[Yeah, opening an armory and releasing even more weapons sounds like a bad time all around, especially when they don't know who would be using them. Carlisle turns a circle, pacing to jog his brain, his eyes landing on his little brigade of minions (15 and half a skeleton).]

What if we hid them out here? Come back for them once we know where, in Anchor, we can store them? You're good with —[he makes a vague gesture with one hand]— technology. Surely you can come up with some way to seal off a room from prying eyes.