Captain Christopher Richard Pike

Pike crossed the room and settled on the edge of the bed, testing the point of the knife against his finger. It would do well, but a finer edge would be preferred to cut through the thin layers of skin. The scar would have to be deep to be effective. He still said nothing, pulling out an old fashion oil and whet stone from a nearby drawer, and began sharpening the knife. The fast motion, set at a 45 degree angle, the constant shing of sound echoing in the room all spoke for him.