The air inside the REDs' makeshift R&D lab crackled with energy as Medic and Engineer huddled over the workbench, their attention fixed on Engineer's mechanized arm. The room, cluttered with blueprints, spare parts, and glowing vials, served as the birthplace of many of their unconventional experiments. Medic's eyes gleamed with excitement as he carefully slid Perfector's gloved fingers along the arm's framework, pressing down just enough for the Teigu's shimmering substance to seep into the metal's structure. The iridescent glow pulsed in response, casting strange reflections on the surrounding metal as it wove itself seamlessly into the intricate design. Tiny motes of energy flared from the surface, crackling like miniature lightning bolts that briefly danced between Medic's fingertips and the machinery. The process was mesmerizing, the raw alchemical power of the Teigu merging with technology in an unpredictable fusion of Imperial craftsmanship and RED ingenuity.
"Now, mein freund, hold still," Medic instructed, his voice laced with giddy anticipation. He pressed a switch, and a faint hum coursed through Engineer's arm as the Perfector-infused substance began to bond with the metal. At first, the process seemed smooth, the iridescent glow of the material weaving itself into the arm's intricate framework. Then, the energy began to fluctuate erratically, pulses of electric blue light arcing along the metallic plating. Engineer winced as his fingers twitched involuntarily, feeling an odd tingling sensation crawling up his arm like static electricity. The machine let out a sharp whine, its components groaning under the sudden surge of power, and then—
BZZT!
A sharp jolt surged through the mechanism, sending a ripple through the air. Engineer stumbled back, clutching his arm. Sparks danced along the surface of the machinery, flickering like tiny blue stars. "Uh, Doc, what in Sam Hill did ya do?" he asked, brows furrowing in alarm.
Before Medic could respond, Engineer's fingers instinctively clenched, triggering a strange reaction. A sudden pulse of energy shot from his palm, striking the nearest wall with a loud crackle. In an instant, a swirling blue portal materialized, pulsing faintly with an eerie light. The edges of the rift wavered violently, distorting the air around it like a heat mirage, its form unstable as flickers of energy lashed out. Ripples cascaded through the surface, resembling liquid lightning frozen in motion. Engineer stumbled back, his mechanical fingers twitching involuntarily, feeling a strange magnetic pull toward the anomaly.
The portal's glow reflected in Medic's wide, fascinated eyes as he leaned forward, drawn by an insatiable curiosity. "Mein Gott," he murmured, transfixed. The swirling mass of energy pulsated in response to Engineer's still-outstretched hand, reacting almost like a living entity. The faint hum of unstable energy filled the room, sending a charge through the very air. Engineer swallowed hard, his usual confidence momentarily shaken. "Doc... what in tarnation did we just do?"
Both men exchanged stunned glances before Medic eagerly stepped forward, his fingers twitching with excitement. Engineer, more cautious, tilted his hat back and studied the phenomenon intently. "Where does it lead?" he muttered. Without hesitation, Medic grabbed a nearby wrench and flung it through the rift. They both turned their heads sharply as the tool clattered against the opposite side of the room, having emerged from a second, smaller portal now shimmering a few feet away.
Engineer exhaled, scratching his chin. "Well, now we got somethin' to investigate."
Both men froze, staring at the impossible sight before them.
"Oh-ho! Vell, vould you look at zhat!" Medic clapped his hands together, his excitement bubbling over. He rushed forward, examining the portal with an almost childlike fascination. "Fascinating! Ze Perfector must have modified your mechanical arm by integrating with its teleportation system in an unexpected way, enhancing its capabilities."
Engineer, still blinking in shock, hesitantly extended a gloved hand toward the glowing rift. "Aw, hell," he muttered before pushing it through. His arm disappeared into the swirling mass—only to reappear from another portal forming just a few feet away. The sight was both awe-inspiring and deeply unsettling. He quickly withdrew his arm and inspected it, ensuring nothing had been altered.
"Well, I'll be damned," he breathed, retracting his hand and flexing his fingers. A grin tugged at the corner of his lips. "Looks like we just built ourselves a goddamn portal gun."
Medic, still giddy with excitement, grabbed another tool—a screwdriver this time—and tossed it at the portal. It vanished instantly—only to clatter onto the floor behind him. His laughter echoed in the laboratory. "Mein Gott, Engineer! Do you realize vhat zhis means?"
