It happened fast, so fast, and there was a secret part of Tucker that loved all of it. Badass, every part of this, from Felix getting smacked, from York's roll, from the explosion of the marble that made Tucker cover himself for a second. This was movie level stuff, something that Tarantino himself would have directed...

...just with more people wearing suits instead.

Tucker shoved himself up and threw the knife as hard as he could to the opposite end of the fight, away from Felix, away from Locus, away from everyone. The sword was back alight in his hand and he ran at the zombie fuckstick, aiming to slam his blade across his stomach. If he could cut the asshole in half, he would. Then in half again. Then again. Again again again again.

He was one of the reasons Church was gone, Doyle was gone, that Chorus was as messed up as it was. There was no forgetting that in this moment.