Her mind spun from all the information she'd taken in, but Scout couldn't say she was affected or impacted. It was certainly a more fantastical explanation than what she'd been expecting, but it wasn't anything unfathomable. It was like finding out that the part she'd been looking for had already been replaced by a larger, better model.

It was more unsettling thinking about how much she'd left behind. She already missed her mom, her room, her friends- s**t don't imagine your mom crying, don't-

The cave is ugly, that's what she thinks. The glowing crystals interest her; she immediately puts her hand on one and is surprised to find no heat output. So how do they keep it cool? Where's the bulb anyways? The runics interest her too- how long did it take someone to painstakingly carve those into the cave wall? Into the steel guarding a pedestal that holds nothing? She wants to break it all down, know how it works, piece it apart. Every clock had gears, every car had pistons and parts. Nothing was a complete whole; even the human body was composed of organs and cells.

She approached the wall feeling somewhat reverent, hand running over the smooth wall. There are hundreds of squares and with each one she touches she hears another whispering voice. It scares her, honestly. She came here to get rid of the shadows, not make more. Had she been lied to? Was this a trap?

Her hand falls on one that depicted a blue gun. At least she thought it was a gun- some of the shapes were so foreign to her that the familiar ones were beginning to blur. The blue glow reflected in her eyes and she felt a deep connection, an accustomed feeling almost. Like it was meant for her.

< I am. >

She kept her fingers on the plate confidently, watching the stone with a pensive look. The voices before had been wispy, vague. This one was clear, stark. It had a youthfulness to her that she hadn't recognized in the shadows thusfar.

< Do you understand? >

"Not really," she said honestly. "Who are you? Are you one of them?"

< Them? Them? I am what I am. >

Scout pressed further into the stone (not intentionally, mostly just leaning on the plate as the conversation went on- if it could be called a conversation) and the tablet disappeared small flecks of blue light taking its place. Scout blinked, surprised for the first time since coming to the island. There had been no spring mechanism, no noise, no light. She had to ask how that worked later.

This was a secondary thought, as she now had a sniper rifle in her hand, which was equal parts terrifying and fascinating. The solid metal in her hands made it all somehow more real; she really was on an island of crazy monster hunters, she really was never going to go back to her old life, she really was special, different, sacred. Fascinating- the rifle had so many parts; her fingers itched to pull, tug, twist, tear, bolt, unscrew ever part and piece until she had broken it down to mere components.

< I am the weapon! >

Scout nodded, having already made the connection. She was shocked, certainly, but listening quietly and waiting before being overwhelmed.

< We are now bonded! >

Scout nodded again.

< My name is Rigor Mortis. >

Another nod.

< Are you going to say anything ... >

"Sorry ..." She had figured out how to pop one of the metal plates off, and she clicked it back in place with satisfaction.

< Oh no it's okay! Sorry, sorry. >

They sat in silence for a few moments as Scout clicked the pieces. It was a comfortable sort of silence, with Scout letting her mind absorb the massive amounts of information she'd inhaled today while Rigor watched her curiously.

Scout was satisfied with the minor amount she'd learned in a short time (she would definitely be coming back to it, but there was a hunter at the top of the stairs yelling at her to not spend too much time in the weapons cove and Rigor insisted she comply). < Rules are important! > she parroted. Scout nodded.

As she walked up the stairs, Rigor prattled off the various aspects of wielding a weapon- how to summon her and desummon her, how to load a charge, how they could communicate wordlessly...

< Sorry am I talking too much? Did I do something wrong? > Rigor's worry carried over in their voice- it was their first time bonding with someone (not that they would know) and they were nervous, wanting to nail the impression on the first try.

No you're fine. I'm quiet, sorry. You can keep talking, I like your voice.

< Oh ... thank you! >