Collaboration is something X is fairly familiar with--the Maverick Hunters were paramilitary bordering on official military, and Units worked together on missions where needed. But for something like this? The smaller the group, the better; no sense in taking unnecessary risks with this kind of consequence. X's buster shifts, the armour and internal plating rearranging to reform his hand, and X folds his arms as his brows knit thoughtfully.

"That explains the damages to panels along the walls, as well as why they were so intent on chasing me." And what of others on the ship? X's lips press into a thin line. Fiora, too; he's not sure how her systems operate, but she'd be just as much of a target as he is, undoubtedly. He'll have to reach out and check on her.

When Rinzler fixes him with that look--whatever it actually is, X can't tell, but he's starting to suspect analytical or assessing is the best way to read it--he unfolds his arms and straightens.

"What're you thinking?"