Droids.

Niko regarded the automatons and the man they accompanied with mild disdain. His eyes had scoured the armoured suit, the restored and cared for weapons, the layers of crutches and augmentations that the man wrapped himself in. Compensations. Boons worn to make up for the shortcomings of the man beneath.

He wore no such accoutrements, and needed no such trinkets. His clothing was sturdy but simple, rugged clothes for a rugged man, engaged in a rugged line of work. The battered meshweave was for utility more than protection, and the rough-spun cloak slung across his shoulders was there only to withstand the elements. The blaster carbine hung at his side was an old and proven design, one that relied on the skill of it's user rather than the sophistication of it's technology to get the job done. It was a last resort however, there only for when Niko's other talents proved ineffective. Vibroblades. Electrobatons. Weapons that required on skill and strength, on the ability of the warrior holding them to be a man. Anyone could take a life with a blaster in their hands, but there was a special bond that came between a hunter and a victim when it was your own muscles, your own prowess, your own terrifying capabilities that drained the life from their eyes mere inches from your face.

Niko extracted himself from the wall where he had been leaning, and fell silently into step behind the machines as they advanced into the lair of the Baroness.