CHAMPAGNE, COCAINE, GASOLINE / OPEN, BADLANDS RAID

[DYLAN,]

[align=center][div style="borderwidth=0px; width: 490px; color: black; text-align: justify; margin-top: 5px"][color=black]Dylan's attack had failed, which was understandable, but at the sight of the gun being swung towards him he could only feel overwhelming fear. Oh God, this was it. He was going to die at the hands of this guy. He was going to die without seeing the world, without learning to read or write, or finding love. Or finding his sisters. He was going to die in a grimy alleyway in an unknown area, probably to be left behind while his corpse rotted and his group-mates ran off with their goods and his fucking gun. He squeezed his eyes closed as the gun exploded; his ears were ringing, but there was in proper impact. Dylan's eyes flew open and he stared in horror at the fabric of the black hoodie, a gaping hole now present just above his ribs. He had been grazed on the ribs, a wound that was nothing compared to what he had recently experienced. "You're so fucking lucky." Snarled the young adult in surprise as he shook the bullet out his hoodie. A thick line of blood was visible as it trickled down his already scarred skin; Cecil was one of the first person to see his old abuse scars, but hopefully the darkness would hide his biggest secret.

He may be a hot-head in situations like this, but Dylan was smart not to move an inch from his position near the wall. Injured and lacking his AK, he had no defense visible except his words, and boy, did Dylan love to manipulative with his words. He was a near professional. Instead of raging towards Cecil, he tilted his head to the side and smirked widely across at him. "Too scared to fight without a big bad gun, little bitch? Or you gonna let Wolfbite protect your scrawny ass every second?" He lowered his voice, hazel eyes gleaming with venom and hatred in the dim light. "I wonder what he would do if he found out you were our little mole. He'd probably think you were weak for spilling your guts - I heard Charlie barely touched you yet you spoke for hours." He ignored the sounds of dogs snarling in the distance; hopefully Margaux was wise enough to use that goddamn gun. "Doesn't it feel embarrassing to be babied constantly? Show your worth and shoot at me again. I dare you. Prove me wrong, prove everyone wrong. Do it." All while speaking, the twisted, pointed smirk never left his face; he didn't know about the others, but he was trying to stall this for as long as possible to give Clover enough time to get their good stuff. The idiots hadn't decided to have someone keep an eye on their inside warehouses, giving them free range to whatever they wanted.

Hey Grea, if Cecil was to get injured what are the boundaries? Just so I know for the rest of the thread lmao