Survival is Crucial

Bust

The young man is greeted instantly by Nixon, staring him down as he had entered his room, 'Are you the guard?"

The young man smirked, "Yeah, I'm Maxwell." Maxwell entered, flicking on the lights as he did, Nixon crossing over to his bed, sitting on it.

"I'm so tired..."

Maxwell cracked his next, scanning the room with a suspicious glint in his eyes, hands in his pockets as he moved slowly through the room. "It really must've been tiring, huh? Considering all that has happened."

"Yeah... thrown into this s**t with barely any explanation."

Maxwell turned to Nixon, halfway across the room. "What's the plan, I wasn't briefed." Maxwell noticed that Nixon wasn't sitting on the bed as one arm wrapped around his neck, swiftly being thrown to the ground, gritting his teeth as he is slammed onto his back.

"I'm so f*****g done!" Nixon grabbed Maxwell by his hair, slamming it into the ground repeatedly as Maxwell struggled to pull Nixon's arms away until sticking two needles into Nixon's left arm, causing him to loosen his grip as Maxwell quickly went for his neck as he was freed. Nixon pulled his body back, causing Maxwell to miss Nixon's neck, but, it still stabbed Nixon, going through one side of his mouth to the other. Nixon bit down onto the needle, throwing one of his legs around Maxwell's arm, still gripping the needle as tightly as he could. Tightly wrapping his body around Maxwell's arm, Nixon pulled himself back, bending Maxwell's arm in an unnatural fashion as he squirmed helplessly until, pop, Nixon broke Maxwell's arm.

Maxwell's grip on the needle loosened, as well as Nixon loosening his hold on Maxwell's arm - Maxwell quickly pulled his arm away, squirming on the ground in pain. Nixon sighed, pulling the needle out from his cheek, throwing it to the ground. "Fucker..." Nixon growled, grabbing onto Maxwell's hair again and continuing from before, slamming his head into the floor.

Each time Maxwell went to pull off Nixon's arms from his head, Nixon would sock him in protest, grabbing on once again, repeating this until Maxwell's face was a bloodied, bruised contortion of what it once was before, slamming Max's head once more onto the floor, the back of his head leaking a bright red froth. Nixon's hands were covered in blood, and as he got off of Maxwell's unconscious body, he smeared it on the furniture around him. The skin on Nixon's knuckles was almost peeled off, showing the pinkish membrane inside as blood began forming at the rim of each knuckle. He felt the insides of his cheeks with his tongue, tasting the copper from the holes created by the needle he removed earlier - sucking on both cheeks before spitting out a small amount of blood as some small drops trickled down to Nixon's chin.

Bull charged into the room, the door slamming against the wall beside it as he entered, almost slipping to the ground as he grasped his neck, blood dripping on both ends of the needle going through his neck.

"What the f**k!?" Nixon yelled, backing into the wall behind him as Bull slowly pulled out a pistol from his waist. Bull almost fell face-first into the ground as he attempted to aim his gun at Nixon before pressing his lips together, his eyelids becoming lopsided.

In a raspy tone, a slight whistle coming from his neck at the same time, "f**k it..." Bull shook his head, spinning the gun around before holding it by the barrel, pointing the butt of it towards Nixon. "Fucking... take it."

"What...?"

"I won't... even live through this... just take the damn gun..."

Nixon let out a sharp exhale before grabbing it quickly, cautiously backing away, gun in hand. Bull dropped to the floor, almost dead and bleeding out on the ground. Nixon fell to the ground as well, completely exhausted, his eyes surrounded with two dark circles, taking in the c*****e that had taken place within the past few hours. He tossed the gun onto the bed, a light pud coming from it as he began running his hands through his air as it slowly turned into aggressive scratching.

A few minutes later, Marshall came into the room, astonished by what was in front of him, "You okay?" He asked as Nixon laid on the floor with a lifeless expression on his face.

"I'm so f*****g tired."

"How the hell did they get..." Marshall began mumbling to himself before cursing under his breath followed by the clicking of his tongue, hands in his pockets, "I should've put better guards, they were probably paid off or something."

A young man with uncharacteristically grey hair entered the room, whispering to Marshall about something. Marshall pressed his lips together as his eyes squinted in annoyance.

"Those guards are dead?"

Nixon focused on the sounds for a moment, being able to understand what the young man was saying, "It doesn't make too much sense, too quick, Maxwell shouldn't be capable of this."

"There is another threat in the building then."

"Balrog should be able to take care of it."

"No, we'll have Bal stay where he is, I can take care of this myself when the time comes."

The young man nodded before leaving, Marshall spinning on the balls of his feet to look over at Nixon as he still laid quietly on the ground, listening closely to what they were saying.

"Well... think of this as experience for what's to come, but... we're going to have to move our appointment in Brazil a few hours closer rather than waiting a whole day."

"What?"

"We can't take a plane either, it'll be too easy to find us and that never stopped Bounty Hunters in the first place. We'll be driving to Mexico and we'll take a boat all the way to Colombia, then drive over to Brazil from there. It'll be a bit of an adventure, but we'll find out more on what we need to do when we get there."

"What about Yua?"

"Again, she'll be protected thoroughly by Bal, she is in safe hands, plus, she can protect herself anyway, though less capable than you it seems."

"She's better than me at Martial Arts."

"But she's not as good at adapting to a situation such as this, no?"

"Right..."