[???]
"I dare say I've done quite enough for one rotation," Grimm muttered to himself. "I could go for some coffee right about now."
He stood upon a fractured cliff-face—one of the rare few parts of the planet that hadn't been utterly reduced to lava slag or craters the size of minor moons. But "not completely ruined" was charitable at best; the terrain was still cracked like shattered glass, and the horizon burned in hues of ash-gray, strewn with debris and dust that floated aimlessly through the atmosphere.
His visor-clad gaze slowly drifted across the broken vista.
("Still…") his internal voice mused, ("I've an irksome feeling. A crawling on the edge, as if someone—or something—is watching me.")
Another beat of silence.
Then a whisper—
"…Grimm…"
His head tilted slightly, slowly, his posture shifted a fraction of a degree. He was certain he'd heard something. A voice.
"…Grimm…"
Again.
