"For a moment there, we thought they might have to use the resuscitrex on you, but you were lucky. The bullet went clean through, didn't shatter bone... Other than loss of blood, you'll be fine. Though the medicae says you'll need to take it easy as long as possible. Still got a hole in you." Rikkard explained. 

"It feels like it," Zeb admitted, hoarse. He looked down at his bare torso, white bandages wrapped tightly around his stomach. He placed hand on it, and felt an immense ache. The soldier rubbed his eye and tried to unmuddy his mind, but it seemed like he might need more rest. "Where's the Commissar?" 

He looked up, only to see Rikkard stand up from his seat, looking at the curtain. Zeb turned to see it moved aside, and a tan man stood there. To say he was ripped was an understatement. He looked to be made of pure scars and muscle, with a strong jaw but graced with high cheek bones. He wore camo pants and a single, sleeveless top on. Around his close cropped hair was a bandana. In his hand, he held Zeb's catachan fang. It looked far more comfortable in his grasp, seeing as there was no mistaking him as one of the fabled jungle fighters of that legendary death world. 

"You know, you don't look like much. Especially for a Commissar dog." The fighter said, taking his eyes off the fang and settling them on Zeb. Even if the guardsman was at his best, he didn't think he was up to taking this man in a fight. But maybe it was just the mystique of the death worlders that had him thinking that way.

"Did that fang belong to you?" Zeb asked him. The catachan shook his head, frowning for the merest second. Zeb then said. "Then you have no claim on it. So I assume you're here to give it back to me." 

The catachan looked him with a neutral, almost harsh gaze. But eventually, he gave an amused smile, and flipped the short sword and caught it by the blade. Rikkard stiffened, as if he was going to go for his weapon. The catachan ignored him. "I've heard of you, and I saw the racket you started last night. You've got balls, you and the woman." 

"Commissar," Rikkard corrected him. This time he did shoot the wounded guardsman a black look, before returning to regard Zeb. Surprisingly enough, he held the catachan fang out to him. Zeb took it gingerly, thinking it was a trick. But he took it without any mischief. 

"I don't like Commissars, or their dogs. Remember that if you get back up. And once you're dead, I'll take that fang off you. I'll lend it to you for awhile, though." 

"Thanks," was all Zeb gave him, and the fighter only stood there for another heartbeat before disappearing behind the curtain, as if he never was. Well, hopefully that didn't overly complicate things. Zeb turned to Rikkard. "So specialist, where's the Commissar?" 

"I'll get your crutches. She's awake but she's not enjoying being off her feet."