Vic's jaw clenches at the sight of Sarge with a knee on his back. He'd love to lash out in kind, pulling the same kind of shit, but he's already deciding that when he comes home to his family, he's coming back all in one piece. It's a real harkening back to before all of this shit, when the games he played for the Bratva were based more on his ability to lie and grift so he could come back to Zhenya and Sasha without any trouble.
So he isn't planning on putting up much of a fight in this, but he can't help but laugh at the four patrolmen who approach him with clear wariness on their faces. It's a loud, barking sound that rumbles in his chest as he glances over at Bishop, following suit and getting one foot under himself to begin to draw up to his full height. There's a strike on his lower back, then, a sideswipe with the butt of a gun if he's guessing right, then another harder, insistent hit. It barely feels like anything but he stumbles forward nonetheless, catching himself on his palms. His eyes look up, searching for Roman. Is this what it had been like when his brother had been hauled into jail? Had he gone willingly or had he resisted?
"You happy?" Vic says, dragging his gaze away from Roman and into the face of the nearest Patrolman. He can't help but smile right at him as the rest of them grab his arms and hands, twisting and pulling them back behind his back. The smile turns into a sneer of pain when they play especially rough with his right arm. "Is this the best day of your life, fucker?"