Solace. Sanctuary.

Shattered, when the door slams against the wall and everything goes quiet.

Gavin has never met Chu-e Choi, but he knows the man immediately by reputation alone. One of Rocket's infamous Beasts, feral and violent, dangerous in a way that even THEO BECKETT was not known to be.

He averts his gaze instinctively, tries to ignore the roiling fury in hopes it isn't meant for him. That becomes significantly harder when his workstation becomes the target of Choi's wrath, expensive equipment crashing to the floor. Notes he's spent months working on find themselves drenched in chemicals that spill, Gavin taking a few bracing steps back before whatever unholy mix of compounds had been created could find their way to the tips of his shoes. He swallows his anger.

In place of his work, a bomb is slammed down. He knows nothing about it.

Unfortunately, because this is his workstation, the other scientists seem content to let him deal with the Beast's wrath. He doesn't answer, because he doesn't know.

Silence reigns and it's clear that this annoys him. The shift in his steps and fury concentrating squarely between his shoulders.

"Since no one wants to speak up-"

Cillian Quinn is the unfortunate victim, just by proximity to the Beast. Despite the height difference, the blond practically towering over him, he reaches up to grab Gavin bu the collar. Drag his face down to his level. He smells like sweat and metal, red staining under his nails. Blue eyes meet amber.

"Name." Something vicious is in his eyes, wild and manic.

There's a collective sense of relief in the room when a target is chosen — Gavin, the target, does not share it.

Though the scientist sports surprising muscle, there is virtually no resistance when Chu-e Choi yanks him down by the collar. Those muscles tense instinctively as if he expects a fight, but he doesn't pull away. His amber eyes are wide.

"Merlino, sir."

Respect is instinctual; Choi could tear Gavin's throat out with his teeth.

Oh, that relief was palpable. Good enough for what he had planned, to crush it in his fist and make these nerdy fuckers know fear.

"Merlino." And it's almost a purr, his voice pitching up somewhat as if Chu-e was being kind. He let's Cillian Quinn go but doesn't let him loose, his arm slung around the other's shoulders. A show is made. Always has been theatrical.

"So, important question. Of all the stupid fuckers in this corner of the lab, think real hard for me. Whose research is the most useless." His voice carries.

He's smart, and he's been in Rocket a while besides. Gavin knows the wolves from the sheep. Chu-e Choi hides his fangs behind a friendly purr, but what should be a pleasant sound raises all the hair on Gavin's arms.

Choi would feel the tension in Gavin's spine, the weight of his fight or flight instincts repressed.

He doesn't like where this is going. He doesn't want to be the scapegoat for whatever the Beast was planning. But neither is he bold enough to pull away, or protest. He's seen what the Beasts can do. Sometimes, when they're done with their prey, it's donated to the labs. Dead or alive, it doesn't matter. They're never recognizable as what they were before the Beasts got a hold of them.

"Research is subjective," he says, slow and careful, like he's tiptoeing past a lion's den. "All of it has merit, when pooled together."

"I see, I see..." He nods along, as if really paying attention to what Cillian Quinn's saying, as if he cares what his opinion is. There's a shift of the wrist, a knife slides into his palm, the arm draped around the blond produces the blade in his palm like it was meant to be there. It's quick to press against the throat. Hard enough that a bead of blood escapes, no more or no less.

"That's a real pretty way of not answering my question, Merlino." The facade drops but Gavin isn't let go.

"In my subjective view, you're all fucking idiots. If my phrasing gets your panties in a fucking twist, then who do you think is the most useless here?"

Gavin inhales, sharp, when he feels the knife press against his throat.

He closes his eyes and takes a slower breath to steady himself, going very still so as not to see the blade sink into the delicate flesh beneath his jaw. He can feel the sting of it, knows it's nicked him even if he can't see the blood.

He tilts his head back, swallows anxiously.

"I-I would prefer not to throw my colleagues under the bus, sir."

Prefer, because the knife is at his throat right now, and there is no man Merlino cares about more than himself.

"Aw, that's real sweet." Nimble fingers dance the knife away from Cillian Quinn's throat, change the angle of the grip.

It's stabbed into Gavin's shoulder, quick. Twisted and he leans in closer to the other's face.

"My team was given three of those faulty bombs from this section of the lab, Merlino. Two of them misfired and took out sixteen of my men before a very important mission."

Chu-e hadn't failed. Gavin knew the price of failure. Being a Beast didn't save you from those consequences. In a fluid movement, Gavin is shoved away, hard, towards his work desk. All the fake friendliness if gone from Chu-e's face.

"I want my pound of flesh for that fuckup, Merlino. Give me a name or it'll be yours."

Temporary relief is granted when the blade retracts, allows him to breathe for a moment without fear of Choi slitting his throat. He takes that single, refreshing pull of air before it escapes him in a strangled yelp as Chu-e stabs him in the shoulder.

He closes his mouth to stifle a scream, squeezes his eyes shut.

"F-Fuck," he shudders, doubling over and seething through white-hot agony. Knuckles bulge as his fingernails dig deep into the flesh of his palm, but the lessons of THEO BECKETT show in his refusal to pull away.

Righteous fury — he had done nothing to deserve this — is buried deep.

He's shoved against the desk, catches himself on his forearm and cowers from the Beast. He won't refuse again, not with the penalty so clearly spelled out for him.

"I'm not in charge of the weaponry, sir; that's over there." He gestures with his chin toward a section of the lab harboring an understandably terrified group of individuals. There's evident resentment as Gavin indicates them, but he swallows any guilt. Give me a name, or it'll be yours. He complies, meek. "Liu and Cordova head the project."

"Thank you, Merlino. Was that so hard?" Stepping into Cillian Quinn's space once again, Chu-e grabs the knife and rips it out. He slaps the bloodied blade against his palm, like a dog owner might the newspaper before swatting their pet, and makes his way for that side of the lab.

What follows is not pretty. On top of the crunching snaps of bones and the screaming, it seems like he meant that thread about a 'pound of flesh' more literally than one might expect.

At the end, while the scientists are still alive, they might wish they hadn't been. A set of hands lay on top of bloodied squares of meat and skin.

Flecks of blood are splattered all over him as he passes back by, as if nothing he had done was more thrilling than making a sandwich.

Chu-e doesn't pause, doesn't look back at Gavin as he makes for the exit, doesn't waste his breath. The man is already forgotten, another in a sea of faces that meld together and are deemed unimportant. Just another person for him to stomp on to keep his well-earned rank.

Gavin lets out a muffled whimper as the knife is yanked unceremoniously from his shoulder, blood spurting from taught muscle as he all but collapses. It hurts more now that the shock is wearing off, hurts enough that he feels sick. He slumps to the floor and presses the wound hard against the cold metal of the workstation, an awkward attempt to stem the flow of blood.

That the violence and crunch-snap of bone no longer sickens him as it once did speaks volumes as to Rocket's hold. He is consumed, instead, by his own suffering — how the cold metal against the base of his neck is oddly pleasant, how tired he feels.

It's not until the Beast leaves that one of Gavin's colleagues dares approach him, slaps him across the face to pull him into clarity. He blinks, squints, doesn't protest as they help him unsteadily to his feet. He's hardened against Rocket's violence, but the sight of Chu-e Choi's handiwork still churns in the pit of his stomach as they shuffle past it toward the door. Words are exchanged, but he hears them as though they're far away and doesn't register their meaning.

This was going to be a hell of a thing to explain to THEO BECKETT.