It certainly helps having someone taller to clear a way. Donnie drifts after him with a nod. He pats at his belt, slipping out a carbonized metal rod of sorts from the holster at his side. It's about the length of his forearm.

"Not that there's anything bad about planning," he says, being an avid planner, but he has to agree that there's something about fighting in close-quarters that comes off as more natural, all instinct, reflex, response.

"My name's Donatello. Mostly I just go by Donnie. Are you a melee fighter too?"