MMF

'''Kiritsugu, In a Roomful of Awkward'''

Beryl's cold shoulder was actually rather unexpected. But like any good stoic soulless person, Kiritsugu's expression didn't change a bit.

Chalking it down to fatigue, he let the demon girl brush past him and leave, watching her in silence. It made little difference to his plans. He needed her to be at full mental vigor for the task he had in mind.

And she had proven herself to be a reasonable leader, and perhaps deserved a rest. But that was secondary, and of less importance.

Kiritsugu gazed at the blood-red crucifix on the back of his right hand, face inscrutable. The silence around him grew to fill the room. It also created a considerable amount of awkward for the only person left in the room, but that was neither here nor there.

He could feel Payne's tired cynicism boring into the back of his head. The man was similar to him. Broken and in denial, aware of the horrors of reality. Like him, Payne had died long ago. But if he, Emiya Kiritsugu, was a scalpel, then Payne was a



"So, if you don't mind me asking, what's going on with you and this other guy? Are you still gonna fight?"