((Heh, think I'll save the full creative freedom for a real fight. In the meantime, let's try this on for size...))<br/><br/>'Nirvana...are you sure you're not still just a tad uspet with me?' '<em>This </em>is not my fault, Luke.<em>You're</em>the one who set the coordinates.' 'Oh, sure. Blame the driver. Look, just set up a level-5 gravshield, will you?' 'That's an affirmative.'<br/><br/>Luke's pgm had dropped him back at the dojo--right in the middle of a very sizable and very angry-looking group of armed soldiers, perhaps 25 or so strong, all of whom immediately turned and trained weapons of nearly every caliber on his person. Dozens of tiny red lasers danced over Luke's body as he turned slowly, staring cooly into each soldier's armored faceplate. Then without warning, a sunny smile burst over his face and he gave them a friendly, energetic wave.<br/><br/>"Well, hey guys! How we doin'?"<br/><br/>The sudden eruption of gunfire was deafening. In less than three seconds, nearly a thousand rounds were fired as every soldier in the room emptied his weapon on Luke's body. When the last gun clicked empty, the soldiers stood stock-still in disbelief as they watched all of the spent bullets swirl and ebb around Luke, who stood casually at the center of a lead maelstrom nearly five feet across, a wicked grin on his face. The still-smoking bullets flew faster and faster, a roiling cloud of death rapidly approaching terminal velocity, until finally the individual rounds were moving even faster than when they'd originally been fired. Luke held up a blood-soaked hand and spoke to the soldiers, who were slowly beginning to back away.<br/><br/>"Bye, guys."<br/><br/>He snapped his fingers once, and the bullets were released from their centrifugal prison in all directions, ripping through their previous owners' personal defense shields like meteors through stained glass windows. Shredded bodies fell to the floor nearly simultaneously, and Luke carelessly trudged through the carnage out into the hall and turned toward the kitchen. He felt an urge to wash his hands; his fingers were starting to get sticky.