nigel

“Sometimes a bullet is the best medicine”

healer-warrior

Nigel is an odd duck, an older man, and a British healer/warrior with Indian roots and a history of using electrical currents to cure wounds rapidly. His grandfather served in India with the British Army, and although Nigel carries this heritage proudly, since adulthood he has become much more liberal politically than his conservative grandparents. Although he is a social progressive, Nigel appreciates the old-world, conservative ethos of the Rimfire weapons manufacturing process and usually buys his weapons from them, although he is warming up to Zhang as well. In combat Nigel prefers Machine guns and Tazers, and is modest in victory and shows a stiff upper lip in times of trouble.
Nigel is known as much for his provocative experiments at the edges of accepted science as he is for his surprising agility in combat. When Nigel was 40, he went back to school for a while and got a medical degree, but has never practiced. For many decades he has been using electrical currents to cure battle wounds rapidly, but now he is convinced that a much improved technology using Erythrium is eminently possible in the near future.
In the past ten years Nigel has embarked on a secret program whereby once or twice a year he will do some research and find a socially poisonous individual that he believes merits elimination. He then self-assigns himself as the assassin who will accomplish the task. Nigel enjoys using different methods for each of his secret assassinations, and his targets have ranged from political figures to organized crime figures and religious zealots.

colonial nostalgic

Nigel remembers fondly his childhood years of living with his grandparents in India. He says he learned a sense of his own responsibility from his grandfather, a sense of his own humanity from his grandmother, and acquired his love and fascination with science and engineering from his grandmother’s brother Uncle Harry. This love for his family did not die when in early adulthood he moved away from their conservative political opinions and became a die-hard liberal.
When by himself Nigel often cooks traditional Indian dishes like Tandoori Chicken, which he shares with his pet snake and several of the small lizards that live in the jungle next to the New Dawn gang hangout. Nigel loves reptiles and snakes in general and communicates with them affectionately in a way similar to the way many people treat dogs and cats. But Nigel hates insects and feels that they bite him more than most other people. He has a battery of sprays and herbs to ward off insects, and an even larger collection of unquents and creams to treat itchy bites.

Nigel cherishes his customized combat boots that he made from a pair he inherited from his grandfather. Sonny jokes that there is not much of the original boot left, only the bad smell.  Nigel often enjoys the conviviality of informal groups, but he avoids political conversations as he dislikes those he considers “idiot right wing loudmouths”.  In general he  doesn’t really enjoy conversations that are not discussions of some scientific or mechanical project, and this may be part of the reason Nigel’s romantic life has not always gone according to plan.

callsign: nigel

ability: caretaker

name: Nigel Henry Winterbottom

origin: English, born in India

affiliation: new dawn

This picture shows my grandmother Lila, my grandfather Colonel Liam Winterbottom in his Loyal North Lancashire Regiment uniform, and my father Hartley, who is dressed in Indian clothing, as they stood in the garden of their home in Bangalore, where I was born twenty years later.

When I was six years old my own parents died on a voyage back to England when the steamer they were traveling on sank during a typhoon off the coast of Africa, so I grew up living with my grandparents in that home in Bangalore.

Learning the high value of being useful was a big part of my childhood. When I was very young, my grandfather was still in active service with his regiment. As soon as I was old enough to hold a brush I was given the job of cleaning his boots when he came home from his daily work. I remember being proud of how brightly I could get that black leather to shine. When my grandfather later retired from the army he gave me those old campaign boots, and told me to take care of them because one day they could be useful to me.

Before marrying, my grandmother was Lila Henry, from the Henry cotton fabric manufacturing family in Manchester. She and my grandfather moved to Bangalore a few years later when grandfather’s regiment was stationed in India. Lila was an amateur healer, and an enthusiastic student of Indian herbal medicines, which she used to treat the wounds of many of grandfather’s companions in arms.

I did not mix much with the local population, and I learned most of my life lessons from my grandparents. They were my teachers, my playmates, my emotional support, and my inspiration. Again, learning how to be useful was a big part of what I learned. Early on I learned how to help my grandmother in her healing activities, accompanying her on both her collecting trips and her missions of mercy. I got my interest in non-conventional healing techniques from my grandmother.

