Banshee-44 stood at his workbench in the Tower's bustling courtyard, surrounded by an array of weapon parts, tools, and half-finished firearms. The Exo gunsmith's metal fingers moved deftly as he meticulously disassembled a scout rifle, muttering to himself as he inspected the inner workings.

“Scout rifles… always need some TLC,” he grumbled in his raspy, synthetic voice. “Precision, that’s what we’re after. None of that spray-and-pray nonsense.”