The small machine remains motionless on the counter as Alex looks at some pendant he brought, I guess, only to suddenly whir to life at the mention of "fighters", almost as though it were a codeword, its eyes flutter open, giving off a faint red glow. The small device sits up, almost like a dog, and emits a rather high-pitched voice recording, the syllables fit together awkwardly, as though forcefully spliced together
"Greetings, combat, ordinary, yes? Intent, combat, for entertainment?"