One of the few frequent visitors we had was Uncle Harry, my grandmother’s brother. He was an engineer, and came to Bangalore frequently to oversee the installation of various equipment his company built. In his free time he often built new water pumping stations for the locals, as well as designing new sanitation systems that did not dump the materials into the river as was traditional. I was quite pleased that he always gave me tasks related to his activities, such as keeping his drawing table clean, sharpening his pencils, and making sure his toolbox was filled with the appropriate instruments for the job at hand. Uncle Harry also worked on small projects with me, helping me design and build a very fine tree fort in the garden as well as a pulley system with which we could have food sent up to us from the kitchen in the house. I got my love of science and engineering from Uncle Harry.

Grandfather Liam took up golf in his retirement, and I was assigned the duty of keeping his clubs and other equipment cleaned and ready to use. As I grew I learned how to replace the leather grips on the clubs, and I even learned a bit of machining from Uncle Harry so that I could repair grandfather’s pitching wedge after the head broke off when he hit it against a tree.

When I began my own military career I was determined to use my grandfather’s old boots, but they were not in any condition to be suitable. Time and the humidity in Bangalore had eaten away at the lacing holes, so I fashioned a pair of straps for each boot that would hold my feet firmly. I replaced the squeaky old leather heels with composite rubber foam pieces that were much more comfortable as well as being silent. The boots were also far too large for me, as my grandfather had unusually enormous feet, so I modified the toes and tipped them up to make the boots fit my smaller feet and be much better for running and jumping. Today they fit me perfectly, and I wouldn’t trade them for anything, except perhaps a chance to see my old friends again and thank them properly for all they taught me.

Nigel loves science to the point that involving himself in scientific research projects is his favorite pastime.

A few months ago, he launched an experiment testing pollution migration with his new equipment that he had developed with the help of his Paradox gang team members. The project was actually a paid experiment in Northern Scotland for a company called Eco-Ore who labeled themselves a social activist organization acting as a watchdog of the polluting effects of tube extensive offshore drilling and mining in the area.

For the project Nigel was documenting how microplastics make their way through the food chain, going from the sediments that have settled on the ocean floor, back into the surface layers of seawater and onto the shore, where they are ingested by land animals, resulting in a bioaccumulation that can cause liver toxicity.

The experiment hoped to show how deep sea mining puts sedimented microplastics back in circulation and the negative effects on land animals, specifically reptiles.

Nigel’s new equipment was able to mark individual microplastic particles in seabed sediment, then track their progression to the venomous adders (*Vipera berus*) who are the only indigenous snakes in Northern Scotland.

Several months later during his last mandatory R&R cycle at UltraHorse Towers, he returned to Scotland to test several of the subject snakes, and measure the occurrence of any tagged microplastics in their livers. He did find numerous instances of high levels of tagged microplastics, and in his final report he theorized that this was the result of the high levels of deep sea mining in the area by the company Petrolith.

Back at UltraHorse Towers several weeks later, Nigel was astounded to receive a communication from Abel McTavish, the lead scientist at Eco-Ore, asking him to modify his data downward before re-submitting his report. Suspicious, and a bit outraged, Nigel asked the researchers in the UltraHorse office to do some investigating.

What he found out was that his client Eco-Ore was actually an agent of Petrolith itself, operating under a pseudonym. He immediately sets up a private meeting with Dr. McTavish on an encrypted online call. Dr. McvTavish quickly confessed that he was being pressured by Boss Cunningham, the leader of a private army in Northern Scotland, who had been sent a warning to cooperate with Eco-Ore, along with pictures of his wife shopping, and his daughter in her schoolyard.

Dr. Mctavish also told Nigel that Boss Cunningham, who controls the northern areas of Scotland, was being paid by Petrolith to issue permits for their deep sea mining operations in previously prohibited areas of the north Scottish coastline.

Immediately after the call Nigel contacted a friend of his at Scotland Yard and arranged for Dr. McvTavish and his family to be secretly relocated under a new name to Australia, where he had grown up.

He next sent his real unchanged report to the Scottish government in Edinburgh and gave the whole story to the reporter Oliver in UltraHorse Towers, who published it online on various truth news sites. The result of these actions was that Petrolith was banned from all future activities in not only Scotland, but also Ireland and England. Nigel was satisfied with this result.

