He could get behind this spontaneous transportation, Liption decided, as Scorpion finished off the blade-man that he'd kicked and Lipton lunged in (very reminiscently of the sort of drills they'd run after the order to affix bayonets, really) to stab the man he'd punched in the throat. He pulled the knife loose, blood bubbling out to the surface, and then had to back away as the thing flailed as it crumpled to the floor.

He was absolutely certain, when he caught Scorpion's eye, that this wasn't quite the Hanzo that he'd seen marry Sonya on the island. He seemed to recognize him, but if the pupil-less eyes hadn't given the difference away, the apathy would have. "Thanks again," an edge of dry humour to his words, more for himself than for Scorpion.

Eyes sweeping their surroundings, Lipton moved to stand beside Sonya as the Major broke the neck of one of the bladed things. He kept his face impassive, but that sound wasn't one he was particularly fond of. Better than the alternative, of course, but his wartime experience was with planes, tanks, guns, foxholes, and artillery. He was acclimatized to violence, gruesome wounds, and death, but it still struck him.