The Colour Purple... The King of Fighters '95
Based on the Characters of The King of Fighters '95 Copyright 1995(C) SNK
Original Fan Fiction Copyright (C) 1995 [ENGEL] Design Room 1995
This (chapter) fanfiction was originally written circa: [XX.96] (Thank you)
"Which Character are you?"
Note to self: Legacy chapter numbering (32- - -), does not match.
ORIGINAL CHAPTER
April 22, 1987.
As penance, I am trapped in this ROOM. Unable to escape.
"Did I even tell her that I loved her?" It seems too easy looking back at it now, now that my world has collapsed, and I have nothing else to lose, and conveniently nothing left to wager.
Heidern…
The man chuckled weakly and grinned with a wide toothed smile. A bloody smile with sliced cheeks spanning ear to ear.
Where exactly did I go wrong?
The greatest enemy of mankind was gravity.
This has to be a DREAM. If it's a dream, maybe none of this would have happened. If I KILL myself now, maybe when I wake up. It will be 198X again? And I can meet Sandra again, for the very first time, and feel that sweet feeling again.
In that ROOM.
Smelling the same familiar scents that I had forgotten but will surely remember again.
I'm so sad. I'm so sorry… Sandra. Heidern leaned back on the cold wall behind him and cradled his forehead in both of his bloody hands.
The smell was slight, and it was faint enough – pungent rosemary, held close to your nose, enveloped by the rancid stench of urine. A DISTINCT sensation, the only thing that kept you lucid was the slight whaff of sour roses out in the distance.
The red and blue flashing lights bathed the inside of his house in rhythmic stroboscopic fashion.
Heidern!
Distracted with a soft sound, Heidern looked through the space between his palms and in front of him was an old, tattered, notebook, its pages brown and crumpled from years even a decade or two of water damage.
A notebook strangely appeared, dropped in front of his feet as he sat at the far side of the room.
"Can you hear me? Heidern."
If you know what THIS is, then some part of you must still be IN there.
…
Even if it was not in your great and noble plan. Inevitably, in this life, there will be some people who will willingly make a Contract with you, to see this story through to the end. Even for a pitiful, a wretched, EVIL monster like YOU.
1990. 10 days prior.
"Oswald." Muchiko said, slowly unpacking a large package wrapped in plain manila paper. For something so grandiose, it looked no more special than a loaf of fresh bread. "What is this? Beef?"
Oswald chuckled heartily, pushing up his round spectacles up his nose. "No, mistress. It's the artifact you asked for, ofcourse."
"Will this even work?" Muchiko replied, unwrapping the plain package covered in plain brown paper. Inside, was an old, ratty and well-used leather whip, torn, tattered and soiled from a history of abuse. "Where did you even FIND this? The Vatican?"
"No mistress, I actually I found it in a rich oligarch's collection in Iran. It was quite expensive."
"Iran?"
"I actually found the collector on a chatroom on the 'internet'."
"The internet?" Muchiko said and… "Nevermind. It does not matter."
Oswald laughed heartily, but to his dismay his mistress was not even paying attention.
"Will this work? Is it even real?" She asked. "The whip that subjugated Jesus? It doesn't look impressive at all."
"Mistress…" Oswald smiled in reply. "One cannot simply ASK if an artifact will 'work' as intended… I know, and you know this much… You cannot just demand a miracle appear – because in fact – isn't a miracle just a convenient and favourable coincidence – and its pedigree is reliant on a person's FAITH?"
This is what differentiates good fortune from divinity. Because – what is convenient in one man's eyes, could be a miracle to a true believer.
Running her gloved hands over the interwoven leather, Muchiko looked over the whip with a bit of disgust. "What IS this? It's dirty and stained… Is that?"
…
It's blood.
1990. On the rooftop – Johannesburg, South Africa..
Muchiko's weapon tore through Vice's black spirits in an instant, making them disintegrate, dissolving with a shriek into the blinding light background. Screaming in pain and regret at the pettiness of their fleeting existence.
The large swarm of black nodules, only an inch long that studded the ground like the seabed carpeted with black sea anemone – what was once like a swarm of small locusts disappeared in a twinkling. Like ants washed in an acid of righteousness.
