A synthesized sigh filled the air behind them, as Zevion stood himself at a ninety degree angle from the target field, with only the right side of his body facing the range. His staff, with it's half cog emblem on top was resting pummel flat on the ground. From the folds of his red cloaks, he produced a custom bolter pistol from within, where the magazine should have been, was instead a chain of shells, each one blessed with a prayer of the Mechanicus. On top a red lazer tracker rested, his glowing red eye glinting as he took in the field, the dummies, and obsticles and algarithms, and then~<br/><br/><b>BOOM BOOM BOOM!</b><br/><br/>His aim, while not the best, at least landed on three seperate targets, his arm slowly arcing to the right, rather then up with the recoil. Servos and pistons in his shulders, back and elbow groaned in only mild protect, what few he had at least...<i>"Dawn the bracing properly, and turn it on, Fleshling."</i>The end of his sentense a clear, if not playful insult to the fallen man. When the captain went planet side to investigate anchent technology or the like, he had to tag along. So while not the greatest in either melee or aim, he had his experience.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>