The cache seems to be a random mix of new and repaired items all from different points in time and realities. None of the objects have an instruction manual, but most of them should be at least vaguely familiar in that there's an end you point away from yourself and a trigger-like mechanism.

"I can't shoot or fight, but I'm good with conjure. I get how the talismans are supposed to work and I came with a few things of my own. You all willing to use what I brought?"

"I'm familiar with some conjure?" Robin says, suddenly thoughtful. "I'm an exorcist, it's hard to go without picking up a few things in the line of duty ..." She rubs at the wrist of her left hand, twice around the width of it. "I know enough to know that's not something I'd be comfortable people relying on me for in a crisis, however." Hard to do that if you can't rely on yourself to follow through, after all.

With a shake of her head, she adds, "I can fight well enough to keep people safe," and reconsiders the weapons cache, lifting a sticklike device up out of the collection with her left hand and hefting it carefully. Just in case. At least she'll have something to fall back on. It's not a bad idea. "And if you've brought something you think we need, I'm willing. I wouldn't know where to start," she finishes, offering Ki - and the rest of the group - an open, self-deprecating smile.

"Thank you," Robin says, with gormless gratitude, "... Hellsing? And who is that?" (Well, if anyone wanted confirmation that Robin here is hella new, they just got it.)

Robin's ???? is audible. "I don't imagine that's Mister Hellboy's organization, is it?"

It's half a joke and half serious. The names are similar maybe he runs it!!!! Just because the very thought is silly doesn't mean it isn't possible!

Robin waves. "It's the angry man," she says, by way of greeting - and explanation for those who didn't pick up on it themselves, apparently people like that might exist and Robin wouldn't want them to be left confused.

"We should get you a t-shirt." Guess who.

Eames comes in from a different direction as his significantly more put-together counterpart, looking rather like he rifled through the local second-hand clothes shop until he found the ugliest shirt short of Hawaiian print, which he has blessedly half covered with a jacket (and yet it works, somehow). He's armed, but not blatantly so, and headed for the weapons cache, thank you.

"Maybe a lapel pin," he amends, as if Arthur might actually wear a 'The Angry Man' lapel. "Hello," he adds to the group with a wave.

"Hello." Arthur sounds a bit flat in affect, but it's nothing personal, he just talks that way. That he's giving his teammate a Look while addressing the group at large is purely coincidence, surely. Why must you encourage this mouthy guy, Eames. Why. Oh wait, it's because you're a giant pain in the ass.

Without actually smiling, he manages next to express a moment of neighbourly acceptance of what he hopes is not the beginning of a trend of making fun of him for what he likes to think of as no reason. "All right... if everyone wouldn't mind showing off their Delta transmissions, we can get this show on the road." He's not exempting himself from this request, at least; his CiD's already out.

Jenny fishes out her CiD, scrolls through her message and holds her arm up and out, stretching. "I'm an ex-soldier. And...a bit more durable than baseline humans, thanks to some futuristic tweaking." She's not going to out herself, but at the same time she's not about to hold herself back at the expense of more squishable people. "Point me in a direction and I'll kick my way through. Or at least I figure that's why I was chosen."

To his credit, Arthur doesn't react negatively to the disparity between skill sets. He's not here to judge, only to participate and to guide where necessary. ...Well, okay, he may judge a little, but mostly he's wondering what kind of yutz just throws a bunch of random people together to do something that's allegedly so important, and in any case he's polite enough to leave that where it belongs: behind his poker face.

He does, however, stare at Alan until the man has moved out of his territorial space. Arthur isn't overly touchy about being touched, but seriously. Personal boundaries, sir.

"So far so good," he says, breaking the introductory combo to add in his two cents after Youko, at first speaking directly to her, then transitioning to an address of the entire crew. All of this comes out naturally, steadily, accompanied by the occasional smooth hand gestures of a man accustomed to this sort of discourse. "If that's a proper sidearm, you'll want to keep it as a last resort. Ammo's not easy to come by here, and intel suggests our targets won't be coming at us with anything especially heavy, at least as far as lead is concerned. So, whatever's in these crates should be suitable. Don't let that lull you into a false sense of security, though. These people are absolutely serious, and they will hurt you."
A brief pause.
"Actually, it's good to see some of you came prepared. If you didn't bring a utility belt, though, don't feel too bad—as you can see, you're not the only one running out there naked." Behold, a rare occurrence: a teeny tiny joke at his own expense. Derp, look at me, taking charge without so much as a pair of kneepads. (He is almost certainly doing this because there are ladies present.)

"Okay, who's next?"