"Morphaal's back," Botland whispered. "I can't believe it."

He stood before a monochrome metallic door at the center of a dark hallway. He was slightly taller than six feet. His solid red powersuit covered his entire body-including his head. A black stripe rolled down the sides of his torso and legs.

If Morphaal was alive again, they'd have no choice but to track him down and kill him-for good this time.

Botland was flanked by two companions, one a cyborg known as Crysilis and the other a fully-armored ex-commander named Streamline.

"Any day now," Crysilis said. "What if I had to use the restroom?"

Botland glanced at the half-a-foot-shorter individual but didn't bother to respond. He knew that Crysilis was speaking in jest. His cybernetic body no longer had a digestive and excretory system. Although his body was old, he mentally remained youthful.

Crysilis' body was light and sturdy, splashed with a variety of blues. It was rigid on its edges yet smooth on its surface. Two antennas slowly retreated into the sides of his blockish helmet as he stared blankly at the door through his visor. He dropped his head in boredom.

"There's no need to wait any longer," Streamline said as he adjusted the strap to the Omega Blaster Rifle that hung across his back. "It's no longer a surprise attack, so we need to storm in and fight."

Streamline stood taller than both at 6 feet 8 inches tall. Shiny medals and insignias adorned Streamline's battle-worn plated armor. The armor had been black once upon a time, before decades of bloodstains had left it a muddy brown. He, too, wore a fully enclosed helmet, which hid his middle-aged face.

Botland stared placidly at the door, tracing a finger across its smooth surface. At last, he nodded in agreement. He pressed his finger against the door and shot a laser through it. The red beam matched the color of the gloved finger it came from, piercing the reinforced plating like a needle through butter.

Slowly, he guided his finger in an arch, the laser screeching through the sealed door.

Sparks reflected from Crysilis' light-blue visor as he watched, but he readied no weapon. Nor did Botland.

Streamline was a different story. He moved his Omega Blaster Rifle to his side and lifted its strap over his head to rest on his shoulder. Then he removed his Disrupter Pistol from its side holster to inspect it, twirling it in his hand briefly.

"Do you think he'll talk?" he asked the leader.

Botland, kneeling now, paused for a moment and looked up at Streamline. "He has no choice."

"And what if he didn't revive Morphaal?" Crysilis asked.

"I'll find out," Botland said.

Botland stood, his finger rising from the bottom of the door to complete the makeshift entrance.