JOHN'S REALISATION
Possessed by a strong, almost obsessive desire, John McClane hobbled towards Nakatomi Plaza's rooftop, the soles of his feet still stinging, as the single question repeatedly burned in his mind. "What were you doing, Hans? What were you doing?"
What the fuck was that evil bastard doing upstairs?
Unfortunately, John was starting to get a really bad feeling about this. Hans' request to have the hostages put on the rooftop, how furious he was when John stole his detonators - despite the fact that the C4 in the bag had already been used up - and the really fucking suspicious yellow wiring was pointing to a really bad outcome.
Following the wiring, John used a nearby bar to pull himself up to see better - only to have his worst suspicions confirmed. Just within John's line of sight, lay a large group of C4 bombs.
"Jesus, Mary, mother of God," he gasped, too shocked to even curse. Suddenly, the cruelty of Hans' plan hit him. The hostages would be led to the roof, where they believed they would be freed - only to be killed at the last minute. That false hope that Hans dangled in front of them was even more horrible than shooting them outright.
Hands shaking, John pulled out the radio he'd taken from Tony Vreski earlier. "Powell, listen to me! It's a double-cross! The whole roof of the building's wired to -"
But he never got to finish that sentence. The cold metal of a gun barrel suddenly hit his forehead, and he turned his head to find himself face-to-face with an enraged Karl Vreski.
"We are both professionals," the blond man snarled, taking John's radio out of his hand. "This is personal."
John pretended to groan and faint away, before surprising Karl with a huge punch to the head. Karl punched him back, and abandoned his gun completely. He didn't just want one bullet to finish off his foe. After all the anger and grief had reached an insurmountable peak, he desperately wanted to make John suffer the way he was suffering.
John didn't care what he was doing as he punched and kicked Karl, all he could see was red. His wife was going to die a horrible death, he couldn't do shit to save her, and it was all this European cunt's fault. He took out all his rage and helplessness on Karl, who in turn delivered kicks and punches born out of rage for having his little brother taken away from him, his corpse used to make a mockery of him in death. The two men, having finally been given the opportunity to let out all their grief and helplessness in one colossal fight, fought like wild animals, fists and legs swinging in one huge blur of movement. Neither of them paid any attention to the helicopters drawing nearer, as Karl twisted John's arm and kicked him in the head again and again. John fought back by bashing Karl's head against the floor over and over, slugging him, itching to give the German a taste of his own cruelty, longing to make him feel the pain he felt. "You should have heard your brother squeal, when I broke his fucking neck!" he screamed.
Karl grabbed the pistol lying on the floor. Now every inch of him quivered with murderous fury. He fired repeatedly at John, who barely managed to duck out of the way and hide behind a thick metal door. When Karl leapt in the room, John ambushed him, continuing to slug him while threatening him with every possible bodily injury he could think of. He was so angry he could barely feel the pain of Karl's punches, barely registered when Karl kicked him in the head, even when warm blood gushed out of his nose.
Nobody could tell exactly how long the fight went on for, except that it culminated in Karl trying to snap John's neck, before John grabbed some hanging chains and wrapped them around Karl's neck and hanged him. Then, he began to run upstairs, praying he would reach the hostages in time.