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An elderly man, perhaps in his 70's or 80's, dressed in deep green dress clothes and glasses ambled his way through the Vanguard DPO within the Rikti Warzone. One would have expected a man of such small stature to be sauntering his way toward a lab, or an office, but, he was making his way toward the exit. His destination was outdoors. Little Round Top, to be precise. "Professor?" a younger male in a lab coat would jog to catch up to the elderly man's slow gait. "Oh, hello young man." the elderly gentleman stops and turns his attention to the younger scientist. British. Very British. The old man sounded like he was fresh off a flight from his homeland. "They told me they were bringing in a specialist, but I didn't think it was going to be ... you." the younger man says. "It's a matter of need, really. One of the forward teams had a building collapse on an armor rig." he tips his head to the right in slight. "...and they need the debris removed without alerting the enemy. No explosions." "...but, Professor, you're not exactly ... you know ..." "A spring chicken? Oh, I know, lad. Don't worry, though. Stronger 'hero' types patrol all the time. I'm sure a little old man will get an escort." he chuckles wryly. "That's not funny, Nick." the younger man says, not amused. "Lad ... " the older man, Nick, raises and rests his right hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Relax. It's going to take more than a few ugly little monkeys to stop me." "You can't fly, or shoot lasers from your eyes. You have an issue with STAIRS, Nick." he shakes his head, shrugging Nick's hand off of his shoulder. "This is careless, and you know it." "Get back to the lab, Jenkins. I'll be back in a few." he turns on his heel and makes his way out. Pavia and The Bulge remained well-defended, allowing the short statured senior to make his way out of the region without much issue. Looking about as he kept the same slow, sauntering pace, the sounds of explosions and weapon-fire permeated the air like the smoke and the stench of death. Straightening his off-gold tie and then adjusting his glasses, he'd look up as the concussion of a sonic-boom made his clothing whip about. A high-speed flying 'mask' was after a Rikti Drop Ship. "By Harry!" he raises his left hand to the top of his head, stopping his hair from moving about as he just ... kept on walking as slowly as he had been. Coming upon a squad of armored, armed, Vanguard specialists holding a small trench outside of a leveled building, one of them would dart over and hurry The Professor over behind one of the armored vehicles. "Thank whatever Gods exist, Doc. Welcome to hell!" the Vanguard that hurried him over removing his helmet and setting it on the hood of the truck. "You'll have to forgive me and the boys, here. We thought we had more time to get cheese and wine for your visit!" he shouts over the sound of the battlefield stretched around them in every direction. "Nothing so fancy, lad!" Nick responds. "Cucumber sandwiches and tea, perhaps!" he chuckles. "Is this the place?" he asks, turning his attention to the mess of rubble. "That's the one! One of our pilots drove one of our suits in there after one of the Monkey Commanders. Ugly bastard dropped the building down on the suit! Now, we're still getting a good read from the cams and systems, but, our drones weren't meant to hold up -buildings-, Doc!" "I wouldn't imagine so!" he turns and makes his way toward the rubble. "Give me some room, would you, lad?" he asks, waving his left hand some. The Vanguard 'superior' retrieved his helmet and replaced it as Nick approached the mess of concrete and twisted supports. Finally reaching it, the old man rolled his shoulders and stretched his left arm out to his side. Curling his fingers downward, a framework would begin to be drawn within his grasp, drawn in fluorescent green lines, the spaces would begin to fill. A rather simple looking bowler hat was held in Nick's left hand, turning it about and placing it over his head. "Translating ... " his voice sounding deeper and more vivacious, taking to his right knee. His entire form being encased in a blue-green bubble, sparking and crackling as dust made contact with it, with a sharp 'pip' sound, the bubble would burst. Standing where the elderly man once stood was a well-built man in his 20's, perhaps. The tails of his vest had grown, his moustache straightening and curling upward slightly. He looked like he'd stepped out of 1950's Britain. Tweed suit, perfectly bow-tied shoe-laces, and no more glasses. Reaching both hands up and resting both open palms upon the pile of debris. Within seconds, the same green wireframe would begin to be drawn around the whole of the pile of milled stone and metal, the eyes of the man-out-of-time blazing in what appeared to be green flames. Splits in his exposed forearms were seen forming, green