Chapter I: New Life, Old Shadows
A/N: I don't own Tekken.
Well I'm back with the much anticipated sequel to Strong and Streetwise
(at least, I like to think it was much anticipated), in which our beloved cocky
Hwoarang returns with a host of other old and new characters. Review when
you read plz, because I still can't read minds.
Baek Do San Residence
The sun had fully risen, its pearly white rays banishing the last of the lingering darkness, illuminating the spacious bedroom, and revealing the incriminating mess within.
Clothes were carelessly strewn all over the floor, as were empty soda cans, packets of crisps and sports magazines. The room was also a reflection of its current owner's obsessions. There were numerous posters on the walls: posters of rock bands like Nine Inch Nails, of rap artists like 50 cent and Eminem, of basketball players like Michael Jordan and Kobe Bryant. Posters showing various brands of sleek, powerful motorcycles, or attractive girls in bikinis. There was even a poster showing the Korean and American flags side by side.
The other contents of the room highlighted those obsessions, including a sophisticated stereo system, an electric guitar and a basketball. There was also a glass case displaying numerous award medals, trophies and certificates pertaining to Tae Kwan Do, a sport the room's occupant seemed very fond of, as the Tae Kwon Do training outfit lay neatly folded on a chair, white and pristine.
A sleepy silence hung in the room, to be punctuated by the light humming of the computer on the desk, and the regular deep breathing of the room's occupant, who lay face-down on his pillow, his right arm dangling limply over the side of the bed.
At this point, fifteen-year-old Rang Do San woke up with a start, groaning as he experienced a painful cramp in his arm. He slowly got to his feet, stretching and yawning like a huge cat, his hair a tousled mess.
A feeling of great restlessness swept through Hwoarang as he went through his three-year-old morning routine, which consisted of twenty pushups and a cold shower. He then donned a clean grey sleeveless shirt, black jeans and matching boots, and completed the outfit with a pair of goggles that he carefully slid up his head.
He then regarded himself in the mirror. A tall, well-built youth stared back at him, his compact frame indicating good health, his vigilant eyes blazing with a fiery intensity, his cool smile reflecting his self-confidence and determination. Good, he thought, pleased with what he saw.I look cool.
But Hwoarang certainly didn't feel cool or confident. Not after the ordeal he'd been through. It was of small comfort to him that he was now living with Baek, going to a good school, training in Tae Kwon Do, doing the things kids his age did, because in truth, he had spent every single day of the past three years looking over his shoulder in fear, wondering when they would come to exact their revenge on him.
Hwoarang walked over to his desk, muttering made-up English lyrics to a rap song.
"Been through the worst shit you can find
With Baek and the Streltsy on my mind"
He stopped in front of his computer and checked his e-mail. There was a message from Baek, saying that he'd be back in the afternoon. Hwoarang groaned; Baek being back so early would put a stop to his afternoon plans.
He glanced at his desk, littered with newspaper and magazine articles about him, as well as interview requests and an assortment of fanmail. He chuckled; people still found his story sensational. He reread the letter at the top of the pile.
" Dear (Hwoa)rang
My mother and I read your story when it first came out three years ago, and we really admired your courage. Not many kids could have taken on the might of organised crime the way you did. It was really incredible! Now, my mother is a researcher at the plant toxicology department of Wilcox University in Arizona, and she's been doing this research on the properties and composition of LDF, and how come it killed so many people in South East Asia and Russia. Her report's almost complete, but she'd like to get a first-hand description of the symptoms and effects of LDF, and since you're the only one who's taken it and survived, I thought maybe you can help her out, if it's not too much. I'd be really grateful if you'd consider it.
Sincerely
Julia Chang"
Hwoarang had received this letter almost two weeks ago, and he had still not replied. He never really replied to fanmail, but he had to admit that this letter was a welcome relief from the fawning he usually received, courtesy of a bunch of air-heads.
His cell began to vibrate. He flipped it open, read the message and smiled. Hayner's here, he thought.
XXXXXXX
Hwoarang sat on the garden wall, swinging his legs and watching as his tall, fair-haired friend scored a neat three-pointer from across the yard.
"Bet you can't do that again," he teased his friend with a smirk.
"You think?" Hayner Adams replied with an equally challenging grin. " I was the play maker of my team. Number one!"He retrieved the ball and steadied himself for another shot at the basket.
"Number one?! Guess your teammates had to be a bunch of cheerleaders, then."
"Kiss my ass, bro!" Hayner released the ball but didn't score this time; the ball merely rebounded from the basket and Hwoarang caught it as it came his way, smirking once more.
Hayner Adams was a sixteen-year-old American from Chicago. His father had got on the wrong side of the Mob, and now Hayner and his family were in Witness Protection for life. Hwoarang had met the older boy when he had moved to Korea from the States, and they had formed a fast friendship, knowing what they both did about life on the run.
"And about that shirt you got me last season," Hwoarang suddenly said. " You know I like the Lakers and all, but damn, yellow and purple! That's so fruity, man!"
