It would be too much to ask for the bullet to go straight through. No. It’s on a mission to be lodged into his knee. How does this make any logical sense? He and Fate don’t know each other that well, so naturally he can’t communicate with the man if at all. He’s supposes he only has himself to blame. He hardly bothers with him other than a swift punch to face and the occasional middle finger. The evil part of him wishes he just let this asshole get shot.
He didn’t even think about it when he shoved him down. So now he’s here on the floor, writhing but otherwise unable to move. Chef’s had a lot of injuries over the years but none are quite so painful as a bullet that bounces. There could be permanent damage to the bone. The worse part is he can feel it in the center of the pain, it had almost made it’s way out. Almost isn’t good enough and he’s in way too much pain to think about what might’ve been.
He gives Fate an acidic glare before going back to his wounds. I hate you. First, Fate tells him to be stronger then his inattention nearly gets them both killed. He didn’t think it was possible to want to throttle himself but Fate better sleep with one eye open from now on. He waved his GHS at him telling him to call for help.
A single strayed attention would have landed him in Chef's position if his 'associate' had not circumvent it. They are in amid a dispute with the notorious terrorist assemble ( as they prided themselves as Exodus ) and was presumably his own mission. But the world had to be small and it weaved their blades together to raise hell upon their common assailants, which was more of Matter's than Chef's pending till they deemed both as unpardonable.
When a calloused bullet lands its mark, the president's visage crumples into bewilderment. Sure they are in no amiable terms ( which had Chef's choice of act illustrates as queer ) but Matter only seems indifferent towards the other's rancour as depicted by his impeccable, inculcated composure. Otherwise, he bears no explicit rationale to abhor.
His subsequent manoeuvre is performed with haste, swiftly incapacitating their last standing nemesis with urgency before he diverts his fretting turquoise orbs back to the thoroughly lodged bullet in his flesh. Fingers immediately works to tear a piece of fabric off his attire, and swathes his knee in generous layers to hinder blood from brimming to death. Without further word, he dials the appropriate number of assistance and only sets the spyrix away once the medical team affirms that they will be in quicker than due time.
