*A feeling welled in the pit of your stomach before you even saw her. Striding through the ruined town, impossibly clean despite it all, was a commander of the SIF. Not even in any visible armour, she donned a luxurious black fur coat that still sported the emblems of the SIF and hung about her like a mantle of pure shadow. In one hand she held a massive revolver, and her other rested on the pommel of a sheathed sword. Even from metres away, you could sense her calm disposition, and the slight pity she looked upon the dead and wounded, enemy or not, with. Her black eyes scanned the scene, lingering on you for a moment.