"Oh dear lord above shut up!" Paul screamed at the panicking civilian, for once considering his inability to smell a blessing. He had been attempting to listen to the man in black, and had even given him a nod of recognition, but this blabbering idiot had completely ruined any chance of holding a conversation.

Then the woman came, with a stutter, the buffoon halted his words and stared. Turning quickly, Paul saw her, beautiful, blonde, everything he could have ever dreamed for, the back of his helmet breached, sending an enormous pillar of the same energy that comprised his being up into the air. Paul held out a hand, and all seemed to stop as their eyes met, her face was twisted into an ugly grimace but Paul didn't care. 

His arm twisted as jets of air blasted out but he didn't hear them or care to hear. He saw her, she saw him, they were perfect for each other, he was already dreaming of the house they'd have, their kid... he looked down at his bulky yellow suit, all that was physical of his body. Okay, only the house thing.

She was a kraut, he realized, but his mind continued to dream of her, her wonderful golden hair, her outfit which was so generous on her curves he almost believed she had simply sprayed them on. He would have blushed if he still had a face. She was everything he wanted, but it was wrong, she was everything he hated, he could change her he thought, he could grab her hand and say "I love you," or whatever the German equivalent, and it would all change, it would... it would...

He smacked his helmet repeatedly, breathing deeply.

[i]No[/i] He shook.

[i]She's not meant for me, she's the worst kind of person, a commie kraut piece of shit. 

She's just a puppet, she's just being used by them, you need to free her, you need to be the hero she deserves.

Hero? No, not that word again, never that word, never again! Never![/i]

Paul screamed as the breach in his helmet grew ever larger. He stopped thinking, he was tired of thinking. Shooting off from the ground, Paul came within spitting distance of the Nazi, fast enough that he was neck-and-neck with the black clad hero. With a lunge, he smashed his fist into the bus on her shoulders, with enough force to cause a large dent to appear in the side. He wanted to tear into it and assault her from above, but the people inside forced him to pull his punch, with the forceful torrent of wind behind him, which had seemingly appeared out of nowhere, he had found it much harder to do so, and punched almost through the bus. If the German managed to maintain hold of it after this, he would be both impressed and slightly frightened.