Battle Hymn of the Republic

The Arditi moved like most of the clanker units did back in the Drathonian war, as Camilla would probably remember. Once it assumed a position in a squad, it moved in a very particular manner, as if taking the flank, point, or fire support had a specific program associated with it. Even the way it checked its corners were familiar. Were Arty placed next to another Arditi at point, they would likely match in movement, in step, and in stride.

Despite the robot's unusual responses and demeanor, it was still an Arditi. The former friend of marines, the hand of the grateful people.

As they approached the armory, and the halt was sounded, it spun on its spine to double check the command, before coming to a low crouch at the fore.
Arty looked down at its arms, poised to hold a SUGR.
Its arm coiled in, and its manipulator seized into a fist, the gently glowing blade extending.
The Arditi seemed to rotate its shoulders, and repeated this motion several times in a stand-by rhythm.

When the order came to move, Arty surged forth unlike any Arditi. With a blade arm statically floating in the socket, it loped forward on three limbs like a Marine brawler slavering for a fight. After a couple of strides, it came to its feet, keeping low and coming close to the hanger, and began circling ahead to reach the front entrance ahead like a bloodhound searching for its quarry.

Niall was a bit shocked at the behavior of this Arditi unit. Indeed, it had at first acted like any normal Arditi he'd seen in wartime holo footage, but then, suddenly, it, well, it Didin't. Blinking a couple of times and nearly stopping in his tracks, the young man from Ireshire gathered himself at the sound of the boots following up behind him and made his way with Arty to the armory door that they had decided to breach. First trying his handprint (Error!) and then a passcode that had worked the day prior (Error!), he seemed to be running out of ideas, before bringing his 2911 Laser pistol to bear on the locking mechanism and motioning the others to back up as he backpedaled a couple of strides and then took careful aim, bulling the trigger, which rewarded him with a bang and a flash, followed by the image of brightly melted metal. He kicked the door open and held his pistol up, but remained back so he could act as cover for the others to rush inside.

When they went inside, they would find themselves in the armory's front lobby, which was mostly empty, except for a few benches, a desk with an armored glass barrier, and two flanking armored doors that looked a little tougher than the one that Niall had just breached. However, there was one slight issue aside from the lack of any real features- there were four Planetary Guardsmen sitting on the benches, two on either side of the lobby door, and while they seemed to have been surprised, they were all starting to bring their arms swiftly to bear as the impromptu squad began their entry.

When the door opened, Arty went first, cutting the corner with a sharp precision. As was proper in breaching procedures, the wardroid went left first, leaving the next person to take the other wall. Without a proper weapon for these sorts of tactics, Arty couldn't address the targets on his side of the room effectively. So instead leading the train of a fusillade, the Arditi immediately kicked off the wall.
With a frightening form and speed, Arty went sprinting for the furthest guardsman, leaving the other three open for the rest of the squad as they breached the room.

"MOMMA SAID KNOCK YOU OUT," screeched Arty in a sine off of its speakers as it leapt into the air, the blade arm coiled back before firing the CQB sword out and burying it into the chest of the Guardsman. As the Arditi came down, it grasped the weapon the soldier had tried to rise against it, and pointed the barrel at the other revolutionaries.

Imp pulled the trigger of the pistol as she placed the head of the guard furthest from Arty into the perfect V of her weapon's sights - only for the pistol to fail to discharge. Barking out a bitter laugh - finally allowed to shoot someone herself and the weapon of all things refuses instead - the specialist threw the antique at her target with all the speed of a professional fast pitch.

The distance to the guard taking a face full of expired paper weight wasn't far - he was the closest on the left - and Imp moved and reacted faster than the carbon smear as she took two steps forward jerking him down by the shoulder while simultaneously driving her elbow into his ribs hard enough to slam the bone straight into his lungs.