He stands over the body, looking along the length of it, trying to parse what he’s seeing. There’s something so powerfully alien about it, so strange that neither his brain nor the implants augmenting it can accept it at first. The sight mangled ‘bot of the mangled bot makes something fizz in his implant, like the beginning of a headache. It hurts to look at.

With a huff of irritation, the Rake turns away from the table.

“Opportunity… implies impulse, right?” he says, as he massages his temple with two fingers, feeling the faint resistance of the circuitry beneath his skin.

If all they knew about the White Rose was that he - they - used weapons of opportunity, they didn’t know much at all. The White Rose didn’t leave clues, didn’t get caught on CCTV, had never been glimpsed by a witness.

“No one… operating on impulse would be able to be this clean. Unless someone was cleaning up after ‘em.”