He sniffs. "Area 51...  Groom Lake" He sighs.  "Figures. You yanks always wanna get your hands on what others 'ave. Seventy-seven smegging years I've served Britain... and then  I find meself 'ere. I'd have been happy to come if some smegger'd asked me, but no..."<br/><br/>He pauses in his little rant, the second part of what Scott said kicking in. He examines his skeletal, cybernetic hand idly. "Think she needs some iron in her diet?" He laughs. "See, I'm a natural reformer. If someone bred in a jar can be considered a natural anything, that is"