Unfortunately, a week later though he received a message telling him that some of Boss Cunningham’s thugs had located Nigel’s cousin in Manchester and roughed him up and threatened him with further abuse.

Nigel’s reaction to this was that he now knew where he would be going on his next mandatory R&R leave from the Towers. He would be going back to Scotland for a personal visit to Boss Cunningham. While he was there he planned also to test a new iodine based nano active spray that might allow reptiles in their winter dens to be inoculated against the problems caused by ingesting prey that contained large quantities of microplastics.

The corridors of UltraHorse Complex were never truly silent. Even in the dead of night, the hum of advanced machinery and the occasional whisper of footsteps created a symphony of subtle sounds. It was against this backdrop that Dr. Nigel Winterbottom, his salt-and-pepper beard neatly trimmed and his eyes alert despite the late hour, padded barefoot towards the kitchen. His quest? A simple glass of milk to soothe his restless mind.
Nigel's fingers had just curled around the cool metal of the refrigerator handle when a flicker of movement caught his eye. A shadow, darker than the surrounding gloom, darted across his peripheral vision. In an instant, his senses sharpened, honed by years of combat and high-stakes missions.
"Curious…" he muttered, abandoning his quest for milk and moving with cat-like grace towards the source of the disturbance. The shadows seemed to dance around him, but Nigel's keen eyes, accustomed to discerning friend from foe in the chaos of battle, picked out subtle irregularities in the darkness.
As he rounded a corner, the unmistakable glint of advanced weaponry caught his eye. Five figures, clad in state-of-the-art stealth suits, were hunched over a device near the power station. Their movements were precise, practiced – the hallmark of elite operatives.
Nigel's mind raced. These weren't just any intruders; their gear and tactics screamed US Navy SEALs. But what were they doing here? The answer came in the form of a soft, ominous red glowing lights from a large cylinder container carried by two people, a device they were in the middle of planting an activating.
"Bloody hell," Nigel whispered, his British accent thick with concern. He saw these devices in a training manual he studied when they leaked online a few years back - a B54-Mod 5 SADM - "A portable nuclear bomb."
He knew he couldn't take on five SEALs alone, not without risking the detonation of the device. Especially knowing they were sometimes detonated on the spot by the operatives as last measure if cornered. With the stealth of a man half his age, Nigel retreated into the shadows, just like Hantu would, his mind already formulating a plan.
Minutes later, he was shaking Arx awake in his quarters. The young mechanical prodigy blinked groggily, his boyish features scrunching in confusion.
"Nigel? You moonwalking again?! For pity's sakes ZOMBIES ARENT REAL!" Arx mumbled annoyingly, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
"No time for pleasantries, my boy," Nigel said urgently. "We've got uninvited guests with a rather explosive present. Suit up, wake Sonny and meet me at the power station. And for God's sake, be quiet about it."
Arx's eyes widened, sleep forgotten as adrenaline surged through his veins. It was not the first time someone attempted to infiltrate the complex, and this would not be the last time. Not on his watch at least. He nodded, already reaching for his gear. "Right, I'm on it. Should we alert the others?"
Nigel shook his head. "No, we can't risk tipping off our visitors. The three of us should be enough... I hope."
As Arx hurried to wake Sonny, Nigel made his way back to the power station, his mind racing through possible scenarios. The presence of Navy SEALs on UltraHorse territory was a grave escalation. It spoke of a level of hostility from the U.S. government that they had long feared but hoped to avoid.
Fifteen tense minutes later, Nigel, Arx, and Sonny were crouched in the shadows near the power station. The SEALs were still there, making final adjustments to their deadly package.
"Five of them," Nigel whispered, his eyes never leaving the intruders. "Armed to the teeth and likely to shoot first and ask questions never."
Sonny, his eyes gleaming with the reflected light of his various gadgets, nodded grimly. "So what's the plan, old man? We're not exactly evenly matched here."
Nigel's lips curved into a predatory smile. "We do what we do best, lads. We fight. But we fight smart. Arx, how quickly can you get into your mecha suit?"
Arx grinned, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Give me two minutes, I haven't finished the repairs from the last mission, so I’ll need to boot it in maintenance mode, I'll be suited up and ready to rumble."
"Good," Nigel nodded. "Sonny, I need you to create a diversion. Something loud and flashy, but away from the power station. We need to get them away from the device. Can you manage that?"
