[Arthur grits his teeth but doesn't respond to that declaration of Perry's intents. He does, however, respond to that tackle with a:] Shit!

[A combination of luck and good reflexes keeps Arthur's arms free from that grip, at least, because if Perry managed to trap them, this would be over. Still, it takes a moment for him to actually react, because the force of being driven to the ground with those thick arms constricting his chest is enough to make Arthur see stars as the breath is knocked out of him. The glock almost slips from his fingers as he struggles to regain his senses, but that's enough for him to tighten his grip on the barrel and hold onto the gun like his life depends on it. Each breath sends a sharp pain through one side, and he's sure a rib or two's been cracked, although it's hard to isolate the damage through the haze of pain. Still, he's not giving up yet. Arthur wraps his legs around Perry's waist and uses the momentum, pushing against the ground with one free hand, to try to roll the big man so that Arthur's on top. Even if that doesn't work, he's already lashing out with the gun to smash it against Perry's head.]