Vice stumbled forward, her attack now limp and EMPTY as the talons disappeared. All that was left was a face of confusion and an impending dread. Vice's empty claw swung in mid air a clear foot away from Whip's smug face. Instantaneously rendered powerless.
I suppose, this artifact works. After all…
Thank you, Oswald.
"You hurt my friend." Muchiko, the Whip whispered softly. "My name is Muchiko."
SHE made Vice's powers disintegrate instantaneously! With one swing of her weapon.
"Eh?" Mature, presented with such a sudden shock driven through her core did not know how to respond when in a twinkling flash Vice stumbled forward and in a split second was unceremoniously robbed of her powers without much fanfare. Attack, retreat, defend, all these instructions came at once and while in a state of shell shock, and all Mature could say was, "What?"
"What?" Vice could not help but say out loud when she willed her entire body to tense, forcing herself with the best of her ability to instinctively change direction – but even she, with her powers, was not able to defy the will of inertia, and her body was sucked in once she had initially committed to the strike.
"My name is Muchiko." Whip puckered her cheeks, in a somewhat disgruntled sigh, as it was a bit of a force of habit. {This is a game WE used to play. Annoying isn't it?}
Washing her face now with a snarl - in Whip's right hand was a 4.5 pound Desert Eagle pistol, chambered in .50 action express. A barrel ready to DRIVE a half inch hole in a human's head stared back at Vice.
"You BITCH!" Vice skidded forward.
"DIE!"
Muchiko set her sights directly a Vice's face without a shred of remorse, in the end, didn't we play for KEEPS when we were young. And now, she had to die.
"VICE!" Mature wailed.
Muchiko pulled the trigger – however, it was still a massively heavy gun, with an equally unreasonably heavy trigger pull.
BOOM!
By way of comparison, the common 9mm bullet produces 300 ft-lbs energy.
Developed in 1988 and easily one of the most obnoxious and devastating pistol rounds of its time, popularized by the Desert Eagle – 300 grains of lead propelled itself with 1500 ft-lbs of destructive energy – easily 5 times the energy of the conventional 9mm round. The bullet ripped into Vice's thigh, blowing out the back of her leg with a merciless explosion, leaving in its wake a large fleshy crater... OF PAIN!
Vice stumbled forward, her entire body pinwheeling on the concrete, leaving a spiral trail of blood on the ground as she skidded, rotating like a discarded piece of garbage. The pupils of Vice's eyes shrunk into small pinpoints, her mouth gaped wide but no sound came out…
Even the heartiest of grown men would not be foolish enough to fire the Desert Eagle one handed, and Whip knew as much. Muchiko tilted her head instinctively to the side, just in time as the immense recoil slammed the muzzle of the hand canon on the opposite side of her neck with a firm WHACK.
"Ughk!" Muchiko groaned at the sudden impact, but her disdain was not from the pain, but, instead, it was from her disappointment that she had flinched at the tedious trigger pull and she failed to KILL her enemy at that instant.
Her body did not realize what happened yet, but Vice grabbed her thigh with both hands, understanding very well that a quarter of it had been BLOWN wide and vaporized. The fear and dread, the sudden building shock devoured her mind, and it did not take long until, despite her once aloof arrogance came toppling down and mortality reminded her of her petty weakness.
"RAAAAGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHGHHHH!" Vice wailed in pain.
"VICE!" Mature shouted in panic.
Whip lowered her arm at Vice on the ground, but instinctively pulled up and pointed her Desert Eagle towards Mature now, the front sight trembling from the strain in her biceps.
"You BITCH!" Mature screeched. "KILL HER! KILL HER!" She shouted into her earpiece.
The helicopter behind Mature tilted backwards and forwards, teetering as it gained altitude at their mistresses' command.
