[quote=@Kuchenlein]
"[color=crimson]Hmmm... hmmmm[/color]" Helmina gasped in frustration, and clenched her fists in some anger. His last words of insult seemed to have irritated her somewhat. She backed off a little and gave a distressed glare at him. She then lifted her head upward as she began to explore possible options in her mind.

If she handed him the rifle, he might go rogue and break free without leaving a word or two, but there is also some chance for him to actually talk. But if she didn't, this troublesome outlander wouldn't comply, either. She had some bad feelings about this, but she somehow also felt that she should return the rifle to this strange outlander. Can she really trust an alien?

But she is a strong lady, and she has great responsibility for she is the one in charge of the 44th Regiment. And she hates to be humiliated and punished. And either way, they have great numbers and powers, the odds are in their favor.

"[color=crimson]Fine, fine... promise me, do not go crazy after you got your rifle, and tell me your story... We keep your secrets and you keep our secrets, deal?[/color]"

If the Marine agreed with Helmina's deal...

She then shot a menacing glare at the Bomoh. The trembling Bomoh nodded and promptly returned the marine his rifle.
"[color=crimson]Now, now, little boy. Your beloved gun is back in your hands. Do not go running amok, and do tell us your story. Don't worry, our nation has its own share of fucking shits to deal with, and your empire seemed very advanced, far more advanced than ours. We won't be there to get your nation, no worries.[/color]"

"[color=crimson]I want to hear your story. What is this Confederacy that you spoke of? What sent you flying here?[/color]"
[/quote]

He accepts the rifle and takes a curious little cord out of it, plugging it into a socket in his suit. He then unclips the magazine, looks at it, nods, and reinserts it. Helmina can see a glowing LED "500 ROUNDS" readout on the side. He smiles and adopts a casual stance. "Well, my empire is, from what I've gathered, long dead. We spanned star systems, this galaxy was OURS. None dared oppose us because of our Legions. Then the Devourer came." He shudders and his suit jerks awkwardly, trying to mimic the movement. "But before those days of Hell, though, we were unstoppable. We were Legion. Billions of billions of billions begged for mercy at our feet until we blew their heads off. Entire worlds, entire [i]star systems,[/i] reduced to their base atoms. All at the press of a button. That's the power we, the Confederacy of Mankind, wielded." He sighed softly. "Didn't matter, though. What use is a Planetary Destroyer's missiles when the enemy's on board, tearing through the crew? We dropped missile after missile onto civilized worlds, ones with trillions of people on them, and simply obliterated them. One second it's a thriving hub of commerce, the next? It doesn't exist." He speaks of it passively, and Helmina can catch a glimpse of him smiling if she cares to look. He then grimaces, and reaches over to his hand, and... Pulls his hand off. But underneath that blue gauntlet is an actual human hand that goes foraging around in a pocket. It finds what it's looking for and brings it up. It's a cigar. He pops open his visor and puts it in his mouth and then looks for a lighter, finds it, and lights the cigar. After a few puffs, seeing that it's satisfactory, he puts the gauntlet back on. "Now, where was I? Yeah, the Devourer. Worlds fell like dead flies. Pop, there went a sector. Earth? Wiped out in a heartbeat. What's Sol? Wiped out in a week." He sighed and puffed on the cigar. "But us humans? We're fucking stupid. A smart race would've given up ages ago, but we kept fighting. I was put on the Last Stop, as we stationed there learned to call it. What was it our commander said...?" He looks around with his eyes and through the transparent visor, Helmina can see data flashing across it. "Ah, yes." A hologram of a battle-scarred veteran, his armor scorched and cracked and dented, appears not an inch in front of Helmina. After a moment, it begins to speak in the voice of a man who has seen glory, who has seen victory and prestige, but also of a man who has seen Hell and walked his way back; who had seen many losses and many, many friends and family die horribly. But he spoke strongly; " 'We do not know what our chances of survival are, so we fight as if they were zero. We do not know what we are facing, so we fight as if it was the end of Creation itself. No one will remember us now and we may never be buried beneath Terra, so we will build our own memorial here. The Corps might lose us and the Confederacy might never know we existed, but the Enemy - the Enemy will know. The Enemy will remember. We will hurt it so badly that it will never forget us until the stars burn out and the Confederacy vanquishes it at the end of time. When the Devourer is dying, its last thought will be of us. That is our memorial -carved into the heart of the Enemy. We cannot lose, Marines. We have already won." A cheer goes out, many millions of men strong, and a scout comes up beside the Commander. He nods, takes out a cigar, and lights it, smiling. "Tonight, Marines, we dine in hell.' This. Is the day we fought. This. Is the day we died. Scores of us gone in seconds, but we fought and beat them back. We built walls and cover out of the corpses of our brothers and our foes. Didn't change a thing. There were just too many of 'em. Wave after wave after wave... The right flank fell first. Then the left. Me and my men? We were the final bastion of human hope. We loaded up men into drop-pods; I got forced in even though I wanted to finish consecrating that planet with the blood of my enemies. I was in hypersleep for... My suit indicates five to six hundred thousand years." He unclips the magazine of the rifle and checks it again, making sure it's in perfect condition - it's clear he cares about this rifle quite a bit.