Quackity glared down at the man under him, pressing his knife into the neck of the brit. His black mullet fell past his shoulders, shading his sweat beaded face and making his scar look terrifying.

"I said, what are you doing in Las Nevadas." He hissed with a powerful venom in his tone, he hated this man, he was insufferable and seemed to leave destruction everywhere he went. He was straddling Wilbur on the ground, holding his wrists above him and keeping the blade to his throat as he waited for an answer.