Hayner snorted."Screw you, man, if you're gonna keep bringing that up! I almost got trampled by a bunch of crazed fans, trying to get this stupid shirt signed by KB24! You can at least thank me, you jackass!"
"Whatever," Hwoarang said, then twisted around to check out a group of teenage girls who were walking past, chatting animatedly."You know," he began again." Korean girls are getting kinda weird. They just go for the big, strong, silent types now. Some crazy fad, I guess."
"Are you trying to explain to me why you're still dateless?" Hayner asked with a smirk. " But I gotta say, American chicks are even more retarded. They drool all over Jesse McCartney and Zach Effron and the rest of those fruitcakes." He tossed the ball away and retrieved his guitar, which he'd placed nearby. "Can you get us a couple of beers?"
"You wish, man," Hwoarang replied dejectedly. " Remember what Baek did the last time I tried to sneak in a six-pack? And everybody knows us in town; they'd rat us out to him, damn 'em! But seriously, dude, how can you pull it off in the US, get into bars and clubs when you're underage?"
"Dude, that's what a fake ID's for!" Hayner said with a laugh. " You got a lot to learn! That old man's trying to keep you bottled up! And what happened when he took you down to San Francisco last month? You never said."
Hwoarang shook his head and waved his hand dismissively. "You had to remind me! That was the worst crap ever! I spent the whole week locked up in some seedy little place in Chi-Town, doing dishes for one of Master Baek's Bruce-Lee-wannabe friends. Oh, and I had to bunk with the guy's son; total fruit; wore pink shirts and training outfits! And check it: There was this other punk, with killer hair. And I really mean killer; you could get impaled on it when he head-butts you! And he drinks beer and sniffs gasoline 24/7, and keeps crappy pre-school drawings of bears and aliens in his room. After one night with him, I figured it'd be safer to room with the fruit."
Hayner let out a low whistle." I always knew Chi-Town in SF's a whack-shack, but, man, this is overkill! Sucks to be you..." And he began strumming his guitar." Hey, ever heard of John Denver?"
"Who?"
"Some country hic. Came up with this song; 'Country Roads' it's called."
"Yeah, I've heard it."
"Then check out the remix!" He began to play, singing along with great gusto.
"Country Ho
Take me home
To your place
I got caaash
Country Ho
in West Virginia
Take me home
My Country Ho"
Hwoarang began to chuckle." Okay, now I get why the chicks don't dig ya, Hayner. Your Karaoke spooks them!"
"Yeah, and your cheap red hair doesn't?"
"Better leave my hair out of this, 'cuz it sure as hell cooler than yours, Goldilocks!"
XXXXXXX
When Hayner left, Hwoarang again felt restless. He grabbed a fresh packet of chips and sat in front of the television, aimlessly turning the channels until a certain report on the Channel 1 News caught his attention. The anchorlady was saying:
" The body of three-time wrestling champion Trent Thompson AKA the Annihilator, was discovered late last night in a hotel room just outside of Los Angeles, California . A negative blood test ruled out an overdose, and cause of death is yet to be determined, as there seems to be no evidence of foul play. It is worthy of note that this case correlates with five others this month, the victims all being renowned practissioners of well -known forms of self defence. Some of those victims have even been reported missing, and their whereabouts are unknown at present..."
Hwoarang chocked and spat out his mouthful of chips. He couldn't believe his ears. This was too horribly familiar for him to let slide: Unexplained deaths, tests that revealed nothing... Could it be that the Streltsy had resurfaced and were up to their old games again? So then why were they operating worldwide and targeting famous martial artists?!
Hwoarang's stomach turned all of a sudden, and he got up, dashed to the bathroom and reached the sink just in time. He retched violently, shudders running down his body. He then cleared the sink and looked at his reflection in the mirror. Pale, Sweaty, cold, clammy, facial muscles twitching. He squinted more closely. Was that a white hair corrupting the flaming red?
Hwoarang cursed profusely. He'd been having those brief spells of sickness on and off for three years now, ever since his fateful encounter with LDF, and nobody knew, not Baek or Lei, or Dr. Boskonovitch. Heh, maybe I should write to this Julia Chang person, ask her Mum to check me up, he thought. Bah! He just needed some aspirin to dull the headache. He raided the medicine cabinet and downed as many as four aspirins, completely disregarding the concept of an overdose. He didn't care.
He left the bathroom, only to hear a distinct clattering coming from downstairs. He froze. Baek was not due in till later. Who could the intruder be? He listened hard, but whoever it was, they'd decided to proceed cautiously. He tiptoed back to his room, went to his bed and retrieved the switchblade he kept hidden beneath his pillow. Still feeling nauseated, he slowly traipsed down the stairs, the news report from earlier ringing in his ears. If it was indeed them, come to exact their revenge on him, they were in for a cruel reception. He would go down swinging...
A/N: Hope you like it so far! R&R plz!