He had a point. Enigma mulled over the idea for a moment, silently pulling the stray leaves off the branch with a strange meticulousness as they walked.

"I've never been one to dabble in the magic sort of arts," Enigma mused aloud, plucking another leaf off the branch. "Though there is a saying: When in Rome, do as the Romans do."

He wasn't particularly fond of the idea, and it showed with the rather displeased frown spanning his half-covered features. He'd seen what sort of destruction Morgaine had done with magic. She flattened Europe. Granted, it was when they all had their god powers, but magic was still magic. He wasn't fond of it before the Trinity ordeal, and he certainly wasn't fond of it afterward.

"However," he added, "I cannot deny the uses controlling fire would have, scientifically at least." His mind was rolling with a few ideas, even the possibility of smelting his own metal. Yet there was one point his painted friend made. Muggers. Enigma was accustomed to seeing it all around him, but he'd made a stand against them. And this time, he didn't have to worry about the Syndicate burning off the other half of his face or attempting to murder his daughter.

"And you have a very valid point," Enigma agreed. "Why not continue our work here? Even if it involves magic."