A simple-- if suspicious-- sight to most, the syringe is perhaps the most beautiful thing Rex has laid eyes on since arriving at Baedal. It's hard to mask his glee-- the slow (creepy) smile that graces his face says enough about what he thinks. He reaches out, then seems to break the spell, withdrawing his hand to oh, so casually scratch at his neck.

"I think I know exactly what that is." A beat. "It's mine."

Nanomites. Programmed for what purpose, he doesn't know yet. They could be destructive, or they could be used to enhance his subject. Whatever the function, he knows that this is the only supply he'll have for a good long time. The technology in Baedal simply isn't advanced enough to even begin the groundwork of nanomite production.

This? This is a gift.

Maybe he should believe in the gods, after all.