Ramona's flesh eye roamed the room as she put the scene together in her head, matching it against what the Skitarii claimed happened. Cause of death was obvious, though there was still more that could be found there. Ramona reached into the pack concealed beneath her topcoat, retrieving a battered but still very much functional servo-skull, half the teeth still in its upper jaw plated with gaudy silver and gold, from within. With a soft grunt, she twisted it's activation switch, and with a droning hum it lifted from her hand, dangling manipulator tendrils twitching to life. With a terse command, Ramona set it to work gathering the fragments of the rounds that had ended the Archmagos' life.

That left the rest of the shots. One round deflected-- there it was, half-embedded in the Machine Cult shrine on the north wall. The other had lodged in Toros' armor, however briefly, before skating off and losing its momentum to tumble to the floor, whatever was left of its propellant singeing part of the blue carpet a charred black before sputtering out. The third... there shouldn't have been a third. It had left her corpse, but never entered. An interesting trick. A fascinating mystery.

Damned maddening, is what it was.

As Ramona's attention turned to the door, her interest piqued. Here was something that might lead them to answers, and as she pushed herself to her feet to investigate closer she was already running through possibilities. With a flick of her wrist, a thin, narrow blade was suddenly glinting in her hand, which she used to lift one of the flecks of paint from the door.

"Someone's boots're in a sorry state." If one didn't know better, they'd think Ramona was admonishing their unknown killer on a job ill-done.