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"Who taught you how to aim?"
Stares and slowly lowers his gun.Blinks a few times before his brows knit and furrow, his nose scrunching as the corner of his lips turned downwards."Are you insulting my aim? I should show you how good my aim with grenades is, I swear to god…”
Ani didn’t jerk forward from the pat, nodding as she then placed the reassembled gun on the table. “I have reviewed the schematics and screws of the gun. It is just making sure each part is placed precise so it will be functional.”
Brown eyes glance over her for a moment before he picks up the gun, flipping it around in his calloused hands and examining it. "This is great. I'm surprised anyone could actually remember this by heart without taking it apart at least fifty times."
Frowning at the comment sent at his hand, Alex rolls his eyes, pulling it up to gently cradle it and catch some of the still-flowing blood.
Sneering when Rorke leans in, Alex steps back to put distance between himself and the man, even though the wall stops him once more.
“S-Shut up—”
His lips pull back to form his own sneer right back at the young man in front of him, his nose scrunching and brows furrowing to complete an malicious look directed at Alex. Only seconds later, the American's hand raises, curled into a fist and pounding into the wall beside the others head.
"Don't tell me to shut up, alright, kid? I'm not fucking joking with you. That's the only warning you're fucking getting. Next time if you so much as breathe wrong while my gun is aimed at you, I'll blow your knees right out."
"Who taught you how to aim?" [ HAHAHA ]
His eyes narrowed on the man a few feet from him after the last bullet he had left the barrel of his assault rifle. A slow thought process passed by, about a minute or two long, and after that time went by, the gun dropped from his hands and his whole body lunged forwards. Fist raised, he threw his body at the smaller and younger man, aiming his hands for the others face.
{ First instinct: Combat knife. }
Hesh pulled the blade from the holster on his side a little too late to do any real harm, though a cut was highly possible from the angle he was holding it.
It was more like an all-out football tackle than an actual tackle, and his ribs immediately flared up with some sort of sickening pain when he was hit, fingers letting go of the knife in a clumsy jumble to keep his hold on it.
“Shit—”
Rorke forgot for a moment that the other man probably had a knife on him, but as soon as he remembered, he looked down at the man's hands, one of his own quickly moving to grasp the younger's wrist. Twisting it harshly, he grabbed onto the blade, not caring that it cut into his palm as he yanked it out of his hand.
Once the weapon was out of his way, he held it up with the tip of the blade between his fingers before throwing to the side like a toy, some of the blood dripping from fresh wounds on his hand flinging as well. Within seconds, that crimson covered hand was instead clasping onto the other soldier's neck, squeezing the area tight.
Hesh smirked beneath the paint on his face, giving a low chuckle in response to the enemy’s words. Shaking his head, he glanced up, squinting for a moment and then nodding.
“Think of it this way, Rorke…”
A sigh.
“Keegan and Merrick are probably already in the center of the jungle. And you’re here arguing with me, aren’t you?”
Gun still focused on the man in front of him, he grasped his radio with his free hand, his eyes still narrowed on the other as he held the button, speaking quickly and rather loudly in almost fluent Spanish. After the last word, he cocked his gun, fingering the trigger. "We'll see how long they last, son. You, on the other hand... Do you want me to end your life now or for me to just blow both of your knees out?"
The bullet surprised the dog, that was certain as the canine went silent for a moment. However, that didn’t deter the stubborn attitude Riley was brought up. The dog jumped back, still barking and even louder now that he had been attacked.
He shot once more at the dog's paws, growling a bit when he heard the dog begin to bark louder. Shifting, he angled his aim slightly, fully intending on the next bullet to pierce one of the dog's legs if the canine kept up the racket. "Shut the hell up or you'll be limping your way back to your handler, you little fucker."
As the man in front of him spoke, Banks took his time to bring out the smoke pack from one of his many pouches, pick a random cigarette and light it. He inhaled deeply, letting it in for a second before releasing it in a long exhale, all the while ‘pretending’ to listen. He twisted his hand, offering the pack for the taller man. “Do ya smoke?”
