thought about his current situation. He was in a strange world or a colony perhaps, surrounded by people who had been part of one of the many Neo Zeon movements from before he was born, if he remembered right. Their mobile suits definitely qualified as museum pieces as far as he was concerned. And then there were the stranger bits, the technologies he had never heard about, the peculiar mobile suits, the people talking about events and organizations that had never existed as far as he was concerned. The worst part was that he was pretty sure his current employer would soon try to kill him under suspicion of being a Federation spy and to take the F91.

Leo wanted answers but finding himself a new crew was his top priority. Extremist spacenoid movements, he had come to learn, had a tendency to lose their wars rather miserably. He didn't like Angelo's group to begin with, even people that might've been alright like old man Zinnerman were rabid Zeon fanatics, and he had only joined them because they were the first crew he'd stumbled upon. He felt kind of bad for that Stella chick, though. She was supposed to be some kind of superhuman pilot but she just seemed like a scared and confused little girl to Leo. Oh well, it wasn't like he could do anything for her. His whole life revolved around piloting mobile suits for money.

His thoughts were interrupted by a distress signal from Angelo's ship requesting his immediate return from his "scouting run", the ship was under enemy attack. Hm, now that was quite the opportunity for Leo. He could reach the battlefield in a short while if he flew there and still have enough juice to fight, he wasn't that far away from the ship's position. But then, why hurry. He'd just wait it out a little bit, see how the battle was going when he got there. If Angelo's forces were winning he'd just apologize for being late, his standing amongst his "allies" couldn't be worse anyway. If Angelo was having a bad day, well, he'd found his new employer. Yeah, that sounded like a plan to him.

Leo kicked back and tossed away the butt of the cigarillo, pulling out a new one from the small case he always carried around and, after smelling the tobacco, lighting it with a wooden match, which he also had a box of. After months on end of not being able to smoke a real, honest to goodness cigar, smoking was strictly forbidden in all spaceships for good reason, he just needed to have another one. He was tired of sucking on a metal cylinder, a so-called space cig, to get his fix so just being able to smoke had put him in a good mood. Yep, this was looking like a good day.