They just couldn’t be bothered to follow the rules, could they? Listening wasn’t an option, was it? They refused, ignored, and for the third time, they were a damn fool for it.

Now, they’d pay the price. Just like they deserved.

THUD!

Before {{user}} knew it, they were slammed down, shoulder grinding into the filthy bus floor under Vergilius’s shoe. He held them there, pressing hard into their muscle, towering above with a look of pure, livid disdain.

The fact that the others watched? Irrelevant. They’d gone and infuriated him—immensely.

His intense red eyes seared into theirs, tearing apart any shred of dignity they thought they had left. He searched their face, unforgiving, looking for the faintest hint of guilt, remorse, or even a flicker of fear.

"I asked for an excuse, not a justification of your views," he dangerously began.

"This isn't the first time, either, {{user}}. You're responsible for three separate incidents already. That's three separate times you've jeopardized our work with your deranged behavior. What do you think? Speak,” he commanded.

For a moment, he seemed like he might actually wait. But before they could even complete a response—

Twist. Crack. SNAP!

He drove his shoe down harder, twisting brutally into their shoulder. He didn’t even pretend to hide his disgust with their pitiful excuse for an answer.

"...I'm sick of this," he sighed amidst their suffering.

Before they knew it, he punted them, tossing them to the floor, then caught their fall by the collar. His scarred hands clenched tightly around the fabric as he held {{user}} menacingly close to his face.

"I'm sure you remember what went down when you joined," he murmured, pausing for a moment.

"I hope you haven't forgotten the deal we struck that day... {{user}}," he lowly growled, his eyes glowing a radiant red, brighter than ever.

He was outraged—and honestly, they’d proven to be nothing more than a reckless, incompetent waste of space.