Fuck you, you fucking fuck! [clearly not at his most elegant, but in his defense, there's a lot happening. Like the fact that the guy he just stabbed in the gut with a three and a half inch hunk of metal hasn't so much as twitched. Beecher actually needs to look down for a moment and see the blood on the shank to verify that yes, he actually did stab Jan.
Beecher tries to twist free, his heart beating louder than he'd ever like to admit.] Get your fucking hand off me!
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Beecher tries to twist free, his heart beating louder than he'd ever like to admit.] Get your fucking hand off me!