Happiness is a Warm Gun Chapter 4, a kung fu panda fanfic

Notes: Been a bit busy, sorry for the large delay. Hope to fix up the last chapter soon, but I really wanted to get this one out. Thank-you for your support, your reviews, or even your meanderings onto the story.

Enjoy!

The sun is swallowed up.

Gentle light no longer crawls from the windows. The clouds have taken residence, and the rain inhabits the island. Strong winds pass the old tree, a terrible sharp cold that lingers.

The mouse's remarks have not left Shen. They've come off a little bit more than irritation, words he's heard before that no longer roll off his wings, lost in whatever oblivion he's sent them to. It sparks the notion of peace, Po's words that have had the effect of searing themselves against his mind.

These words have run themselves over and over, broken at the ends, but repeating subconsciously. He's prisoner to them, just like the bed, that ceiling, the mouse.

Right now the though, the room is empty. Right now, his body refuses to sleep.

At first it seems to be the bed making his body ache, his back, and certain muscles to his neck. The blankets feel like they're suffocating him. He draws them back, enough so that they lie off his chest. Even then, the grey skyline seems to be creating a box with distant holes to remind him he's too far to ever think of reaching them again. That outside space, the clarity beyond a mirror and the illusions they hold out for him to try and make sense, sense of everything perhaps- or very little.

He grips the bed once more, any sheets nearest to his feathered fingertips before he starts to feel the full weight of this insanity. No longer slow and tedious, this feeling, governed lightly by periodic episodes that have run their silent course. But despite his best efforts it feels far too strong to be anything he can recognize now. He briefly wonders how any feelings, of all feelings, could possess this much power over him. Agrees that he has always thrived alongside it, but now- in his state, has felt too weary to embrace the desires that have driven it.

Peace.

What peace?

The word is false; it slanders him in this state. It forsakes him. It demands a sacrifice, of taking all that has been, what has made him.

Let go? Why should he?

A quiet voice at the back of his head murmurs, regardless.

How?

It almost seems too late, as turmoil pressures inside of him. For once he wishes that he was weaker, too tired for it, that his mind would draw his eyes close and find him sleep despite how restless it might be, how nightmarish it may become.

He brings himself up right, begins to breathe more heavily now that he's distinguished this force tugging at him.

He gasps; looks out the window to see that those holes in the sky, those rays of light have disappeared.

Cut off, ensnared.

A sharp sigh escapes Shen's beak, gathering a sharp mouthful of air, shoulders slumping and curling inwards. Seconds pass before he can concentrate long enough to control his rapid heart and anxious lungs.

The air remains cold, and hollow. The room becomes something enormously huge to him, no matter how small it first appeared. These initial complaints ebb off when there is no one to catch his thoughts. Instead they seem to be bouncing off the walls and incessantly stirring that same pressure inside of him, enough for it to bloom.

He can't sit for any longer, can't wait, sleep.

Shen shoves the rest of the blankets off, swings his legs over and immediately grabs for the closest thing beside him when his legs try to hold. A sharp gasp breaks the surface, and all thoughts of pursuing his previous endeavors quickly surrender to excruciating pain. The tension of sore muscles, bruised and repairing strain to hold him. It's worse than a single clean cut. This pain combines the initial shock of a blade piercing the skin, with the additional friction of two taught ropes moving against one another, enduring and lasting with each movement, echoing in sordid amplification.

He trembles in the height of his consequences, trying his best to keep standing. His will holds on for several more seconds, before all together he is driven to the wooden floor on his hands and knees. Controlling anything at this point appears useless, as his breathing starts to take its toll. These are no longer dull aches, but sharp pinches that radiate from a mosaic of bruised ribs to tender tendon and bone.

At least it's distracting.

The shaking is violent at first, eventually ebbing off into a dull quiver. They follow his breathes after each exhale, sharp with continuing gasps. Shen can now feel the tears threatening to gush at the ends of his eyes. He snaps them shut, eyelids clenched.

Nianzhu finds himself in the cover of a dark alleyway. If it weren't for the crocodile behind him, perhaps his confidence levels would manage to pull together and concentrate better.

He continues to watch regardless, as several wolves work the stone, the buildings, once piles of rubble have now become visible rectangles and walls inching themselves higher. Wood beams reflect homes that are in the process of following the same effort.

Despite their compliance, Nianzhu senses tension. Defeat comes at a high price. Some have lost their friends, family, lovers... Pups and their mothers have been spared the work, but the air for change has taken a dip, and a new threat has rumored and weaseled itself through.

A clang of metal signals the lunch break.

A small group of bodies leave the main mass to the left. Hard to catch at first, to any untrained eye; the pack however is a familiar 'body' to Nianzhu. His ears are immediately brought up and pointed, signaling the reptile behind him.

