[center][h1]Zhao Jinhai[/h1][/center]

So everything got wrapped up nicely. Samurai spirit was neutralized no matter how it was done, and it wasn't like he gave a shit about the civilian casualties in the first place. Most importantly, Jinhai got to enjoy himself just a tad. Of course, that meant it was back to his little grey hole they called on-site housing. 

Jinhai stood leaning against the railing on top of the facility's roof, puffing away at a cigarette. Wasn't like there was anywhere else he could smoke it, all things considered. No designated smoking area outside of this, and he'd probably get bitched out if he tried to smoke indoors. Quartermaster had given him enough of a tongue lashing for returning with a broken sword, and he wasn't even able to procure a replacement, considering the samurai's odachi had been confiscated as evidence. Fuckers. 

He sighed, his cigarette still stuck in his mouth as he leafed through his personal copy of the Dao De Jing. If Jinhai had learned anything over the years, it was that Laozi wasn't full of shit: just that those who followed his philosophy tended to be. Damn shame, that. 

[b]"Motherfucker,"[/b] He groaned to himself as his cigarette burned down to the stub. A quick palming of his jacket revealed he was out too: that'd been his last Marlboro. Fine, he'd find some other method to occupy himself. Reluctantly, Jinhai pushed himself off the railing and tucked his book back into his jacket, making his way down to do something else. Probably food, really.