Sonny's fingers were already dancing over his wrist-mounted computer. "Does a bear shit in the woods? Give me thirty seconds, and I'll give you a diversion that'll make the Fourth of July look like a kid's sparkler."
"Excellent," Nigel said. "While they're distracted, Arx and I will engage. Sonny, once you've set off your diversion, get back here and provide support. Remember, we need to take them down quickly and quietly. They need to arm it and head for a getaway before we can attack. We can't risk that bomb going off."
As Arx slipped away to don his mecha suit and Sonny rushing off to prepare his diversion, Nigel took a deep breath, centering himself. Despite the gravity of the situation, he felt a familiar thrill coursing through his veins. This was what he was made for, what all his years of training had prepared him for.
Suddenly, the night erupted in a cacophony of sound and light. Explosions rocked the far side of the complex, and alarms began blaring throughout the facility. The SEALs, caught off guard, immediately went on high alert, their weapons raised as they scanned for threats.
The Navy seal captain, whispered “Time to bounce, arm it”.
The specialist crouching down over the bulky device replied “Ready, green to extract”
The team, still on full alert began moving, scanning the shadows with their weapons for any possible thread.
As they approached the tight exit from the power station, that's when Nigel struck. Moving with a speed that belied his age, he emerged from the shadows, his Boato Assault rifle clicking into full burst mode and laid down fire at the tech operator - the priority target to take out first. The volley of bullets hit the unsuspecting Seal in the should and sent him flying into the nearby wall. Pistola Olivari weapons sure packed a punch, and it came in real handy in this situation.
The other SEALs whirled to face this new threat, and rushed further into the corridor, dragging their injured comrade with them.
This is exactly where Nigel wanted them.
Arx, encased in his formidable mecha suit, Xavier, burst onto the scene like a juggernaut rushing through the corridor wall as if it was made of paper. Bullets pinged harmlessly off his armored shell as he charged into the fray, scattering the SEALs like bowling pins.
No contest.
What followed was a symphony of violence, a deadly dance choreographed by years of training and honed by countless battles. Nigel moved like a force of nature, his every shot economical and devastatingly effective. Arx, for his part, was a whirlwind of mechanized destruction, his suit's enhanced strength allowing him to toss grown men around like rag dolls.
Sonny, true to his word, returned to the fight in record time. His turrets, deployed with lightning speed at the beginning of the power station tunnel, created a crossfire that kept the SEALs pinned down and disoriented. In the confined space of the power station, their advanced training worked against them, leaving them unprepared for the unconventional assault from every direction.
"Watch the bomb!" Nigel shouted as he ducked under a wild swing from one of the SEALs. "We can't risk setting it off!"
Arx acknowledged with a grunt, adjusting his tactics to keep the fight away from the deadly device. He grabbed one SEAL by the back of his tactical vest and flung him bodily into his comrade, sending both crashing into a bank of machinery.
In less than two minutes, it was over. Five of America's finest lay still on the cold floor of the UltraHorse Complex, their mission a failure but far from over.
The nuclear device, innocuous-looking despite its deadly potential, continued its soft, insistent red glow.
"Sonny," Nigel said, his voice tight with tension, "tell me you can disarm this thing."
Sonny was already hunched over the device, his fingers dancing over its surface as he interfaced with it through his advanced tech. "I'm trying, but this is next-level stuff. They came here to set it off, no plan B. I have not thought the States so desperate”
“They cant get to us from the air so this would be the most logical approach”, Nigel muttered to himself. “But they did have a plan to leave, so there must be more of them somewhere nearby”
Minutes ticked by, each one bringing the entire UltraHorse complex and it’s sleeping residents closer to potential annihilation. Sweat beaded on Sonny's brow as he worked, his usual joviality replaced by intense concentration.
"Come on, come on. You’re suppose to be the brainy one" Arx muttered, pacing back and forth in his mecha suit. The rhythmic clanking of his footsteps added to the tension in the air.
Finally, Sonny sat back, defeat etched on his features. "I can't do it. This thing is locked up tighter than a banker's wallet. Whatever failsafes they've got on this, they're beyond anything I've encountered before."
