A sudden muscle spasm. A flinch. No reason behind it whatsover. But then again, there was that possibility, and seeing no other reason...
His eyes opened.
In the dark core of the aged ship of a fortress rose the head of one of the galaxy's most feared mercenary groups and private army's. And the grin that spread beneath his visor was enough to persuade any that he was mad.
Armor-clad boots paced over meter upon meter of aged, crimson metal until he'd reached the large, empty wall he'd so long ago lost interest in. A swift swipe of his active arm and the rusted gears of the walls panels breathed to life, retracting the wall inch by inch until the void of space was all but presented to him.
They said he'd been killed. That there was no body. No. He couldn't have been killed. Not officially. Not unless he was the one who did it. Ever more widely, his grin spread. Sure he was mad. But can one truly be mad when one knows it?
The armored tips of his fingers ran over the screen and after giving it two soft runs, he dug into the thick glass and listened to the glass screech as he began drawing patterns. Faster and faster his fingers scratched their surface until finally it was finished. A crude reflection of himself. Of themselves.
He stared past the mirrored visor, to where the eyes would have been and the expanse of space that filled it. Perhaps a reunion was in order.
He chuckled lowly, deeply, and most anyone could have sworn his voice echoed that of a hero killed roughly two years before.
"Welcome back brother."
Soon...