Spy, who had been observing from a shadowed corner, exhaled a slow, deliberate drag from his cigarette. A thin wisp of smoke curled through the air as he smirked. "Zhis… could be useful."
The three of them stood in silent contemplation for a moment, the weight of their discovery settling in. This was more than just another experiment. This was a breakthrough—one that could reshape the very battlefield they fought on. If they could master this technology, they could bypass walls, launch sneak attacks, and escape near-death encounters with unprecedented ease.
And perhaps, it was only the beginning—a secret that Medic and Engineer decided to keep to themselves, at least for now. The potential was too great, the risks too unpredictable. They would refine it, test it, and when the time was right, unleash its full power. But until then, this discovery would remain theirs alone.
The laboratory was abuzz with quiet activity as Medic, Engineer, Spy, and Bulat gathered around a long metal table, various blueprints, weapon schematics, and research notes sprawled across its surface. The sterile glow of the overhead lights reflected off the steel surfaces, casting sharp shadows over their faces. Each man played a distinct role in the gathering, their expressions reflecting the gravity of the discussion ahead.
Medic, the driving force behind this discovery, stood at the head of the table, his eyes gleaming with the excitement of a scientist on the verge of a breakthrough. He thrived in innovation, his hands moving animatedly as he prepared to explain Perfector's potential. His mind buzzed with endless possibilities—if this worked, they could rebuild, modify, and even enhance their lost arsenal with unmatched precision. The implications stretched far beyond simple restoration; they were on the verge of a technological revolution.
Engineer, ever the pragmatic builder, adjusted his goggles and flipped a page in his notebook. His mind was already racing through possibilities, calculations forming in the margins of the sketches. He knew this could revolutionize their arsenal, but it also meant taking on the responsibility of controlling what they created. He had spent years perfecting his craft, ensuring every machine was reliable, every structure solid. Now, with access to something as precise as Perfector, the potential for mechanical advancements was limitless—but so were the risks.
Spy leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his sharp gaze flickering between the device and the team. Unlike the others, he was less concerned with the mechanics and more focused on the long-term implications. His role was to think in shadows, ensuring that their advancements did not paint a target on their backs. If word of this capability spread, it would not just be the Empire that came hunting for them. Information was the most valuable currency in war, and he intended to ensure their enemies remained in the dark.
Bulat, standing firm with arms crossed, represented the voice of reason. A warrior first and foremost, he recognized the sheer power of what was being discussed. His experience in battle gave him a perspective none of the others had—he knew that while stronger weapons meant a better fighting chance, they also meant more devastation if wielded by the wrong hands. He had seen what unchecked power could do, how it turned men into monsters. He was here to make sure they did not become what they fought against.
Each had their own perspective, but they all understood one thing: tonight, they were standing at the precipice of something that could change the course of the war.
"Perfector," Medic began, placing the device in the center of the table. "It is more zhan just a healing tool. Vith careful calibration, ve have confirmed it can perfectly replicate ze materials used in ze construction of our original weapons."
A hush settled over the room as the gathered R&D specialists absorbed the revelation. Spy, leaning against the wall with arms crossed, exhaled a thin stream of smoke from his cigarette. His sharp gaze flickered between the device and the assembled team, assessing their reactions.
"Zhis war," he mused, his voice barely above a whisper, "is going to get a lot more interesting."
Engineer grunted in agreement, reaching over to tap a schematic with one calloused finger. "We ain't just talkin' about basic repairs anymore. We can rebuild everything. Shotguns, rocket launchers, rifles—all of it, right down to the tiniest detail. Hell, maybe even improve 'em."
Bulat frowned, arms crossed over his broad chest. His usual jovial demeanor was subdued as he processed the implications. He took a deep breath before speaking, his voice steady but filled with a weighty concern. "I don't doubt the advantages this gives us," he admitted, "but let's not pretend this kind of power doesn't come with risks. If the Empire ever got its hands on this, they wouldn't just use it to match our strength—they'd twist it, refine it, mass-produce it. Imagine what that would mean for the people already suffering under their rule. More weapons in their hands means more oppression, more destruction, more innocent lives lost.
