[b][i]Mykhailo Martinez[/i][/b]

Mykhailo had tasted victory once more, knew that sweet Ace-hood was in his grasp. But as he grabbed a soft drink first - You can never beat a good Coke or Pepsi - he had to say to himself that it all felt hollow. Like, these [i]were[/i] the bad guys, but the line between hero and villain was thinner than he wanted; that explosion, from where the Libyans must have stashed some form of prototype explosive they should not have had... that explosion stayed in his mind, rent-free.

How many civilians have that harmed, people who did not deserve that level of tragedy whether or not they approved of the current regime? It would do no good to dull that question; if offered alcohol, Mykhailo would drink only the smallest amount to avoid offending people, while upping his consumption of coffee if there were any. 

Also, it was best if he learned how to socialize sober. So now, he had to ask himself... who should he socialize with? Fuka, Freyja, Ximena, and Amelia were people he did not want to annoy and whom he'd spent vital social capital with. So that left Scott and maybe Kat, and so Mykhailo walked towards the former, remembering that he was his commanding officer, and asked, "So, umm... it's been a long night for all of us; it's almost dawn."

His next words were, "I hate to ask this, but... how do I talk to people? And by people, I mean the rest of the squadron? How do I make friends when my money doesn't matter, my good looks are canceled out by my bad or nonexistent manners, and well, waiting for people to approach me is crass, right?"

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