Given the cane and the limp, what's ailing Nick these days is obvious. Being a machine, he can't get sick like a human, can't fall ill from old age; however, it's not as though parts like his grow on trees, and there aren't any Institute synths in Hadriel to scavenge spares from. Unlike the flesh-and-blood folks, he can't mend with time or magic.

That'd be one of the main reasons why Rey didn't want him here here, why she kept him away from the main battlefront to begin with. She depends on him as much as he depends on her, but he couldn't let this gunman go -- not when there was something he might be able to do, even with a bum leg, and not when Rey is out there risking herself for this.

But just because his leg has seen better days doesn't mean he can't throw a punch that hurts like hell. All the metal parts help with that. As he closes the gap between them, his brow furrows -- it's clear he's not entirely happy about having to bludgeon Firo at all, but if they're going to do this, they ought to do it right. He picks up his cane and looks between it and the bare fist, and determines that the cane will probably be less painful than the sharp angles of his metal skeleton.

The job is the same either way. He grimaces as he rears back for a swing. "Sorry about this."

And if the regretful look he gives Firo is any indication, he truly means that, despite the circumstances.