Freya was a bit confused by Duncan's response. She was just giving him a hard time about the gun, but he did seem to have a sort of sadness about him. Untouchable? Curious. What kind of things had he touched to have that kind of mindset? Her thoughts, broken as they already were, fell apart when Syrus started speaking.

Freya cast her eyes toward Syrus for his self-introduction, sizing him up as he did so. Rank six? Uh, what did ranks means again? Hers was three? Two? Four? Something lower, but she wasn't about to fall in the lines of any kind of hierarchical numbers. Those were the worst kinds of numbers, besides the ones that came next to shapes she never quite understood. Anyways, two gunblades, huh? A serious case of overcompensating, more like. And Phoenix. Phoenix? Where had she heard about that before? Some kind of fire bird that grants wishes. Rebirth, relive, and redie. She didn't like that. She wanted what she killed to stay dead. Fight, kill, and die. That's how it should be. Mucking with that wasn't fair.

**"Well, nice to meet ya,"** she replied concisely. It was all she could get in before the topic turned over to the contact. 

Freya snapped shut her talking ears and opened up her listeners for a moment, because honestly she hadn't read any memos, reports, or the words of people talking directly to her face. It was mission stuff -- stealth mission stuff -- and she shut down until something interesting popped up. And something interesting did pop up, or rather, fizzle in through the intercom.

**"Pheeeew,"** she whistled at Syrus. **"In bed with the Galbadians, huh? Now I'm interested! Syrus Cromwell, Seed Rank six, castrated by court martial. Rolls right off the tongue, onto the chopping block."**