His blood beats in his ears and his throat goes dry. The only thing he can taste is blood and it fills him to the point where he has to grip the metal banister just to keep himself steady.
The silence around him is deafening. But it's what finally sets off his fuse.
He's silent and swift, twisting from the metal bar before it can creek from the sure pressure it has been released from. There is no buck knife out this time; instead, it's a different knife, a knife he's kept under the tactical sweater. It's heavy and raw and the double-bladed ends spin as Nicholai's foot hits the door, slamming it shut. The echoes are lost on him though as fingers snatch the base of HUNK's neck, forcing him back to the metal bar.
"Вы умрете. Вы должны умереть. Умрите." The blade touches HUNK's skin, tasting the exposed neck. It's too beautiful and Nicholai stares as he forces his partner's forehead down against the cold steel of the bed frame. Then, he reels the other man's head back and, with all the force he can muster, slams his skull back down, hopefully smacking him dead center on the frame work. He repeats the process again and again until he's panting. Then, the blade comes up again.