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AREN'T YOU BEING TOO VICIOUS?

"It's just a superficial wound," the taxi driver fibs, unable to bring himself to admit the severity of his injury. Natasha is already worried seeing he is injured.

He can't bear to tell her that the injury is actually so deep– too deep that the mere sight of it frightens him. His car interior is stained with his blood, mingled with the alcohol he used to disinfect it.

"Hmph, who knows if there's even an injury there, or if you're just pretending to be injured? If you're really injured, where are the blood stains? It seems like you're just trying to gain our sympathy!

"Anyways, I can't entertain any of you. You damaged my bumper, and you have to compensate me. My car is a Rolls-Royce Dawn worth $500,000, something neither of you can obviously make in a lifetime. I could demand $200,000 for my bumper, but I'll be generous and settle for $100,000. So, which one of you is going to pay up?"

"You must be high on drugs," Natasha hisses disdainfully. Ah!

She hasn't seen someone like Layla
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