Zharkov folded his arms and nodded his head. He yawned, walking up against the bars. "I am ready" Zharkov said. Though he had lived years on Praeclara, he had a heavy accent belonging to that of his native people. He unfolded his arms and grabbed onto the bar. Zharkov glared at the cyclonoid, a look of bloodlust in his eyes. "Well?" he threatened "what you waiting for?"