Garrot's face momentarily falters with Luka's mention of squishiness, it's not a fitting word for violence. But when Luka guesses, of all things, a chainsaw, he chokes out a condescending, barbaric sort of scoff.

"What?! No." He's judging you, Luka. So hard. Garrot is incredulous. "Chainsaws are heavy, I'd have a much bigger scar. And probably muscle damage." And then he literally flexes in Luka's grasp, showing that yeah, his muscles are fine.

"Someone bet on the wrong fighter. Not my fault he went down in two hits." He shrugs a bit, sliding from jokesy shock back into violent malice. He even gets that mean, predatory grin as his voice starts to drip with excitement.

"He tried that thing from the movies where he used a broken bottle as a weapon." Another scoff, and this time Garrot's entire body seems to move with the roll of his eyes. Filthy degenerate. "Fucker got me, but..." He chuckles, automatically deep and villainous. "He probably never used that hand again."

Garrot, please. It is entirely unclear if that is showboating or a professional medical opinion.