R2 Moriarty coffin

"Do you think it was a coincidence?" Moriarty asked. With one hand, he heaved an oblong wooden box onto his shoulder, eight feet long and wide-built. "That as you were flying, a plane flew in your path, and you fell exactly where I was waiting to ambush you? I charted that plane's course, Hale. I calculated where you would fall. I took care of every one of those pathetic mercenaries so nobody could get between you and me."

"Alright, poindexter, what do you want?" Saxton put his fists up, getting into a peekaboo stance. "I don't have any money, and if you want a good fight you aren't going to get it like that. Be straight with me."

Moriarty adjusted his glasses. "You are, or were, the CEO of Mann Co. You have something that not even your creditors know about--the Mann Australium supply."

Impossible. Instinctively, Hale brought his hand down against his thigh, to pat his pocket--

"--In your pocket, is it? A keycard, a password? I suspected you'd need something to help you remember it. From what I heard, you didn't exactly get the Australian intellect. Ah, well."

The lid of the box opened slightly. From within, Saxton saw a glint of dark metal.

"I'd put that Australium to much better use."

Inside the coffinlike box was a minigun. Three thousand rounds per minute, fifty rounds per second.

[...]

Moriarty let the barrel spin down and allowed the smoke to clear. Crumpled metal balls were scattered across the floor like piles of marbles, and in the center was Saxton Hale. His fists were still raised, but bloody and scraped. The fingers on his left hand were not closing all the way anymore.

"Heh... Mann Co. bullets..." Saxton cracked his neck. "Accept no substitutes."

"Sure, sure, rah rah capitalism and all that. Let's try the rifle..."

The bulky barrel slipped back into the coffin, quickly replaced by a longer, thinner model. Something resembling an elephant gun.