Ginger recalibrates a tac-pad on his left wrist, likely checking the status of his armor. He then extends his right arm out, a blue halo forming around his closed fist, and suddenly, a shotgun forms in his hand. The beast is thick, grey, and blocky, almost as if it was built for him specifically instead of a human, and the nozzle spreads outwards like a dish. The gravity shotgun had long been a staple of Ginger's Arsenal, but it had been many years since he had required it's services. "Alright, well I'm off. Help yourself to anything on that ship."