"Northwest, five," he mumbles, glancing back.

Master Croc's nod heralds their chase. The labyrinth between homes, stores and buildings are all vaguely familiar to Nianzhu. What is at first a clumsy memory, faded, becomes concrete and vivid with each turn and passage of those walls. He is forced to climb to the tops, referring to his quarry's position from one point to the other with discretion.

They are led throughout the marina of Gongmen's harbor. The farther they follow, the poorer the people become. Kids and beggars wander these streets, sailors chatting up with their female dolls and possessions. It's an atmosphere Nianzhu is familiar with; the shadows in these dank areas are far from comfort despite their familiar ties. They are a childhood better left buried than embraced.

He lingers on a street corner, searching for the five that have now disappeared into the local fish market. The traffic is thick, and unsettling to Nianzhu. There are eyes now that he can distinctly feel on his person, but their location is hidden even from his senses. The fish, the seafood waft an aroma that covers the layers of many other individuals wandering the packed street. His focus detieriates as his insecurities heighten.

Another realization, Master Croc is missing. The matter is only a notion of thought, splitting up would cause less of a commotion. But with a disgruntling realization, he finds himself the object of 'bating' these rogues by his appearance.

"Damn…"

Irritated, the black wolf continues his blind search through the market. He keeps his eyes forwards, but at this point every sense is heighted, detecting the sounds, the smells as much as he can distinguish them. Forced to trust a previous enemy appears to be a step too far to take, and every false impulse of his freedom warrants more and more of his attention.

He swears again underneath his breath. Blind, he'll continue blindly like a fool; forcing himself beyond the discomfort of his intuition. He eventually relaxes and waits for the inevitable outcome. This is 'their' territory, 'their' playground, he'll be a pawn for however seconds, or minutes it'll take.

Shen's minor struggle is unforgiving. His movement, slow, and lethargic, have led him only several steps away from the bed. He leans his shoulder against a wall, where a closed closet resides. The stars in his eyes finally resume before he starts shuffling again. He's managed to lean his weight enough against the wall to bring him farther from his previous confines. Though he underestimates his strength, and his focus fails to recall that very closet mere centimeters from his leading shoulder.

The movement is quick and sudden. The closet door is paper thin and caves in, pushed inwards, the previous lord finds his face and body flat on the floor.

However useless it appeared, Shen's determination outmatched his complaining body. He could care less about himself.

Wait.

Before he starts preparing himself to get up, something catches his eyes.

Movement.

This movement forces him to look up into a mirror he failed to recognize in the closet. To his slight horror his crown is reflected off the surface, no longer full. Missing feathers, half feathers, crinkled and sparse… It wasn't so much terror that had gripped him then, than the repulsion permeating the air.

Desperation clawed at him to get up on his wings. Wincing, he stared, thoughtless at the shadow of a creature, which, nearly several weeks ago stood at the precipice of his goals.

A visible scar runs through his right eye at a diagonal. A thin, however visible black scar tissue prevents feathers from re-growing. Besides the ratty looking robe covering his body, the thought of scrutinizing his train is a thought of hesitation. The disheveled Shen staring straight back at him petrifies any other movement. Attempting to try and recall the scar itself leads to a dumb and blank answer.

Nianzhu, immersed in the crowd continues onwards. Sellers shove their hands, holding produce as he passes. Voices rise together into a soup of incoherent mumbles.

Several minutes pass before he is encountered by stalking bodies. A shove, a jostle moves him closer to the right, where alleyways, back ends, and poor living conditions sprawl out from the market. He lets their weight travel, as the congregation of young adolescent wolves shoves him against a wall, just out of view from the meandering mass of shoppers.

It amuses him, but before they can pin him he pushes the one closest away; a snarl emits from his maw, they stiffen. "The hell you think you're doing?"

There are four, cutting him off from the market. The alley's big enough that they can surround him, but when they try to Nianzhu growls in warning. They have obviously become hesitant now, the balance of their certainty failing them. "Sneaking around my back…" He can't falter now, the insecurities that flood behind his face. They're young… The consequences of breaking their loyalty weigh heavily on Nianzhu.

"You gave up," one of them whispers.

"I'd have been dead if I gave up. Now I still lead this pack, I lead." His voice rose without thought.

"Not for much longer, I'm afraid." A deep, female voice approached on the other end of the alleyway. She was tall, lean, with her head held up as she regarded Nianzhu. The leopard held an air of indifference, Nianzhu wasn't much more than a speck of dust that needed to be disposed and taken care of.

"Where is she?" He barked, the glare in his eyes magnified, fists clenched. He didn't recognize the leopard, except that she only served as the gateway to the person responsible for Gongmen City's most recent crimes, and – inevitably - the claim to leadership. "Tell me!"

