Sigma hesitates before answering. "...In the first week, yes. My arms are not organic." He is certain, a metal eye decorating his face and all, he does not need to explain himself to Phillip. "My body is considerably stronger than it appears. Of course, even beasts believe an elderly man is an easy target; I suffered a bite or two for their mistake, but that will not kill me." He displays a rip in the side of his sleeve nonchalantly... before his face creases with concern. "...But the animals have changed, recently. I may still be able to take them down, but the marked shift in behavior is... alarming, to say the least."

As though the mutts were 'programmed' to become more aggressive as time marched on. What sort of creatures would they deal with as the Arena drew to a close? The thought is cut short as Sigma finds his cave, a hole dug downwards into the megalith by eons of some species' burrowing instinct. It was wide enough for two people, but it might be a bit of a tight squeeze. "Ah, vacancies. Excellent."