A heavy silence fell over the group, broken only by the continued beeping of the bomb. The reality of their situation began to sink in. They were trapped in their own home with a ticking time bomb, and they had no way to stop it.
Then, as if in answer to their unspoken prayers, a crackle of static emanated from one of the fallen SEALs' radios.
"Echo team, come in. You have five minutes until detonation. Get to the extraction point now."
The three friends exchanged glances, a mix of fear and determination in their eyes.
"Well," Nigel said, breaking the silence, "it seems our uninvited guests had an escape plan after all. Perhaps we should avail ourselves of it."
Arx's eyes lit up with a dangerous gleam. "I have an idea," he said, already beginning to strap the device to his mecha suit. "But you're not going to like it."
Understanding dawned on Nigel's face. "Oh, you cheeky bastard." he muttered, but there was pride in his voice.
Arx nodded, understandably, his jaw set in determination. "Xavier can handle it. I'll get it far enough away that when it detonates, it won't harm the complex or any civilians."
"And what about you?" Sonny asked, his voice uncharacteristically serious. "That's a suicide mission, Arx."
"Not if we do it right," Arx replied. "I'll set Xavier on autopilot and eject once I'm at a safe distance. But we need to move now. We're running out of time."
Nigel nodded, making a split-second decision. "Alright, let's do it. But we're coming with you. Sonny, can you pilot that extraction helicopter?"
Sonny grinned, some of his usual swagger returning. "Can a duck swim? Just point me at it."
With the bomb secured to Xavier, Arx, Sonny, and Nigel burst out of the complex and into the dense jungle that surrounded it, with no minute to spare. They moved with desperate speed, branches whipping past them as they raced against time.
They burst into a small clearing, expecting to find the SEAL extraction team. Instead, they found a scene of carnage. The extraction team lay scattered around a stealth helicopter, their lives ended with brutal efficiency.
And there, perched on a small rocky outcrop like some deadly bird of prey, was Hantu. The mysterious warrior's mask betrayed no emotion as he regarded his teammates.
He slowly turned his head, as if full of boredom, bloodied Tacticana in hand, the weapon of choice.
"You took your sweet time, ladies" Hantu said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I was beginning to think I’d have to do everything myself"
"Hantu?" Arx exclaimed, his voice modulated by his suit's speakers. "How did you know?"
"Nothing moves in the shadows without my knowing" Hantu replied cryptically. "Now, are we going to stand here chatting, or are we going to do something about that ticking thing you're carrying?"
There was no time for recriminations or explanations. With practiced efficiency, they secured the nuclear device to the helicopter. Sonny's fingers flew over the controls, programming a flight path that would take the deadly payload far from the UltraHorse Complex.
“I hope this works, we better clear off and wake management, there could be more guests around”
As the helicopter lifted off, its stealth systems engaged, Arx turned to his companions. "Where did you send it?" he asked Sonny.
Sonny's face was smiling. "Return to sender.” he smirked, “Looks like whoever is in charge of this operation has parked a container carrier just off the coast of Chile. No idea how they breached our security perimeter, but they’re clever. That’s the only ship big enough to carry out missions like this. Let’s see them deal with their own medicine."
"And if they can't?" Nigel asked, though he suspected he already knew the answer.
"Then UltraHorse just nuked a civilian container ship vessel and started World War III," Sonny replied, his usual humor absent.
The stealth helicopter lifted off, its rotors slicing through the humid night air. Sonny's fingers danced across the control panel on his wrist gauntlet, programming the autopilot remotely for a one-way trip back to its point of origin. Unlike the device, this tech was much easier to hack. As the aircraft disappeared into the darkness, its deadly cargo the only passenger, a somber silence fell over the group.
"It's heading back to point of origin" Sonny explained, his usual jovial tone absent. "Parked somewhere south-east beyond the mountain range off the coast of Chile in the Pacific. Poetic justice, if you ask me."
Meanwhile off the shore of Chile, just at the edge of territorial waters, aboard the disguised cargo ship, tension mounted in the situation room. Captain Reeves, a grizzled veteran with a face etched by years of covert operations, paced impatiently.
"Status update on Echo team," he barked at a young radio operator.
The operator's brow furrowed as he adjusted his headset. "Sir, we're picking up a return flight signal, but... something's not right."
Reeves leaned over the console, his steel-gray eyes narrowing. "Explain."
"The helicopter's approaching, but there's no response to our hails. No life signs detected on the long range scanner. It's on autopilot, sir."
