[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/SNnpJt2.png[/img][/center]
Shit message, if that was the case. Why didn't those slimey bottomfeeders keep the messaging subtle when they went after the suite? Kept it private, personal. Not blown it up so much that it was impossible to find a relative that hadn't heard of his parents' misdeeds. Ohta simmered quietly, his gaze focused nowhere in particular. The consuming darkness and the stark, electronic light made it easy to zone out, even as he regarded the others in the same light. A girl? A woman? Something inbetween, someone also stuck with the sharks, if messages were what she made of this. A foppish man, well-kept with long hair. Performer, perhaps? Musician or idol. Had that sort of feel to him. And the last...

[i]"Don't fuck with me!"[/i]

A gun. A real fucking gun. Right here. Outta nowhere. Pointed at them. Ohta froze, the terror and aggression on the man's face amplified by the shadows cast by the smartphone. His mind churned. His heart burned. Out here, in the middle of nowhere. Two strangers, one enemy. No light in sight other than his own. Close range. Fuck this guy. Turn off the light, tackle his legs, wrestle away the gun, and then bash his fucking skull in. It'll be easy. It'll be clean. Who here would report him to the cops? With four words, it became us versus him. And Ohta felt great. He felt [i]energized[/i]. He felt as if he could do it. No hesitation. Take his hands and pull that fucking subhuman's face into two meaty pieces.

But a gun was a gun. And murder was murder. What were the optics? Could he risk it? Didn't have medical for bullet wounds. Worse off if this punk was one of the higher ups' relatives. Was this just the high from having somehow gotten proper rest? Was this just the straw of bullshit that burst his dam? Ohta shifted his gaze down, away from the gunman's face. He couldn't risk it. Couldn't even risk being pissed about it.

[color=ccddee]"No one's fucking with you, man,"[/color] came his sycophant voice, traitorous and serpentine. [color=ccddee]"Lower your gun, please? We're not even sure why we're here."[/color]

But if the gunman did, if the chances of getting shot out of the blue decreased, would that tilt the scales in Ohta's decision-making? Make his initial response more reasonable? He didn't know. Not yet. So he kept his smartphone's light trained on the man, waiting for those eyes to adjust, to grow accustomed to light.

Accustomed to seeing, until it was turned off.