I've seen what unchecked power does to people. The stronger they become, the less they hesitate to wield that strength against those beneath them. We may be using this for the right reasons now, but what about in the future? What if this falls into the wrong hands? What if one day, we're the ones making the same justifications the Empire does? "
A tense silence followed. The thought of the Empire wielding RED Team's advanced weaponry sent a chill through the room. Even Medic, normally unshaken by the ethical dilemmas of his work, pursed his lips in thought. He had always been fascinated by pushing the boundaries of science, but even he knew that some discoveries could not fall into the wrong hands.
"Which is why," Spy interjected, flicking his cigarette into a nearby ashtray, "we must be... discreet. Zhis is not just about keeping it out of ze Empire's hands. If ve are not careful, even allies may begin to ask too many questions. Power like zhis makes people nervous, und suspicion can be as dangerous as any weapon. Ve move forward, but ve do so from ze shadows."
Engineer nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. "We'll control production. Keep things locked down tighter than a vault. Only our people get access."
Bulat exhaled through his nose, still uneasy but understanding the necessity. "Alright. But if I see even a hint of it being abused, I'll shut it down. No exceptions. Because the second we forget why we fight, we risk becoming the very thing we swore to destroy. No exceptions."
The tension lingered for a moment before Medic clapped his hands together, a grin breaking through the somber mood. "Zen ve have a plan! Ve begin production immediately, und once ze prototypes are ready, ve take zem for a field test."
Spy smirked, adjusting his gloves. "I do love a good demonstration."
The meeting concluded with a renewed sense of purpose. The wheels of innovation had begun turning, and soon, RED Team's weapons would be reborn in this strange new world. Whether this would be a blessing or a curse remained to be seen.
The recruits stood in a wide clearing atop the mountain, the air crisp and filled with tension. They stood at rigid attention, backs straight, rifles held firmly, as Soldier stomped in front of them, his booming voice cutting through the silence like a war drum.
"LISTEN UP, MAGGOTS!" he barked, pacing before them like a general surveying his troops. "Today is NOT about looking pretty! Today is NOT about theory! Today is about turning you sorry excuses for recruits into real warriors! You will fire those weapons! You will HIT your targets! And you will NOT— I REPEAT— WILL NOT DIE! AM I UNDERSTOOD?!"
A half-hearted, nervous "Sir, yes sir!" rang through the clearing.
"I CAN'T HEAR YOU!" Soldier roared, slamming his boot into the ground so hard a small cloud of dust kicked up. "ARE YOU READY TO RIP AND TEAR?! TO CRUSH YOUR ENEMIES, SEE THEM DRIVEN BEFORE YOU, AND HEAR THE LAMENTATIONS OF THEIR BEASTLY SHRIEKS?!"
"SIR, YES SIR!" The recruits straightened, voices louder, though some still carried uncertainty.
Soldier narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing each face. "I STILL DON'T BELIEVE YOU!" He took a deep breath, chest puffing out before he bellowed. "THIS IS YOUR LAST CHANCE TO PROVE YOU AIN'T WORTHLESS! NOW SOUND OFF LIKE YOU GOT A PAIR!"
"SIR, YES SIR!" The recruits shouted, this time with something closer to real conviction.
"GOOD!" Soldier grinned, nodding approvingly. "You are about to be given the most dangerous, most beautifully destructive weapons known to man! And you WILL learn to wield them like champions, or you WILL DIE TRYING! NOW— MOVE OUT!"
Engineer, arms crossed, let out a small chuckle at the display. "Well, that's one way to get 'em in the right mindset."
Just as he was about to continue his briefing on the replicated weapons, the first unsettling sounds echoed through the valley below. A low, guttural growl reverberated through the trees, followed by the crackle of shifting foliage. The atmosphere grew thick with unease, the recruits exchanging anxious glances as the sound of heavy footsteps drew closer.
Then came another sound—one that sent a chill through even the most hardened fighters.
A bloodcurdling, inhuman screech.
Then they emerged.
Humanoid Danger Beasts, grotesque in shape yet disturbingly human-like in their movements, advanced with eerie precision. Their limbs were unnaturally elongated, their clawed fingers twitching as they detected their prey. Their glowing, hollow eyes fixated on the recruits with an unsettling hunger. Some had exposed muscle and sinew, while others bore unnatural armor-like growths, further enhancing their monstrous forms. The recruits barely had time to react before the creatures lunged.
"Heads up, lads! This ain't just a drill no more!" Demoman roared as he instinctively reached for his grenade launcher, yanking it into position.
