GODDAMN PSYCHO!

From the size and shape of the metal object Jax just seen in Hank's hand, one would think that was a nail clipper and Jax also mistook it for that thing.

He hoped that he was correct.

Jax himself didn't know why he hoped that that metal object to be just a normal item.

But when Hank flashed that shiny object in front of Garry, all of his doubts went off the window, because that was clearly a pocket folding knife with two types of blades that were fixed into it's handle through pivot mechanism, and it even seemed to be a brand new one.

And sure enough, Garry was shaking just at the sight of the said knife as the tiny amount of courage he had mustered earlier to ask about the game, had now vanished.

"Which blade should we use?" Hank mused out loud, eyeing the knife and Garry in turns. He seemed to be pondering about it deeply as if he was a researcher who was stuck at the critical moment of his experiment.

"I think we should use the less sharper one in the two, boss," suggested one of the man with a creepy smile tugged on his lips.

"It's already a very simple game, we should make him use the sharper one to be fair, no?" said another, looking genuinely puzzled.

"What do you think? The sharper one or the other one?" Hank directed the question to Jax. And of course with the same amount of enthusiasm.

"How do we know which one is the sharpest?" Jax asked, just in attempt to play along with Hank, since he couldn't just ignore him.

Hearing his reply, a glint of viciousness mixed with cruelty flashed in Hank's black eyes.

"How about we test it out now?" he paused for a moment, probably thinking about what he should use to find the knives' sharpness. His eyes flickered to Garry, who became even paler as all the color drained from his face like he was about to puke out all his gut's contents.

"I think Garry could help us solve this issue, right Garry?" said Hank mysteriously. He quirked his lips into a meaningful smile.

It went without saying that Garry was scared to his very core when he heard his name being mentioned by the weirdly smiling man.

"H- How?" Garry asked in a stuttering voice. It was clear he was terrified to hear the answer but even so he mustered some of his shattered courage as if asking the obvious would change the inevitable.

At this point, a random thought appeared in Jax's mind, he wondered what crime this pitiful man had committed to be ended in this hell like place.

Hank slowly unfolded one of the knives from their safety lock and raised his hand slightly, as if he was going to slash the latter's face.

Seeing Hank's ready to attack posture, Garry once again cowered back and hid behind Jax. Jax didn't understand why this guy was always using him as a shield as if he was his saviour.

"Tsk Tsk... What happened Garry? I'm just showing you the damn blade!" Hank clicked his tongue in annoyance. "Why, you don't even want to see them clearly before playing with them?" he then added in a fake surprised tone.

"Wow, boss! It seems that he didn't even care which one he had to use," said the man with bald head.

"Your friend seemed to be very brave and well versed with knives," echoed the one who said to use the sharper blade to be fair.

"So, that's how it is. I didn't understand why you are avoiding me again. If that is the case, you don't have to be hesitant and can tell me directly that you are ready to play the game," said Hank in an understanding tone, before handing over the knife to Garry.

However, Garry wouldn't budge from his place behind Jax even after a good five minutes. But, that didn't mean he could avoid Hank's claws. The rougish man just have to look at the young man to make the latter give him way and in the next second the knife was stuffed into Garry's trembling hands forcibly.

It was understandable, though. After all, Jax was no better than Garry when it came to fighting goons, not to mention the ten or so burly man at the same time.

Jax didn't even stand a chance if one of them were to challenge him to a small match of hand wrestling, so he could forget about retaliating altogether. And the former wasn't a saint who would risk his own well being to protect others.

In a place like this, there was no need to play hero if you want to live for a long time, especially when you didn't have the ability.

"We still lack something, though..." One of Hank's men remarked as he touched his chin, seemingly thinking hard.

"Is it? What did we forget Mark?" Hank asked, seeming genuinely waiting for the former to finish his words fully.

"Ahh! I remember it now! Aren't we in need of a surface for him to spread his fingers on, before he can play this game?" the man named Mark, remarked in a thoughtful tone.

"Oh, he can just make use of the ground we are standing upon now," suggested one of the minions standing right beside Garry.

"How about we let him spread his hand on his own thigh?" suggested the man with bald head.

"Yes, yes! It's a very good option," said the man who raised the issue in the question.

"Yes, it's clean and tidy, much better than the ground where we walk daily," said the second man.

"Isn't it? It's settled then," Hank approved the suggestion with a weird smile on his face, which fluctuated between proudness and shamelessness as if his men came up with the most appropriate solution.

Hank then lifted his eyes and stared at Garry encouragingly, yet his smile looked more like a provocative sneer rather than an encouraging one.

He was ruthlessly asking the shivering Garry to hurt himself with that trademark weird small on his face.

He wasn't just creepy, he was a God D*nm Psycho!!!

What kind of place is this!?