The Agent’s smirk returned, eyes narrowing again. Its not that he didn’t know who’s he talking to, oh his chip did a great job analyzing this guy’s face within mere seconds, but it was the taint and the little ‘nerve’ test that he always play with. A way to entertain himself. And truly? He didn’t give a fuck. Maybe even prove to this man who he’s talking to—
No, it was no reason to give away his ID; if this man didn’t recognize the logo sprawled on his trench coat, then he doesn’t need to say a word of it. “Lemme tell ya something, big guy. Sometimes, all it takes to tell if someone’s your enemy, if someone’s your ally, if someone’s your next fucking whore, is a little game, ‘kay? Getting all hot and flustered because of a small, meaningless comment only proves that there is so much behind it for ya.”
Glancing down at the pack of cigarettes being held out towards him, his eyes trailed from the hand, up the arm and back to the man's face, and the only thing he offered back was a sour scowl. "I don't smoke things people I just met offer. They tend to be laced with shit. I'm also not that fucking stupid."
The more the man smirked, the more he felt like punching him in the face until he couldn't anymore because of a split and swollen lip. Taking a deep breath, his eyes slowly glancing over the other until he saw the logo, and for now, he just stored the design in the back of his head to figure out who exactly this guy was. Once he snapped out of his thoughts trying to figure out where he'd seen it, the man was talking again, and his eyes drew up to the shorter's face. Nose scrunching, Rorke leaned back on his heels, his arms crossing as he glared at him. "Oh shut the fuck up."
Banks only chuckled, a low, hoarse ‘laugh’ and pushed himself off the wall. Brushing away the dirt from his trench coat, he dropped his cig and stepped on it, the space between them shortening as he walked closer. Surprising, in all honesty.
He expected the man to attack him, perhaps take him in cuffs or order to fire him, but talking back in rational senses and explaining how ‘rude’ it is… it was new, in some sickeningly insulting way.
”Well,” He started, stopping a few meters away and crossing his arms. “Not to my colleagues,” Tilting his head to the side, he let a smirk form, brow raising slightly. “And lets be honest, who has manners anymore? You can’t survive if you’re polite, can you?”
The sound of a chuckle made his hand ball into a fist at his side, and shifting, he followed the man with his eyes, not taking even the smallest step back when the other approached. Instead, he stood his ground, straightening his back as he watched him. "Well, you're rude as hell then." He leaned in slightly, brown eyes narrowed. "You can't. But you should learn to hold your comments until you know who you're talking to. I suggest you at least learn that or one day you're going to end up with your teeth busted out and a bullet between your eyes."
Pushing himself up with his right hand and leaving a bloody hand print on the wall, Alex closed his eyes when the air from moving brushed over the wound, a breath being sucked in through his teeth.
“I-It had to be my hand—”
A glare.
“Just b-be lucky it wasn’t my writing and shooting hand.”
Watching him, Rorke slowly stands up as well, glancing over the other slowly with a few glances towards the others wounded hand. A pause, he looks up at Alex's face, his lips pursing. "Well, you were the one moving to grab the door knob, and clearly I didn't want you to get away, so it's practically your own fault." Leans in, smirking. "Next time don't move at all, alright, kiddo? Because it'll be your feet next time."
Keeping his gaze locked firmly on Rorke, a small grin managed to slide onto his features, a few more tears managing to slip from his eyes and down over his cheeks.
After a moment more, he nodded, his smirk remaining.
“I’ll f-fix my plan. I’ll have to c-consult my men, however, and you’ll have to keep me around for it.”
"What a good boy." His hand lowered before raising upwards, using his gun to attempt wiping away some of the tears on the younger's face. "Now come on, stop crying. It's all over. Get up. Let's get your hand bandaged up. Unless you fancy just sitting still and bleeding all over everything."
At the point in time that the gun was placed under his chin, Alex felt himself start to tremble either with fear or pain, the rage subsiding once his thoughts were jumbled in a big mess.
Clearing his throat, his voice was low and shaky as if he were too frightened to speak too loudly.
“W-What else was I s-supposed to do, huh? My p-plan was going to do wonders for this entire team—”
"Wonders? You mean wonders like drowning and crushing multiple teammates to death? Killing the men I'm supposed to be taking down one by one? I'm not going to allow you to waltz in and destroy a fair amount of our soldiers and even ruin this for me." His finger tapped against the gun slowly as he stared down the injured male in front of him, his brows knitting together. "Here's your options... Back down completely... Fix up your plan...or I'll shoot you between the eyes and use your corpse as a lesson to other soldiers."