The recruits scrambled, hastily raising their weapons, but their shots were erratic, unpracticed. A few hit their marks, staggering the creatures, but not enough to bring them down. The beasts pressed forward, undeterred by the weak resistance, their inhuman screeches cutting through the air.
Sniper adjusted his hat, exhaling slowly as he brought his newly replicated rifle to his shoulder. The weight felt right, the balance near-perfect. He peered through the scope, locking onto the lead beast. His heartbeat slowed, his world narrowing to the single point in his crosshairs.
BANG!
The high-powered shot cracked through the air. The first creature's head snapped backward, its body collapsing instantly. Sniper didn't stop to admire his work. He lined up another shot, dropping a second beast before it could reach the panicked recruits. His movements were methodical, each kill precise and calculated.
"Keep yer wits about ya! Aim for the head, ya twits!" he barked at them, his voice cutting through the chaos like a blade.
Meanwhile, Demoman was in his element. He lobbed a cluster of explosives, each grenade bouncing along the uneven terrain before detonating in a fiery eruption. The shockwaves sent several beasts flying, their twisted forms torn apart mid-air, their shrieks of agony drowned in the booming destruction.
"Boom, ya bloody mongrels!" he laughed, a wild gleam in his eye as another explosive sent debris scattering.
Bulat watched the recruits struggle, his eyes narrowing as he saw one barely dodge an incoming claw swipe. He clenched Incursio's handle. The time for observation was over.
In a single leap, he shot forward, his armor shimmering as he activated Incursio's full power. His sword flashed under the midday sun as he drove it through the chest of one of the largest creatures, piercing straight through with a sickening crunch. The beast let out a strangled howl before Bulat ripped his blade free, its body slumping to the ground.
He pivoted just in time to intercept another attacker, his blade moving with deadly efficiency. He was a blur of silver and blue, his strikes clean and decisive. His movements were precise, honed from years of battle, and unlike the recruits, he had no hesitation. A clawed hand swiped at him—he ducked low, severing the creature's arm at the elbow before driving his blade upward, ending it instantly.
A recruit beside him hesitated too long, his weapon shaking in his grip. A beast lunged, claws outstretched, eager to tear into him.
Bulat's eyes flicked to the side. With one fluid motion, he moved between the two, parrying the attack and slamming his armored fist into the creature's skull. Bone crunched as it collapsed at his feet, twitching before going still.
"Get a grip, kid!" he snapped at the recruit. "This isn't practice anymore! You hesitate, you die!"
The recruit swallowed hard and nodded, gripping his rifle tighter, determination flickering in his eyes. He exhaled sharply, bracing himself.
As the battle raged on, the recruits began to find their rhythm. Under the guidance of the veterans, their shots became more precise, their movements sharper. One recruit, previously shaky with a shotgun, adjusted his stance and blasted an approaching beast clean off its feet. Another, taking Sniper's advice, steadied his rifle and dropped a creature with a single well-placed shot to the head.
The tide was turning.
Syura stood atop the jagged ridge, his cloak pulled tightly around him as he observed the battlefield below. The cold wind tugged at his hood, but his sharp eyes remained locked on the carnage unfolding before him. This was no accident—this was his design. It had been his command that sent the modified humanoid Danger Beasts into the fray, their twisted forms the product of experiments meant to push the Empire's biological warfare to its limits. He had expected them to be unstoppable, to tear apart anyone foolish enough to oppose them. Instead, what had started as a simple weapons test had escalated into something far more intense. The mercenaries—the REDs—were stronger than he had anticipated, turning what should have been a slaughter into a brutal spectacle of overwhelming force.
Bullets, rockets, and flames tore through the creatures with ruthless efficiency. The booming laughter of the giant one, the rhythmic explosions of the one-eyed drunkard, and the scorching heat of the masked firestarter filled the battlefield with a chaotic symphony of destruction. Even the Empire's elite soldiers would struggle against this kind of firepower. Every shot landed with precision; every movement calculated. These weren't just a group of hired killers—they were an army, and one unlike anything the Empire had ever faced before.
Syura narrowed his eyes, his mind racing as he analyzed the unfolding battle. If this was only a fraction of their strength, then his father needed to know—immediately. He reached into his cloak, fingers wrapping around the familiar surface of his Teigu, Shambala, its latent energy pulsing beneath his fingertips. One thought, one activation, and he would be gone, far from here before anyone even knew he had been watching.
