Pushing against the crowds that rushed away in horror from the cowboy stood a man decked out in belts of ammunition and fragmentation grenades slung across body armor. On either hip were sub-machines, fully loaded, and a sword laying over his combat plate of metal. A red beret was slouchily pulled over a mop of chestnut, curled hair, marked with Prillion's symbol; the Tricynctyara. "Heard what happened to Beta. Real shame, right? Young, innocent girl with no correlation to who you were employed to kill, crippled for life without remorse or hesitation. A sob story, yes, but one that's rather important to me for a multitude of reasons."