"Who taught you how to aim?"
Stares and slowly lowers his gun.Blinks a few times before his brows knit and furrow, his nose scrunching as the corner of his lips turned downwards."Are you insulting my aim? I should show you how good my aim with grenades is, I swear to god…”
"I’m not authorized to," she idly said. "That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t know how to disarm my opponent fully."
Placing the parts on the table, she glanced down at them briefly before proceeding to place them back together.
By now, Rorke had taken a slow step towards her until he was standing beside her, carefully watching her as she began to put the gun back together. After a minute passed, he cleared his throat, just glancing up momentarily before going back to watching, "You're pretty good at this." Without looking up, a hand raised and he gave her a pat on the upper back a little harder than he meant to although he didn't really notice.
“I’m s-sorry—”
Alex cried, trying to calm himself by taking small breaths in. The pain was overwhelming, and the more he moved, the more it hurt, reddened eyes looking up at the man.
“I’m s-sorry I’m Diego Almagro’s son, okay?! It’s n-not like it was my choice to be here right now!”
Slowly he lowered to a crouch in front of the other, shoving the barrel of his handgun right under Alex's chin and tilting his head back a bit, looking him directly in the eyes. "But it is your choice to track after your daddy's trail like a lost little puppy. All I want is you to choose what's best for the Federation and for you to drop whatever little ideas you have rampaging through your head. How bout that?"
The shock of his father being mentioned caused him to falter for a split second, and then the pain overcame him when the bullet hit his hand.
Pulling his left hand back from the doorknob as blood spewed from it, Alex hissed, tears splitting from his eyes as he cradled it close with his other. Sliding down the wall, he glanced up, mumbling out a few choice insults in Spanish.
“I-I can’t believe you f-fucking did that—”
Striding over, he loomed over the young man sitting on the floor, completely ignoring the face the other was gushing blood, hissing and even crying. Though the insults in Spanish didn't go unnoticed. Once he heard them, his gun was pointed at the younger's feet, his eyes narrowing in a silent challenge to say another insult. "You should have seen it coming the second I found out who your daddy was. You've been balancing on a fucking tight rope this whole time, and fuck, you might have been okay if you just decided to shut the fuck up."
Alex hit the wall instead of the door, and, upon fumbling to try and reach the doorknob which was only a few feet away, he somehow kept his eyes locked on Rorke.
“Y-You don’t understand— You didn’t even h-hear the whole plan—”
"What is there to listen to, Alexander? Because all I'm hearing right now is that bullshit spewing from your mouth! The same shit your father spat out! Do you want to maybe actually fucking explain and give me one good reason I shouldn't blow your brains out!?" His hold on his gun tightened as he took a few more steps, glancing to the side and noticing his hand going for the door knob. Shifting his aim, Rorke pointed it at Alex's hand instead, his finger pulling the trigger only seconds later.
"Who taught you how to aim?"
Stares and slowly lowers his gun.Blinks a few times before his brows knit and furrow, his nose scrunching as the corner of his lips turned downwards."Are you insulting my aim? I should show you how good my aim with grenades is, I swear to god…”
Ani giggled, rolling her optics before folding her arms. “I am allowed to change my opinion however I wish,” she scoffed, grabbing the gun she had placed down before starting to dismantle it throughly.
Listening to her move, he continued to blow holes through the wooden target, even as he glanced at her from the corner of his eye. A few more pulls of the trigger and he paused to reload, looking completely at the woman. "So you can't use one but you can take one apart?"
Gasping, Alex throws his hands up and backs away, eyes darting from the barrel of the gun and back to Rorke repeatedly, the look of terror staining his face and mouth opening so words could be forced out.
“N-Nothing! Nothing! I was j-just joking!”
A fake laugh.
“Ha— Ha ha— See?!”
Lacking in care for the other man's obvious fear, he walked after him, the barrel of his weapon still aimed directly on the young Almagro with each step. When his target spoke, his eyes narrowed the slightest bit, and his hand cocked slightly, the gun still pointed at him from a new angle. "Fucking joke my ass. I should shoot you down right here and right now."