Strike he does, shoving that free hand against the young throat next to him, pushing him against the nearest wall, using his leg to immobilize Punchy's own. The knife is out again, quietly and discreetly threatening to drive slowly into Punchy's stomach if he makes the wrong move.

Hyperion tilts his head, contemplating, thinking, breathing in the scent of the air around them. He likes to take in these details sometimes, a insignificant as they become after enough time has passed.

"That was awfully rude of you, buddy," He practically snarls, voice quiet against the silence around them. "What are you doing here?"