They task me, and I shall have them.

[theaugmentedone]

A man in a dark, trench coat-like garment over a black starfleet uniform strides into the Nexus Plaza. He's looking around, silent, his face a mask of calm over what is barely boiling rage. He certainly looks a lot better than what he looked like the last time he was here. No signs of visible injuries at least, and he wasn't, well, dead.

Or maybe he was dead and came back anyway.

The lack of destruction seemed to pain him. He expected far more scars, laments, something more than just daily life going on as it did. He bore scars within, even if his body did not let him retain physical proof of this failure. He lost them, his dear ones. His own ambitions had cost him so, the thought of the Nexus as a prize and his over-confidence with the presence of the red ring of rage had blinded him to the thought of any possible failure. He would not make the same mistake of under-estimating these people again. The stark reality of his fallen assured him of this. But he blamed them, and not himself. They were the reason for this disaster. Them and that miserable Kirk.

But he would get his revenge. He would never rest until their lives were avenged with the wailing screams of those of this place. And if the opportunity of conquest presented itself, he would take it. This time, he wouldn't be blinded by a ring of rage.

A particularly menacing smile, one that spoke of malice and hidden, cold fury than any true happiness, as he addressed the Plaza in general.

"If someone harmed your family, what would you do to pay them back in return?"