Reese grunted. He'd done some research of his own since his run in with Riley, filling in the blanks he couldn't remember from the sheet on his Big Targets Board. "Oh yeah? You're just a regular Mr. Fix It..." Reese had strapped his large hunting knife to his hip shortly after getting his luggage off the plane. It made a slick whispering sound - sharp metal on leather - when he pulled it off his belt.
He carried the knife like a man who knew what it was for. "That what you were doing when you killed those twelve people? Fixin' things?" The scorn in Reese's voice was meant to be shaming. "You think - Hey, no one's payin' attention to me when I walk around with signs, maybe they'll care if I start blowing them up?" None of his had gotten hurt, so this wasn't personal, but that wouldn't stop him from making it clear the little rat deserved whatever he got.
He waggled the knife in Riley's direction. "Now, you've got two choices here. You can give in and come easy, like the spineless shit you are. Or you can try to run." Reese lifted his head to a challenging angle, and the smirk he slanted at him was nothing short of instigating.
"Go 'head and guess which one I want you to do." Reese moved in Riley's direction, aggressively fast, and if he didn't move fast enough he was going to get a hand on the scruff of his neck seconds before the knife hilt came down on the back of his head.