[@cpldingo]

Wolfe would recognize some of the guns in the armory. 

Most, however, were not standard issue arms. 

Most seemed normal enough to the untrained eye, perhaps so that agents in the field would not draw attention, however because Wolfe was taking things apart, cleaning, looking closely at each part, he would certainly notice that most of the weapons were [i]different.[/i]

Some were perfectly normal.

Others were... Different. Variations. Some had strange symbols etched in strange places. Some made of materials he didn't recognize. One gun had a small blade where the trigger should be... As if the weapon needed blood to fire instead of bullets. 

Then there were the archaic weapons... Bows... Spears... Swords... How long had these been rotting in this armory?

The two men seemed to be alone. They would perhaps, at some point, get the feeling that they were being watched. 

Icarus appeared, as if from nowhere. Simply sitting next to them, saying nothing, watching them clean the guns. He was stout and bald. He wore a tank top that exposed his muscular arms, and plain black pants, black combat boots. The strong silent type might have fit in with the military men... Were it not for the feral look in his quiet eyes or the strange artworks that covered his skin. 

If the men looked at Icarus straight on they could admire his many and intricate tattoos... If they looked away, they would see the images on the man's skin ripple and shift as if the pictures were moving... A sparrow on his forearm turned to look at Wolfe...  Yet if they looked back at the man directly the images would be still... Had the sparrow been that way the whole time?

After awhile Icaus would move down the isle of cleaned weapons, as if inspecting their work. He had the shadow of a smirk upon his lips as he looked over the weapons.