[Johnnie is already preparing to tackle this guy. Chrissy shouldn't be underestimated, he knows that, but while she's strong and fast, she's inexperienced in a fight. Johnnie, though, he lives for this shit.
Even with a gun, that guard can't take both of them without backup, and he's left his radio on the desk. At the same time the guard bowls Chrissy over and disarms her, Johnnie is closing quickly, his own knife in his hand. He could shoot this asshole for threatening Chrissy, he probably should, but even for him that's a last resort. Instead, as Chrissy strikes upward at the guy's throat, Johnnie kicks that gun out of his hand and much farther away this time, then grabs a handful of his hair and yanks him up onto his knees with the blade of his knife against his throat.]
Chrissy, go get that gun. Hey, fucker. We got some questions. You wanna cooperate or do you want me to gut you like a pig? Your choice.
[The guard is warily looking around out of the corner of his eyes, trying to locate his gun, until Johnnie digs the knife in harder, drawing blood and putting pressure on his windpipe. He gasps and refocuses.]
Hey man, I just work here. What do you even want?
[He doesn't sound like he's going to be happy to cooperate, but Johnnie keeps him focused, keeps his attention off anything like escape or Chrissy or fighting back, at least for the moment.]
no subject
Even with a gun, that guard can't take both of them without backup, and he's left his radio on the desk. At the same time the guard bowls Chrissy over and disarms her, Johnnie is closing quickly, his own knife in his hand. He could shoot this asshole for threatening Chrissy, he probably should, but even for him that's a last resort. Instead, as Chrissy strikes upward at the guy's throat, Johnnie kicks that gun out of his hand and much farther away this time, then grabs a handful of his hair and yanks him up onto his knees with the blade of his knife against his throat.]
Chrissy, go get that gun. Hey, fucker. We got some questions. You wanna cooperate or do you want me to gut you like a pig? Your choice.
[The guard is warily looking around out of the corner of his eyes, trying to locate his gun, until Johnnie digs the knife in harder, drawing blood and putting pressure on his windpipe. He gasps and refocuses.]
Hey man, I just work here. What do you even want?
[He doesn't sound like he's going to be happy to cooperate, but Johnnie keeps him focused, keeps his attention off anything like escape or Chrissy or fighting back, at least for the moment.]