In the same way that negation gas does nothing to mute Wolfgang's ability, there is no magic woven into the make of the hunterbot, which does not mean that magic cannot affect it. There is too much certainty and belief in the way his own magic functions against machinery for the dream world to offer up any counter, and as coldness grips intangible fingers around the mechanics of the robot, steam suddenly floods with an unwilling hiss, almost drowning out the noxious yellow it had began emitting. Momentum of state of the art technology has the hunterbot surging forward, leaping-- it cannot fly, but it can jump, and other things one might not expect of human technology-- before something disables.

The needle misses its target, sense of heat-based vision obscures, internal compass shorting out, and the thing is in for a clumsy landing, but not before one powerful shoulder clashes with the rickety fire escape. It does not drag the structure down as it may have been calculating, but steel screeches and groans, shaking beneath Wolfgang's hands and feet and close to knocking him free. Judging by the thrash of metal tail below, the creature is not utterly down for the count.

Below is a storm of metal, steam, and yellow vapour. Above, two hands spring from the shadows and grip the fabric at Wolfgang's shoulder, another on his arm. The rest of Benji resolves rather quickly, all fear-paleness and greasy black curls, and she hauls Wolfgang that last foot towards the edge of the rooftop where they may spill their way over the edge and out of harm's way. Or so goes the theory.