<strong>The Tombs, Saint Claude</strong><br/><br/>"Come in." called Claude as he heard someone knocking on his door. The walls of the room were lined with weapons, most were for general use of the people given permission to use guns in the day to day duties of survival, some were weapons that belonged to particular people. Weapons he was repairing or fixing or doing some kind of modification or maintenance. The Saint had plenty of his own weapons, he had a generous collection of weapons before the outbreak, after the outbreak he had his choice of Police Stations and Military units to plunder. Two dozen automatic rifles and ammo to match were good "let me join" presents, that ammo had ran out quickly enough, before some people realized just what rationed supplies really meant.<br/><br/>Saint Claude was adorned in a black armoured bodyglove. He had a facemask but he wasn't wearing it, no need. The digital age was over, there was no record of who he was or who he used to be. His life was his and his alone, he was just Saint Claude now. He had been sitting at a table in the very center of the room and swiveled around in his chair once he heard the door opening. When she stepped in Saint Claude nodded his head towards a workstation on the left side of the room. "Ready for collection." he replied, the suit didn't have any outwardly visible electric components but his voice an electric twang to it. Mona Temple had seen the wars, she had the battlescars. The Saint could respect that, respect her. He eventually rose from his seated position, the man was a walking armoury. Even in the safety of the base. He had a pair of pistols strapped under his arms, his hips and a smaller pair on his legs. Nevermind the knives and other tid-bits.