"[b]Ah, the notorious Arsenic and Ghost. Any complaints to add, or can I continue?[/b]" Ghost snorted at the description; he of all people would hopefully not be such a thing. For someone whose specialty was not being seen he shouldn't be very well known at all. He made a rolling motion with his hand to show he had nothing to say, which was not necessarily true but he had little to say that would actually add to the conversation. He looked up to the strangely-dressed man as the talking continued, many different voices adding more and more contributions both insightful and meaningless.

His memory dribbled back to him the more he observed his fellow former Operatives. Hannibal droned on toward their host and Ghost. He barely paid attention to him, instead looking around aimlessly. He was glad, at least, he had misinterpreted what the man had said and was not going to have to go to Russia. He did not like the idea of stealing from the American Government, as his kind was already their most wanted, but it seemed he had little choice. As the man went on, he wondered what the man would think to offer him. He cared little for money or personal possession, as he could get his hands on practically whatever he wanted on his own. 

The quiet man was lost to his own musings as the conversation went in circles. He looked at each person in turn as they spook, each comment making him remember more about who spoke them. Hannibal's continued rambling reminded him that the beast was actually much more well-rounded than his appearance led them to believe. It was, however, just another dot on his ego chart, and his arrogant tone and swagger left a bitter taste in Ghost’s mouth. Citrine was an ambiguous figure to him. He knew she could sense him whenever he was invisible to due her empathetic abilities, and that kind of knowledge made him uneasy. Still, if he remembered correctly she was pretty agreeable. Cheshire was just an odd ball who Ghost had never understood. Arsenic was an angry one, but he couldn’t remember ever being the source of her ire. Altar had one of those techno abilities that he never trusted, and he seemed to accept being under this man’s thumb too easily for Ghost to like. 

Hannibal's departure did not surprise him in the least. Ghost watched him go, hoping that that the beast didn’t take their only way of viable escape, but something told him he wouldn’t get out of this that easily. Laraxis might not be able to pull the trigger on Hannibal but that didn’t change his own situation. The group was dismissed, and Ghost trailed behind in a fashion befitting his code name.

The armory was just as he expected it; stocked to the brim. A multitude of guns graced the walls and glass cases, as well as more than a few martial weapons. Ghost himself had never specialized with any archaic weapons himself and he held the belief that they were useless for someone like him who fought enemies that wielded guns. At her seemed interest he remember that Citrine wielded such a weapon and that she knew how to use it. He was much more drawn to the case of small automatic weapons, which held a sinister looking uzi that caught his eye. His gaze lingered on the case before he shambled his way over to the locker that read his name.

After observing the others, Ghost placed his hand on the locker and it pinged open. “[b]Look! Look! I'm the Cheshire Cat![/b]” His head swiveled lazily to take in the sight of the woman in comically colored clothes. He saw Citrine’s coat, quite similar, and held back a groan as he wondered what was within his own locker. A large sheet with cut out holes, perhaps?

He swung the door open, and pulled out a clear rain poncho. He snorted as he realised it must have been a joke because there was more behind it. Most of the clothing given to him was, shockingly, white. He rolled his eyes, preferring the clothing he was already wearing over the ‘luxurious’ clothing being offered. He rolled his eyes, pawing passed the jacket and horrendously matching pants to see if there was anything useful inside. FInding nothing, he closed it and strolled to the case containing a few machine pistols. “Maybe you’re right, Cheshire, and were all going to be supervillains.” He said over his shoulders in reference to the outfits.