A heavy silence fell over the room as the implications sank in. Reeves' jaw clenched, his decision made in an instant. “Clever bastards” he smirked, "Echo team's been compromised. Shoot it down. Now."
On his command, four hidden Vulcan minigun domes emerged from fake containers on the ship's deck. The night sky erupted in a hailstorm of bullets, tracing fiery lines towards the approaching helicopter several miles away.
The aircraft never stood a chance. It erupted into a fireball roughly a mile from the ship, still several miles off the Chilean coast. For a split second, relief washed over the situation room. Then, a blinding flash lit up the horizon.
Back at the UltraHorse complex, Nigel, Hantu, Arx, and Sonny had gathered in the command center, monitoring the situation via satellite feed. They watched in stunned silence as the nuclear device detonated, its destructive power unleashed far from any civilian population.
"Bloody hell," Nigel muttered, breaking the silence. "It actually worked."
Hantu remained impassive, his mask betraying no emotion. Arx, however, couldn't contain his excitement. "We did it! We actually pulled it off!"
Sonny's eyes remained fixed on the screen, his expression grim. "Don't celebrate just yet, kid. This is far from over."
The satellite feed showed the cargo ship rocked by the non-fatal blast. The explosion tore through the top layer of containers, scattering them across the ocean like toys in a bathtub. Alarms blared as the ship listed dangerously to one side.
In the situation room, chaos reigned. Emergency red light illuminated the room, screens torn off the walls, doors blasted off hinges, documents scattered on the floor. Bloodied Captain Reeves barked orders as his team scrambled to evacuate. He knew the right thing was to scuttle the ship and get off immediately, but he didnt expect the blast to go off seconds after issuing the command. The shrapnel from the concaved walls tore through his arm like bullets, but it would take more than that to take down The Captain Reeves. When all of the personall that could still draw breath left the command room, Reeves followed, passing a glance at where the wall used to be, now reflecting a fiery mushroom rising over the waters, “Well played…” he said as he exited the room into the flooding corridor below.
As dawn broke over the UltraHorse complex, the world moved on, blissfully unaware of the night's events. News channels briefly mentioned an unscheduled naval exercise off the Chilean coast, the truth buried beneath layers of carefully crafted lies.
In a penthouse suite overlooking New York City, a group of men and women in expensive suits gathered around a polished mahogany table. Their faces were etched with frustration and barely contained anger. Captain Reeves was on the large screen, connecting remotely, covered in bandages soaked in blood, "The operation failed," he said, his voice hoarse. "UltraHorse remains operational."
One of the figures leaned forward, their features obscured by darkness. "And the Navy SEAL disguises?"
Reeves swallowed hard. "Compromised. They'll know it was a false flag operation."
The revelation hung in the air like a toxic cloud. The mercenaries, dressed as United States Navy SEALs, had been meant to implicate the U.S. government, drawing them into the corporations' fight against UltraHorse.
The silver-haired man thanked the captain and turned off the communication.
"Gentlemen, ladies," a silver-haired man at the head of the table continued, "last night's operation was a catastrophic failure. UltraHorse not only survived but managed to turn our own weapon against us."
Murmurs of discontent rippled through the room.
"What's our next move?" a sharp-featured woman asked, her manicured nails tapping impatiently on the table.
The silver-haired man's lips curled into a cold smile. "We adapt. We evolve. UltraHorse may have won this battle, but the war is far from over. They've shown their hand, now we know they can fight dirty if cornered. We can used that. Next time, we'll be more prepared."
He paused, letting his words sink in. "For now, we retreat. We regroup. But make no mistake, this is not over. UltraHorse and their bleeding-heart crusade for 'justice' will not stand in the way of progress. Our progress."
As the meeting adjourned, the participants filed out, their minds already plotting new strategies, new angles of attack. In their wake, they left behind the unspoken truth that had brought them together: in a world where corporations wielded more power than governments, UltraHorse stood as the last line of defense for the common people.
And so, as the sun rose on a new day, the battle lines were redrawn. UltraHorse had won a significant victory, but the war for the soul of the world was far from over. In the shadows and boardrooms, in the halls of power and the depths of cyberspace, the next moves were already being planned. The game continued, with the fate of humanity hanging in the balance.