Paul stood slowly, his suit shooting out air from his back noisily. That wasn't good, he realized, damn Chinaman suit, couldn't they make anything right? He shook the dust off his shoulders and went to crack his knuckles, stopping as he realized he had no knuckles to crack, instead he made the sounds with his mouth. Yeah, that's cool, America, woo.

Someone had managed to get the bus away from the woman while he was down, and even though it pained his heart to do so, he knew he had to beat her down, perhaps even to death. She was strong, yes, but he was stronger, and he wasn't some third rate German knockoff of the old heroes from the forties. His hands warped the air around them due to the immense heat they began to let off, Paul closed them tightly, creating a satisfying rubber stretching sound that probably only he could hear.

Alright, enough preparations... nah, not yet, he was a real American hero! He had to show that! Holding out his hands, he blasted the ground around him, sending up a small dust cloud that silhouetted his heroic build, his awesome abs, his wing-like lats, and of course, his devilishly handsome red face. Jumping out of the cloud with hands on hips, he held out a finger while snapping his other hand.

"Hey bitch!" He said, his wrist board-like in stiffness.

"You've made the wrong decision coming here, with all your Commie friends and your hubbie speedy over there... and a little over there. But enough of him, because he went down like a chump! You ever seen a boxing match where it's one punch and he's done? It was a little like that, but his head went boom! You want a piece of him to mail back to his family? I'm sure there's some brain left between my fingers if you do!" He checked his fingers, finding no brain matter and responding with a disappointed sigh.

"Anyway..." He stood a moment, before leaping into the air, firing down three blasts and flipping as to ensure both heels came down on the back of her head.