"Please, your customs will be practiced – against my better judgment. You will have your chance to defend your leadership Nianzhu." She raised a hand, before resuming it behind her back with the other. "You should be grateful for your circumstances." Despite her certainty, that he would surely lose and die, the one-eyed wolf ignored it in the wake of his anger.

"Follow me." She turned around and started walking. The adolescents attempted to approach him, but another warning frightened them enough to leave him be. He walked, freely – feeding his rage for his thirst for blood and dominance, regardless of who it was that challenged his authority.

Nianzhu was led through a series of pathways, those of which inhabited most of the harbor. Eventually they entered a generic building, a tavern in the throes of alcohol and tobacco smoke. The haze made it hard for him to distinguish any of the people he passed. Some of them could have been other pack members, while others; locals drifted in the haze and shrouded themselves in the shade. They then took to stairs heading underground; two flights brought them to a large fighting arena. The architecture was less then elegant, but practical. The arena opened up to water along its edges except for its entrances, the stale smell of salt hung in the air.

As far as he could tell, the arena remained empty of bodies, spectators pooling their hopes and dreams in their prized fighters. Upon entering the focal arena, stains littered the wooden edges.

His steady gaze however focused on the figure, alone, on the arena floor with the sound of her sword cutting through the air. The malicious sting it sent echoed across the arena, fooling the almost serene, peaceful spectacle wielding the blade. By the time he'd made it nearly three, four meters from the female wolf, his guide had disappeared, along with the adolescents.

Seconds passed, she continued throughout the motions with what appeared to be ease. She turned, focused beyond him before she thrust the point of her sword in his direction. Cold blue eyes finally settling across his body.

"Two hours," she said callously, tightening her grip on the hilt. They finally make eye-contact, and although the words travel the distance between them, Nianzhu can barely register them in the heat of his own emotions. "Your hammer will be available…" She releases the hold, lightly twirling the blade and sheathing it on her left side. A sharp smile inhabits her face, when her eyes drift away to the floor behind him. She's lithe compared to the grunts, lean however, and just as tall as Nianzhu. A sentence tries to form itself behind her maw, and fails to reach the outside world. Instead, she brushes off the thought before passing the brooding male. There is no necessity to talk, no need to chit chat about anything besides the plain reality that faces them both.

No mercy.

After seconds pass Nianzhu finally recognizes his weapon on the other side of the arena, a pair of dual swords bearing Lord Shen's insignia in bright red accompanies it. Either one draws him closer, until he can kneel and place a hand on the head of the hammer where red markings indicate fire. The dull ache on his side reminds him he's not completely healed, though the emotional whirlwind possessing him numbs the indication all together. Leading his people, it came with a price.

He would honor that today.

The day was nearly finished. Feng's was just starting. As by habit, he dropped by often at the large tree. With their new guest he'd been avoiding the area, but it was his assumption that the recovering peacock would be well asleep before his arrival.

His routine brought him through the opening of the quaint abode. He took the short flight of stairs to the main living area as usual. The moment he walked past the opening a cool sensation tickled at the extremity of his feathers. His body felt it first, before his eyes could register it, barely missing the metal flung across the breadth of his chest. Beyond the metal whoosh, his oblivious state immediately prepared for retaliation and action.

What he saw made him hesitate at the height of his ascent. With wings drawn up, talons preparing to attack in the process, all together paused and held.

The ravaged peacock had his weight on a low-level dining table, hunched over, staring curiously into his eyes. "You moved."

Again, to his disbelief the owl stiffened in post-shock. The strange creature was far from well… and alive, and – talking. Anger quickly shoved these notions aside, had he been Ting…

"Cur! You unpleasant… little – to hell with it!" He shoved the crippled peacock to the ground, the edge of his wing drove hard along Shen's neck, pinning him. "After everything-" Shen was smiling, smirking even despite the crushing sensation and throbbing. "Well? I doubt Ting would have had the dexterity to avoid them." Shen clawed at the wing holding him, regardless if it made a difference.

A spiteful laugh broke through the struggle. "What makes you think I'd hesitate?"

"Nothing does," he said evenly. Feng's previous passion associated with his hatred for this stranger passes his eyes. A silence inhabits the owl now, a clear awareness for this creature – or at least some part of him has settled deep inside.

Author's Comments: This is set up more in a two-part sequence. I didn't really realize I'd include Wolf Boss as much as I have so far, I think I intend to from now on out anyways.

I hoped you enjoyed it! I really wanted to finish this one; it took a while to spit itself out of my head. I just wanted to note I'm far from abandoning this story, as I have many ideas to play around with. I also hope my interpretation of the main characters is realistic enough, I find it's sometimes hard to tell when you're so involved with it.

You're reviews and comments are greatly appreciated!

~R. Ruin