A gun shot.
His running back hits the dirt as he does. He’s curling in on his side, uniform bleeding red. He’s not screaming though Hiruma can hear it trying to squeeze out. Hiruma is beside him in a second when he finally catches up. Yanking Sena’s hands away from the wound and pulling up his shirt. His blood is spreading quickly, already staining the turf. It runs down his skin like water from an over flowing tap. He sees no exit wound and moves quickly, tearing up Sena’s jersey, balling it, pressing it into the wound. Someone is trying to get his attention. There’s a hand on him. It’s Musashi.
Rage like he’s never felt bursts through him and he’s sure Musashi can see it in his eyes. He orders Musashi to hold the shirt to Sena’s wound. Demands someone to call an ambulance and scrambles over to his gun. His hands are dripping with Sena’s blood, it’s smeared on his favourite gun, soaked into his pants and knee pads.
He hears Musashi order someone to grab him as he stalks off after the bastard but doesn’t register it. Nobody catches him. He wasn’t aware he was running. He can hear the man up ahead of him. Running for his life through the stadium halls. He’s not running fast enough though.
Hiruma rounds a bend and has him in sight. Takes aim and shoots right through his calf. The man goes down hard, sliding a few extra feet with his momentum. His own gun clattering further down the hall. Hiruma’s on him before he can gather his baring enough to realise he was shot. Flipping over, straddling and slamming the butt of his gun into his face over and over and over and over.
Bloodies his nose, blackens both eyes, the telltale crack accompanying breaking bones and teeth as he sets in with his fist. He can’t even hear the man’s cries through his rage, through his fear.
What he can hear, is the footsteps rapidly approaching him from behind. He’s got seconds to make his point. Beating the man senseless is not productive though it is relieving.
“You think for even a fucking second you can finish the job and I’ll fucking find you, you sack of shit. I’ll fucking find you, and I’ll fucking kill you, you hear me?”
The man only cries beneath him.
“You fucking understand?” He punctuates his yell with violent shake and the man is nodding desperately, scrabbling at Hiruma’s grip on his shirt.
“Yes y-yes I understand! Please stop please.” He babbles. Hiruma only smiles and leans in close, so he’s the only thing the man can see, and makes sure he holds the bastards eye line.
“The next bullet,” he says, trailing a finger up the man’s cheek, “goes right here,” and taps between his eyes, “I promise you.”
Hiruma is punted off the man by a pipsqueak’s body. It was a hard tackle, vicious, and slams him into the cold laminate mercilessly. He’d have gotten hurt if he’d not been in his gear. The body does get off him. Only makes itself comfortable until another comes over to help hold him down. But he’s already done. He’s not moving. He made his point.
The man gets himself up and begins hobbling down the hall as fast as his bum leg will allow him, sobbing and dripping blood the whole way down. Those on top of Hiruma hold him down until the man is well out of sight. As well they did. Hiruma wanted to kill him for his pathetic snivelling. He brought this fate on himself by hurting one of his people.
They helped him up after, Riku and Kid. Dusted him off as he stared down the corridor, then waited in tense silence until Hiruma just turned around and walked back towards the field.