"You don't send scouts out alone unless you don't want them coming back. One is none, two is one."

A quick patdown of the dead tribal reveals a club and a pistol that, for all intents and purposes, looks like it came right from the mind of John Moses Browning.

Voodoo lets out a low whistle as he ejects the magazine and racks the slide, catching the round that flies out of the ejection port before holding it up to the light. "Where did you get a piece like this?"

It's not a question that he'll get an answer to - at least, not from this guy. And so, with a shrug, Voodoo puts the round back in the magazine before re-inserting it into the butt and racking the slide. He holds it by the barrel and turns to the group, hand outstretched.

"Any takers? He don't need it no more."