Zevion shrugged, stepping off to a nearby gear locker. It opened easily enough, all it needed was a wave of his hand and a silent prayer. From within he extracted a set of shoulder bracing pads, which looked like a combination of football player's shouldergear with slightly longer sleeves, almost reaching the elbows. "<i>Here, this should absorb the recoil of most infantry grade weaponry of hte heavy sort."</i>he intoned, his burly right arm tossing the rig at Torin as if it was a spare sweater... Which, in a sense it was... Which weighed an easy sixty pounds.<i>"Mobile targets, you say?"</i>Once more sounding more annoyed, then curious, as his lumbering steps brought him to a section of wall with a handprint painted on.<br/><br/>Depressing the painted panel gave way to a small control box. His right hand coming to rest upon it as the glow faded from his mech eye, and his fleshy one closed... Soon, a hum of motors filled the room, as some of the targets, which were mounted to foundations permanent to the deck, began to move, some going back and forth, others side to side, while still others spun circles about heavilly armored pillars. Eyes opening, he turned to the others.<i>"I trust, that this will suffic?"</i>In her current armor, the sister was perhaps the only person present, or on bourd for that matter, which could stand shoulder to shoulder with him, all others would have likely felt small in their combined, metalclad presence.<br/><br/>And as if on cue, his skull servo drifted into the hall of the range, rushing up to stare the ex lawman in the eye, before flicking over to invate the sister's space. The tech-priest himself was looking off to the side, listening to something errant on his vox... "<i>Hrm, another console on the bridge is acting up, Decka, inspect and relay findings."</i>He ordered, the servo stopping it's inspection of her to turn, regarding it's master a moment before departing, flying through the halls by way of grav-drives.<i>"Now... is there anything else I need assist you with?"</i>his head tilting, and one flesh brow arching with a hint of skeptisism. It was not likely they would pester him to play with guns.<br/><br/>The Skull servo, however, was making swift time in it's trip to the bridge, determined to find if it's master's presence was really needed there.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>