[center][h2]Tiny Nord[/h2]
[h3]Morocco 13:55:22[/h3][/center]

"At least there is no water this time... Let me be a good samaritan, and give them the good old quackbang microphone treatmen." he grumbled, staring at a watch that was gracefully duct-taped to the backside of his shield. He saw it was a time about thirty seconds ago, but all of these locals, well it was not going to be pretty regardless, it is time to make use of his special equipment. 

Outstood a massive shield that was firmly planted into the ground in front of him, on the side was another gracefully ducttapped object, a megaphone. He tapped upon the backside of it a few times, making sure it was working with a few loud pops to get people's attention. For extra reinforcement, he fired his gun a few times in the air. 

"For those who wish to leave, you have five seconds to do so, if you don't feel free to shoot at me and see how well it goes!"

Within a moment of the word 'goes' the microphone was taken off in a hail of bullets, why did he figure anything else would happen, he just bought that thing, it was like thirty bucks. But he had done his good deed for the day, and now it seemed like the heavies were up for a bit of fun.

He placed his rifle on it's slot, and raised his shield up, he stared at the door that people didn't want to see anymore. 

"Alright... I think they are focused on me, hopefully they will just run for the most part... I don't know, but anything past the door dies. My vision isn't the greatest behind this shield and I don't like taking chances."

He rolled his shoulder a bit as he pulled it up to his chest, and he listened to the gears in his suit grind and ache as he started to run, he hated how heavy this thing was when he did this, but it looked like there was some form of incline and he didn't want to get stuck on stairs. 

He saw the other heavy finally, it was clear in front of him, and he smiled as he got in the path of his charge, well this is going to be fun isn't it? He felt a bullet on his back as his shield became a hail of sparks from the minigun, well, at least he was taking it's fire. But for now, he thinks that the fun thing will be the one in front of him.

He knew he should have brought his heavy gun, he figured it would be closer quarters though and didn't bring it, so he figured the old way would be the way. The minigun wouldn't do much against him; he didn't know about the others, but this guy. Well, he would be fun, and when it came to it, he pulled off the two-handed axe from his shield and he let it drive forward into the other heavy before he went in for melee, first an underhand swing to try and disable mobility, it hit his side, but it didn't work well in it's goal. The two became a brawl of twisting metal and poly-carbonates. Bullets, pinging off both of them as it looked like a street brawl between two drunken idiots because of the almost dilated movements of their armor. While it seemed slow, each hit between the armored hulks send shockwaves through the others. 

He left the axe in it's side, and just went for a brunt way, the axe was a good choice for doors, or lighter targets, but like armor of the old days, when steel and iron covered men, the mace was the weapon to use. His fist was that mace. They battered each other; a few tried to get in the way to disable or hurt Oliver, but the fury of them both kept many away, and he was too close for heavy weapons to be used by those who wanted to try. It was a grueling task, a medieval one as they raged on. 

He hoped the others were doing work; he was tunnel-visioned into this fight and hoped they were doing well with his initial moments of distraction.