[ That fucking shield. Gen gives a loud click of the tongue, annoyed, when his knife rebounds off it, the impact ringing all the way up his forearm. But -- whatever. He'd broken through it once before, so he can do it again, right? No problem. Eyes flashing bright with a wild, vindictive anger, he raises his hand high, gripping the knife so hard his knuckles pale as he brings it down in another hard swing
only for it to slash through empty air.
It's such a hard blow that goes so awry that Gen stumbles forward; his prosthetic arm jerks forward, abruptly devoid of a target to grasp, and ends up slamming into Silco's desk hard enough to fracture the wood with a cracking noise.
Fucking figures a slimy, slippery fuck like Silco would have something like that in his back pocket.
Gen doesn't even hear what Silco is saying, his next breath escaping in an irate snarl as he whips around to look towards the door. And without even thinking -- before that last word's even left Silco's lips -- he simply cocks his arm back and chucks the knife as hard as he can, aimed right at Silco's chest.
He's hardly a practiced knife-thrower, but he's always had decent hand-eye coordination, and the rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins must count for something. And besides, regardless of if that knife hits its mark or not, Gen vaults over the desk with a snarl to get his hands around Silco's throat himself. It's going to take more than some idle threat of reinforcements to get him to retreat. ]
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only for it to slash through empty air.
It's such a hard blow that goes so awry that Gen stumbles forward; his prosthetic arm jerks forward, abruptly devoid of a target to grasp, and ends up slamming into Silco's desk hard enough to fracture the wood with a cracking noise.
Fucking figures a slimy, slippery fuck like Silco would have something like that in his back pocket.
Gen doesn't even hear what Silco is saying, his next breath escaping in an irate snarl as he whips around to look towards the door. And without even thinking -- before that last word's even left Silco's lips -- he simply cocks his arm back and chucks the knife as hard as he can, aimed right at Silco's chest.
He's hardly a practiced knife-thrower, but he's always had decent hand-eye coordination, and the rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins must count for something. And besides, regardless of if that knife hits its mark or not, Gen vaults over the desk with a snarl to get his hands around Silco's throat himself. It's going to take more than some idle threat of reinforcements to get him to retreat. ]