Gallan had just finished twisting the last tank's barrel into a corkscrew before he heard a blood curdling scream. His first thought was his partner being hurt. He yanked the controls left to rotate around, Enoch rotating at his torso. His eyes widened, yelling into his communicator without thinking.<br/><br/>"RAZ, ARE YOU..." and then his face grew docile. She was obliterating no more than three men using what seemed to be an end all weapon. She was screaming out of pure hatred, not pain or fear. Her face was stone and rage. Gallan waited for her to reduce fully grown gang members into little more than smears on the floor. The cannisters exploded, her kill count rose, and Gallan's concern followed. It was only when she had finished, coming down from her rage that Gallan's mind began to process regularly.<br/><br/>He analyzed his own thoughts. His first thought that his partner was in trouble, strange for him to think. Were they partners? It certainly didn't seem that way. She took orders. Dispite his polite requesting tone, she was still a weapon taking orders. She operated robotically, not dynamically. But was that what Gallan wanted?<br/><br/>"RA271! Explain what the hell just happened! THAT'S AN ORDER!" He walked forward two steps in Enoch, it's large black visor staring down at the weapon. Gallan studied her heavily breathing form, her hands still clenched on her swords.<br/><br/>He was angry, unreasonably angry. He could not have a highly dangerous weapon with an anger problem. To Gallan, it seemed, Raz was unstable. This could be an emense problem. Especially the overkill.