Disclaimer: I do not own "Human Target". It belongs to Fox.

A/N: This is a really random oneshot, please do not flame me. Note: It is from the POV of the bearded guy who attacked them in the season finale. I don't know his name, so he's just "The Bearded One".

Bearded One's POV

I have to admit, I was a bit nervous to question Guerrero.

I was surprised that the men had actually agreed to watch him. He was a legend. There were few rules in the underworld, but one of them was "Don't mess with Guerrero". Unsurprisingly, the men had quickly volunteered for other jobs, leaving only three unfortunate men to handle Guerrero.

And now, it was my turn.

Chance and Winston I could handle. Winston had a slow temper and he could control it. Chance's temper was a bit more precarious, but he didn't go after everyone and everything. Guerrero, on the other hand, had, according to a rumor, stabbed a guy with jumper cables just for interrupting him one too many times.

I sat down across from him, eyeing him warily. He was, for the most part, uninterested in me for the moment. He'd glanced at me as I'd walked in, but then he'd looked away, clearly unimpressed.

"Well," I said, breaking the silence. "Your reputation precedes you. Tell me, there must've been some point that day when you could've ended it. Why didn't you?"

He shrugged as best as he could while tied up.

"My heart grew three sizes that day," he quipped. "What do you want me to say?"

I smirked at his attempted bravado.

"You know, it's ironic. We would never have found Chance if it hadn't been for you. We'd lost his trail until you reconnected with him." I chuckled. "Just think, that they'd be safe if you'd remained in the employ of their enemy. Life's ironic, huh."

A blink.

That was his only sign of emotion…or life, for that matter.

His facial expression never changed, but I felt cold….like someone had cranked down the thermostat.

I looked at him.

"Nothing to say?" I asked.

He was silent for a long moment, and then he shrugged again.

"You seem like a smart guy," he commented. "That's why I hope you'll do the right thing and kill me when you're done with your little game. Because if you don't, I'm gonna come after ya. And when I do, I'm gonna make you regret every last word that you just told me."

I stared at him for a moment, too stunned to say anything. Finding my voice, I leaned back in my chair and smirked.

"You're in no position to make threats," I said coolly.

One eyebrow lifted upwards.

"No?" he asked. "I'm the guy who's tied up and you don't think I should make threats? Well then you'd better plug your ears."

He leaned forward, and I resisted the urge to back away from the look of cold fury he was shooting me.

"Your contact, the guy you sent to get dirt on Chance? He ended up at the bottom of the bay for just trying to get information. You took things one step further: you came after him. You think I'm not gonna do whatever I have to do to keep my buddy safe, you'd better take a few more minutes to reflect. Because I will be stone cold dead before I allow anyone to hurt Chance or Winston!"

His voice never really changed a whole lot. It wasn't like he ended up screaming at me, or hissing in anger, the way most prisoners I questioned did.

But, in his own way, Guerrero had found the perfect way to threaten people.

You don't yell or snarl your threat, and make your tone the message. You keep your voice calm and controlled and then make your words matter. If a guy's screaming at you, you're not going to listen to a whole lot of what he's saying, but if a guy's just talking normally? Every word comes out crystal clear.

I stood up and struggled to stay calm.

"We'll see about that," I told him, not meeting his gaze, as I was sure that he was glaring with enough heat to vaporize me.

"Think about it, dude," he said as I turned to leave.

His voice was more casual, carefree now. But I could sense the hidden meaning in his words.

People talked about blood brothers. Guerrero's loyalty to Chance had them beat. There were no lines, no boundaries, no laws, when it came to protecting Chance.

Except, of course, for the one that I'd crossed.

I felt like someone had just painted a bull's-eye on me.

Guerrero was a legend. He was the best assassin that there was:

Ruthless, pragmatic, inconspicuous, and controlled.

And I was his next target.