"Stay with me." Hyperlaser commanded, glaring up at the larger man behind the tinted visor.

Recently, the mercenary has done this a few too many times now. Usually, he'd slip into a corner of the map and snipe from there, getting hunted down by fellow ranged relentlessly because of it. Perhaps his newfound clinginess could be blamed on that, but that doesn't feel like that's the case, as shallow of a reasoning as that may be.

Perhaps it's how he insists on it, regardless of the map. Maybe it's the somehow softer tone, or the fact that he speaks on his own accord at all. Blackrock people are either full of themselves or only speak unless spoken to, Hyperlaser proving to be an outlier now.

He almost breaks his form to lean onto Katana. Almost. His hardwired training wouldn't allow it, and he stands firm despite the thought flashing cross him, only shown in a shifting of his weight.

The teams wait for the buzzer at either end of Banlands. The swords watch with a keen eye, wherever they may be. Cameramen sit above. With Banhammer, yet another tank, Biograft, a murder machine, and Sword on their team, if they can play their cards right, it should be an easy win. Especially against the other team, whom of which is comprised of Medkit, Subspace, Shuriken, Skateboard, and Slingshot.