At least one of the people under attack doesn't need defending, with his speed and terrifying strength completely intact; such small monsters aren't much trouble for normal SOLDIERs, for Sephiroth, it's an irritation to be dealt with before more people get hurt. Vincent's been noticed before now, from gun to going out of his way to try to shield others, but he hadn't approached or aided as yet.

Too busy killing the local wildlife and defending his vehicle, a sizeable and painfully familiar Shinra long-haul covered truck. But the cab IS polished and shiny, and quite a few of the avians seem to have more predatory interest in the man; they know what clothes otherwise hide, a scattering of naga scales, sharp fangs hidden equally out of sight. Not a person has been touched, only the beasts; if he's mad and prone to slaughtering everything in sight, it hasn't happened yet.

He's.. not quite as old as what might be expected, still with some of the softness of youth, almost but not quite a grown man at perhaps twenty or so on rough estimate. But the glance that sweeps Vincent from head to toe when approached is calculating though not cold, measuring words with what he'd seen before. "Can't say it's good," he mutters, casting a sideways glance to the quiescent truck. "But it gleams, and it runs."

Good enough??