"Don't draw your gun on me kid," Drake had cleared the distance between them remarkably quick and, in the blink of an eye, bashed Garin's revolver aside with a sidewards strike from his arm. Continuing his forward momentum, his prosthetic arm shot up, grabbing Garin by the shoulder and pushing down hard, slamming him back into the counter. Inside of the AMP circuitry integrated into his hand lay an ASF inhibitor chip--the same one he'd subdued Alpha with months earlier--which would disrupt Garin's ability to teleport. "Now you've got thirty goddamn seconds to explain to me why you ratted us out to Booker," Drake snarled through gritted teeth, "before I put a hole in your gut, am I clear? Because apparently I wasn't clear enough when I gave you the instructions for this op." [spoiler]I'll be shorter from now on fam[/spoiler]