The Angel of War quickdrew its revolver and fan-fired five shots like a character from a western. It does not visibly turn its head to look. Then it begins methodically reloading its gun without comment. The sheer confidence and speed of the gesture is spellbinding and intimidating; all the skill of ballistics reduced to a mathematical formulae around which a machine has been constructed. It almost doesn't feel worth checking to see how it did.

But - it was? The machine is not firing its standard issue precision lasers; it is firing a crude hand-made revolver and the gun's poor condition has done what range and distance could not. There is a random spread of those shots around the tree, none of them quite a bulls-eye. There is a chance.

"Naturally!" said the Angel of War, not missing a beat from when it fired. "But MISSION_OBJECTIVE is the annexation of the great land of California, so unfortunately that must be appended to the conditions of victory!"

--

"Make sure the - cat is okay?" said Harvest, standing up. "Why? Is it injured?"