Oh Tucker. You still don't get it, do you?

Distracting Tucker? That part was easy. All he had to do was keep him on his toes, antagonize him enough to forget the mission, keep his focus. And oh, how this restless memory hungered for a little payback.

The knife flipped in his hand before jerking back, stabbing into his own chest, the handle jutting out visibly from between the plates. And all Felix did was cock his head, his grin audible.

You can stab me. Shoot me. Throw me off a fucking tower, and I'm just gonna get right back up again. I'm gonna come for you, your moron friends...and your little mutant, while I'm at it.


Meanwhile, Locus was closing the distance quickly between him and York, careening forward with all the force and weight of a runaway train. That is, before that word reaches his ears. Stop? Why would he...

And he slows. He doesn't quite stop, but he slows a considerable amount, finally coming to a halt just feet away from York, breathing heavily, his armor both organic and synthetic slick and dark with blood. Then, he snarls, his head lowering until the two were eye to eye.

What was he playing at?