i need someone active later in the evenings (Open OxO)

(……..what is happening-)

(XD ikr- he’s amazing)

Knight's eyes flash as a gun folds out from somwehere, looking much like a normal Desert Eagle or something. . . but sleeker, and with a longer barrel, similar to a flintlock pistol. It hummed slightly as it sat there in Knight's palm, looking like it would be much too heavy for anyone but him to lift or handle.

He presses the end of the barrel to the man's forehead and toggles a switch. The hum increases in pitch slightly, sounding now like it could be a handheld railgun. But that was impossible. . . right?

"Test me, human." he says quietly.

Derik grins, leaning into the barrel of the gun. “Pull the trigger, bitch. I dare you.” He stares into Knights eyes, a cheeky smirk on his lips.

Knight chuckles, shifting the gun down and shooting Derik in the knee.

No muzzle flash. No real noise.

The knee is gone, though, and a hold has been carved into the ground where the projectile had just went straight through bone and concrete as though it didn't exist or matter.

"Try and be cocky about that one." he mutters, the gun folding away into somewhere.

Derik yelps, hissing softly. Yet…he doesn’t scream. He just grips onto his leg, doubling over. “Should have been more specific-“

Knight watches as the bottom portion of the leg falls over, having been disconnected from the upper portion at the knee.

He was impressed, actually. The man wasn't screaming, and his balance seemed to be decent enough.

"Probably." Knight agrees. He pushes the man over so he's lying on his back.

"Don't move." he commands.

Derik flips him off, “Screw you-“ He squeezes his eyes shut and stayed still as told.

Knight rolls his eyes.

A small metal case opens, revealing strange tools and vials of stuff.

"This will hurt. A lot. Bite down on this-" he hands Derik a leather bound wood bar. "-and breathe out on a count of three, in on a count of 4."

He grabs one of the pointy tools and a vial, sliding the latter into a slot in the former. Then it goes straight into the man's open and bleeding stump.

Derik bites down, whining. He tries his best to breathe, his body shaking slightly.

2 seconds. 3 seconds. 4. A whole minute passes before Knight withdraws the implement. He tosses it to the side, then grabs a black square.

He unfolds it into a 1 foot by one foot square of plasticy fabric before wrapping it around the stump, which had scabbed over. It clings to the skin tightly and starts its job of taking samples of everything it was touching to be able to make a suitable organic prosthetic. After a full three minuts of this, it's absorbed into the skin, and the stump starts to bubble and then the bones and cartiledge slowly start to get rebuilt.

"Keep biting down." Knight says. "The worst part is yet to come."

Derik whines, wanting to scream. But he doesn’t. He grips onto any pillows and blankets he can find, still trying to keep his breathing regulated. After a while, he curses under his breath. “Y-you know I-I…wanted you t-…to shoot me in the g-goddamned head-“ He mumbles around the wood.

Knight smirks. "Yeah. Yeah I did."

Slowly, the bones and cartiledge finish, and next up is the muscles sinews and nerves. This was the worst part. Slowly, Derik would be able to feel a harsh burning sensation, multiplied by 10. It would be worse pain than a snapped Achilles tendon, this part.

Derik whines, then ‘quietly screams’. His whole body shook as he gasped for air. “Mother fucker!!” He yells, pulling at the blanket beneath him. “Ima kick your robo ass!” He threatens.

"Yeah, yeah." Knight says dismissively.

The nerves finally quiet down, and then an itching sensation would spread down the leg as skin and hair grew back.

Derik slumps back, panting. “Next time…aim for my fucking head…” He mutters, keeping his eyes closed.

(Dude this man’s fearless-)

"Noted. Though I could have sworn you said something about kids a bit ago." Knight shrugs.

Derik grumbles, “Yeah but I’d rather not live with childhood trauma. _dickhead…”

"Trauma. Blunt force or sharp objects?" Knight asks, confused.

Derik grumbles, “That…and being abused all my life and-“ he stops mid sentence.

Knight tilts his head, processing.

"Let me get this straight. You aren't a fighter. You haven't been in any wars. But you still have physical evidence of abuse? From the people who are supposed to protect you?" he asks to confirm.

Derik nods. “My father gave me this scar on my face…while my mother held me down. I was 6.”

Knight inhales, holds the breath then exhales. "Are they still alive?"

He didn't know why. But something about this just ticked him off. That counted as a war crime, didn't it? Unnesccesary punishment?

Derik shrugs. “I think so…my father tried to kill me just last year…”

Knight nods. "You're. . . Derik M'kark, right?"

He nods. “Yup…” he chuckles softly.

Knight taps his cheek. Rather, the barcode-like marking on his cheek.

In a couple seconds, he's encased in a suit of bulky, high grade military armor.

"Stay here. I'll be back in a bit." he commands.

He jumps straight up into the air, through one of the holes in the roof, and disappears.

Derik sighs, turning onto his side. “Good luck with that…”