"These bastards are dangerous," he muttered under his breath. "Father needs to know."
But before he could act, something changed. The air shifted. A flicker of movement in the periphery of his vision—too fast, too precise.
A knife.
Syura barely had time to twist his head as the blade zipped past his face, carving a thin line across his cheek. A sharp sting bloomed, followed by a thin trickle of blood. He inhaled sharply, stepping back, his free hand already glowing with Shambala's power. He scanned his surroundings, eyes darting from shadow to shadow, searching for the one who had dared attack him.
Then, she stepped forward.
A woman, glasses catching the dim light of the moon, her stance calm yet poised for the kill. The rumors of Night Raid had mentioned a clumsy, airheaded assassin—yet the figure before him shared none of those traits. Her eyes, once known for warmth and absentminded kindness, now held a quiet, lethal resolve.
Sheele didn't hesitate.
"You're not going anywhere," she said, her voice level, devoid of doubt or hesitation.
Syura scoffed, wiping the blood from his cheek with the back of his hand. "Tch. You should've aimed for the throat."
Sheele remained silent. She didn't need to answer. Her stance, the firm grip on her weapon, the way she effortlessly blocked his only escape route—all of it spoke for her. The message was clear: Syura wasn't leaving this ridge alive.
For the first time in a long while, Syura felt something foreign coil in his gut. Not annoyance. Not arrogance.
Something closer to fear.
Syura grinned and activated Shambala, vanishing in a flicker of energy. In an instant, he reappeared behind Sheele, his blade slashing downward in a vicious arc. But she was already in motion. With reflexes honed through experience, Sheele twisted her body just enough to evade the strike, the sharp edge missing her by a hair's breadth.
Without hesitation, she retaliated. Her fingers tightened around her weapon as she spun, her blade carving through the air with calculated precision. Syura barely managed to raise his arm in time, deflecting the attack with the flat of his blade. Sparks flew from the impact, but Sheele pressed forward, relentless in her assault.
Syura snarled and teleported again, appearing several feet away to gain distance. He gripped his weapon tightly, a bead of sweat forming on his brow. This wasn't the sluggish, clumsy woman he had heard about. This was something else—something far deadlier.
"You're fast," he admitted, smirking despite himself. "But let's see how long you can keep up."
With a snap of his fingers, he activated Shambala once more, blinking in and out of existence, attempting to disorient her with unpredictable attacks. Yet Sheele remained composed, adjusting to his rhythm, her movements sharp and precise. Each time he reappeared, she was ready, dodging by the slimmest margins and striking back with unwavering focus.
Her mind analyzed his pattern with mechanical efficiency—this was no different from what Spy had drilled into her during their training. Disrupt the opponent's flow, force them into predictable reactions, and strike before they can recalibrate. Syura's teleportation was erratic, but not without rhythm, and she was starting to see it. A flash of energy, a subtle shift in the air—these were his tells. With every attack she dodged, she recalibrated, closing the gap between instinct and precision. Spy had taught her well, and Syura was beginning to realize he wasn't fighting a mere assassin—he was fighting a predator who had learned from one of the deadliest killers alive.
He gritted his teeth, the weight of the battle pressing down on him as his blood surged with frustration. He hadn't anticipated this. A simple scouting mission had turned into a death trap, and now he faced an opponent he couldn't afford to underestimate. His father had warned him about underestimating Night Raid, but the woman standing before him was nothing like what he had expected. This wasn't the timid, absent-minded fool that reports had described—this was something else entirely. A predator, sharp and focused, with an unsettling calm that sent a rare shiver down his spine.
Sheele stepped forward, the moonlight casting a glimmer across her glasses. Her stance was eerily composed, her movements precise. Gone was the clumsy, absent-minded woman he might have dismissed at first glance. She was a predator now. "You're out of options. Surrender."
Syura snarled. "Like hell I will."
He twisted the ring on his Teigu, Shambala, and in an instant, he vanished. A split-second later, he reappeared behind Sheele, his blade slashing toward her back. But before it could connect, a portal materialized in front of him, swallowing his weapon mid-swing. Confused, he barely had time to react before another portal opened above his head, spitting his own attack back at him. He jerked back, barely avoiding slicing his own throat.
Engineer emerged from the shadows, adjusting the settings on his modified teleporter glove. "Teleportation's tricky business, partner. Hope you don't mind me evenin' the odds."
