A small head tilted, the floating robot landing upon the exposed roof of a crumbling building.

-- weapons that blew stone apart like cheap glass.

". . . . . New faces."

"Unit O.D.I.N. online. Hrm. Strange."

[Target array aligned. Firing.] Oh wow, there goes a caravan of weapons . . . and the road . . . and the surrounding five miles.

"It is very quiet."

". . . . . . Still so quiet. Maybe I should travel . . ."

-- towns dot the land, surrounding a basin easily as sizable as Massachusetts.

"Mrm."

"Ah. I should practice more . . ."