light leaking out from the new cracks before the same 'flames' would vent from them like small jets. With the show of light and fire, the debris trapped within the green 'frame' would begin to shake without sound, it's very existence being shaken and displaced, looking like a colorless, poorly done 3-D image being shaken back and forth rapidly. "Trans ... lating ... " he chokes out, knees quivering as he spread his arms to his sides, appearing to be fighting against a heavy unseen force. The shadow of the debris was no longer visible, light passing between the very atoms that made up the wreckage. "Holy ... mother of ... " the commander being stunned at what he was seeing. Clapping his hands together, Nick's green flames would extinguish instantly, but the largest change was the collapse of the debris without even a sound. The wireframe and all that was within had been ... erased. Tech scans of the area would read high-yield non-ionizing radiation. Research of the area indicated that the very matter of the debris had been converted, 1-to-1, to energy, and left to disperse over time, as energy is want to do. Dropping to his knees immediately after the 'collapse', Nick's own image began to flutter back and forth within a short space. "Doc!" the commander shouts, sprinting over to him. "BACK!" Nick responds loudly. "STAY BACK!" which caused the commander slow to a stop about halfway to Nick. "Doc? What's goin' on, here?" "Overflow." the 'chap' responds through his teeth. With the debris now gone, they could have removed their armor, however ... the Rikti that had brought down the building, had done so on top of himself, as well. With the debris now gone, the sound of automatic plasma weapon fire erupts from where the debris once stood. Nick stood immediately, spreading his arms, taking four of the six shots and staggering backward. The remaining two, luckily, planted themselves into the side of the APC. "Make a hole!" the commander shouts, taking to his knee and shouldering his rifle. The other Vanguard operatives turned to train their weapons in the Rikti's direction, though, Nick's back was in the way. "Doc! Move!" "I don't much ... care ... " Nick starts, standing upright and rolling his shoulders once more. " ... for the cut of your jib, sir!" Nick shouts at the Rikti, putting his hands up like an old timey pugilist. A boxer. Fists closed and turned upward. As he took this stance, the splits in his skin began to vent out more green flames, each streaming out an inch or two from his body. The Rikti Rifleman takes three more shots, and with both blinding speed, and trails of green light, Nick would knock the plasma bolts aside with his fists. The Rifleman took a step backward. Just one. This made Nick grin from ear to ear, even as the Rikti unloaded the remaining twenty-six rounds from his plasma-rifle. Nick stepped TOWARD the shots with each swing, causing the bolts to go flying and arcing off into the distance to explode, in most cases, a quarter of a mile away. His hands and arms were moving faster than the short period of time between each rifle blast. Parts of his shirt and vest were being sheared off with the speed of each swing. CLICK The Rikti Rifle clicks, the shooter looking down at his weapon, and then back up to Nick, who was now within reach. With a wink, Nick cocked his right hand back and took one swing, just as quickly as he'd done with the plasma rounds, in the dead center of the Rikti's armored chest. A gout of green flames erupted from its back before it fell forward and collapsed. Within seconds, Nick was on his knees as well, hunched forward, arms wrapped around his stomach, the venting flames dispersing, leaving slowly bleeding cuts all over his face, neck, and arms. "Get a damned Med Unit out here, stat!" the commander shouts, sprinting toward Nick. "Doc!" Nick's left hand reached up for the hat on the top of his head, removing it as it deconstructed itself the same way it had appeared. The same bubble of greenish electricity surrounds the super-chap before the familiar 'pip' of it popping. What was left was a frail looking, smoldering, cut up and bleeding old man, pants being all that remained of his clothing. Even his shoes had burned up from the movements. "I'm ... I'm aces." he raises his left hand shakily and gives a thumbs up before it returned to the ground as he was on his hands and knees. "They said you used to be a cape, but damn, old man!" the commander says, kneeling beside old man Nick as the armor suit was retrieved by the pilot from the safety of the APC. "Used to be." Nick repeats. "I don't suppose you'd do me the courtesy of keeping that little ... outburst ... out of your report?" he asks between coughs, turning his head up to the commander. "Sure as shit, Doc. You got it. You just saved us a few million dollars." "Smashing ... now ... when is that Medical Team arriving? I think I broke my ... everything ... "