The Reichsritter's head turned to look back where he came from, where the wreckage of the mobile armor still cooled(although not much, it [i]was[/i] a desert), before turning back to the Moloch. Then it looked back at the place it came from, then again to the Moloch. Then it repeated the cycle for a final time as the speakers crackled to life once more. "Jonathan. I'm a fucking cook. I win fucking awards for my fucking delicious pastries." Jonathan's arms flicked over the set of keys in front of him, turning down the electrical warfare suite and ordering his massive robot to sheath the bastard sword. It complied, the blade sliding away with the same hiss of well oiled parts. Jonathan then cut the speakers, switching over to his radio and prompting the Moloch to open a channel.