Syura glared at him, eyes narrowing as realization struck. "What the—? You have a Teigu that does the same thing as mine?!" His shock quickly twisted into anger. "Tch. A filthy low-born playing with powers he doesn't understand."
"Oh, I understand plenty," Engineer said with a smirk, but his brow furrowed slightly. "But I ain't got no Teigu, partner. This here's just good ol' fashioned engineering."
Sheele blinked, momentarily thrown off. "Wait… it's not a Teigu?"
"Nope. Just somethin' I threw together." Engineer tapped the device. "Though, gotta say, this fella sure looks mighty confused 'bout it."
Syura's face twisted in rage. "You mean to tell me— you built something with the same abilities as a Teigu?! Do you have any idea how ridiculous that is?!"
Engineer chuckled. "Well, I did it, didn't I? Reckon that makes it possible."
The battle erupted into a chaotic dance of warping bodies and sudden strikes. Syura teleported in rapid bursts, trying to disorient his opponents, but every time he gained an advantage, Engineer countered by predicting his trajectory. Portals opened and closed, forcing Syura into unfavorable positions.
Sheele moved with eerie fluidity, each of her attacks cutting through the space he had occupied mere moments before. The assassin and the inventor worked in perfect tandem—one predicting, the other executing.
Syura felt sweat drip down his forehead. He was losing control of the fight. He couldn't keep up with the constant shifts in momentum. These two were working together too well, and if he stayed any longer, he was as good as dead.
"I've had enough of this shit," Syura growled. With a flick of his Teigu, he prepared to teleport miles away. Escape was his only chance.
But Engineer was faster.
A portal flickered into existence right in front of Syura's escape point. The warlord disappeared, but instead of reappearing at his chosen destination, his body was shunted into solid rock—a boulder just behind him.
For a heartbeat, there was silence. Then, a faint, muffled scream.
Syura's body spasmed, his limbs jerking uncontrollably as his lungs failed to draw air. His panicked struggles weakened, and his screams grew quieter. Within seconds, he was motionless, his form forever entombed in stone.
Engineer exhaled, shaking his head. "Told ya. Teleportation's a tricky business."
Sheele glanced at the rock, then at Engineer. "That was… efficient."
"Yup. And permanent. Kinda poetic, ain't it? Fella spends his whole life wormin' his way outta consequences, only to end up stuck in 'em forever."
Sheele raised an eyebrow. "Dark."
"Mhm," Engineer said, giving the rock a light knock. "Reckon he ain't goin' anywhere, though."
Sheele nodded in quiet understanding. The battle was over, and Syura would never threaten anyone again.
Then, after a beat, she asked, "...So, if your device isn't a Teigu, how did it do that?"
Engineer shrugged. "Hell if I know. I was just playin' around with it." He paused. "Might wanna run some tests before I use it again, though. Could be dangerous."
Sheele stared at him for a long moment, adjusting her glasses before letting out a sigh. "I think we already established that." She glanced at the rock, then back at Engineer. "Though, considering what just happened, maybe you should test that thing somewhere far away from people."
Engineer chuckled. "Yeah, reckon so. Don't need folks poppin' up inside walls. That'd be mighty inconvenient."
Sheele crossed her arms, her expression thoughtful. "Or inside people."
Engineer grimaced. "Alright, now that's just unsettling. But hey, silver linin'—at least we ain't gotta dig no grave."
Sheele considered that for a moment, then nodded with a smile. "Efficient, at least."
Engineer gave her a sideways glance, tipping his hard hat back slightly. "Y'know, you're startin' to remind me of someone back home. Miss Pauling—sharp, efficient, real good at dealin' with problems permanent-like."
Sheele tilted her head slightly. "Miss Pauling?"
"Yeah. She's got a real polite way of handlin' nasty business." Engineer chuckled. "Think you two'd get along just fine."
Sheele adjusted her glasses, considering the thought. "That doesn't sound so bad."
Engineer bent down, prying Shambala from Syura's lifeless grip. He examined it closely, his eyes narrowing with interest. "Huh… reckon this little gizmo might come in handy. Could help me and Medic tweak the portal gun a bit."
Sheele glanced at the artifact, then at the stone-encased corpse. "Do you think it'll work for you?"
"Only one way to find out," Engineer said, slipping it into his belt. "C'mon, let's head back. This mountain air ain't gettin' any warmer."