The Sikorsky UH-60 Black Hawk is a four-blade, twin-engine, medium-lift utility helicopter manufactured by Sikorsky Aircraft. Primarily used for transport, but in this instance was easily converted for combat purpose. On its right side, the hatch swung down and on rails, a General Electric M134 Minigun, a 6 barrel rotary machine gun, commonly known as the 'Gatling-gun' rolled to the far side exposing itself for attack. A Gatling gun against one girl. Certainly, the end result was plain to see. The immense weight of the weapon as it rolled out on the starboard (right) gate canted the helicopter, shaking it when the weapon reached the end of its travel with a slow ratcheting CLACK and locking THUNK - tilting the helicopter unbalanced onto one side gave Whip a split second as the helicopter wobbled uncontrollably in mid air, reorienting itself desperately before its attack.
Just for a moment the Blackhawk helicopter twisted, fully exposing its open left side.
Revealing with a clear view its cargo bay for a split second. Whip chuckled and smiled, mouthing a sequence of syllables, utterly devoid of fear when the monstrous machine exposed its belly to the girl.
He did realize it in an instant. "Mature… WAIT. STOP!" Rugal said. But alas, in his battered and wounded state, Rugal was no longer in control.
Whip mouthed the words silently. 'Heidern isn't in there…' Curling into a smile. Therefore.
…
Certainly even John B. Calhoun understood that VIOLENCE was a necessary and even an integral part of human nature. Though, you and I, now in the future, WE who have the luxury of hindsight, can clearly see that only ITS underlying purpose determines whether this VIOLENCE is a marker for the creation of civilization OR mayhaps the destruction of society. A UNIVERSE saved only for US.
When diplomacy fails, you and I have to come to terms with the fact that we have no other alternative but to resort to violence. However, as long as we both trust that we each do so with a sense of purpose and reason, then it will be alright.
…paying no heed to the DESTRUCTION we leave in our wake, may you and I have faith that WE both did so with only just and noble virtues in mind.
…
Silent and loud, syllables disappearing between chaotic beats. Her voice screaming, and drowning in tune in between the loud bleats of the helicopter propeller blades.
"SHOOT. HER! DESTROY. HER!" Mature commanded. Three red diodes went from red to green one by one then the circular array of barrels begun to spin on the Gatling gun.
WAIT! Mature.
Muchiko calmly holstered her large pistol into the small of her back and running her fingers through the back of her short hair - a sway of her hips - outstretched both her arms wide.
"The FIFTH lesson… Fraulein Muchiko," Heidern reminded, speaking slowly, so his pupil could understand.
If you are unable to come up with a solution when put against very incredible odds, simply open yourself to their strongest attack and just respond to their arrogance, with the simplest retaliation, but keep dear in mind…
"Alles Zerstroren!"
Does this PLAIN BLOOD scare you? Even if I have NO powers. As long as you EXIST in this world… then, the RULES must apply EQUALLY… unto YOU!
"YOU MUST …be prepared to respond with a MASSIVE ATTACK!"
…and leave NOTHING BEHIND.
Destroy everything.
With her arms splayed wide apart, Muchiko's cold dead eyes stared up at the whirling barrel of the Blackhawk helicopter that was ready to tear her into a million pieces. Certainly, her life was a fleeting thing, cheap and meaningless. Though, except for that memory…
The pilot flipped open the latch on his joystick just before the motion that would set his weapon free.
Whip's arms floated wide on her sides when the spotlights from the bottom of the helicopter bathed her in a white light.
{…but, I cannot help but think} Whip surmised silently. {I wonder if the remote possibility exists, that, that you are the same as me?} Your people and my people, simply FIGHT because of this ENDLESS CHAIN?
…
A place where friends and enemies are made.
{Can DESTRUCTION be a product of coercion or is it inevitability? Mr. Calhoun?}
Only YOU and I can exist HERE… as we come to DESTROY EACH OTHER.
…
Whip's arms floated wide on her sides when the spotlights from the bottom of the Blackhawk helicopter bathed her in a blinding, pure white light.
"Agh!" the pilot behind Mature uttered, covering his eyes with his left arm.
As a response, an equally blinding light rose up from the opposite side of the rooftop, matching the deafening roar of whirling steel blades in defiance. A BRIGHT BLINDING LIGHT rose up from behind Muchiko, the Whip. Commanding a more savage, a vicious, a hungry dragon RISE from the abyss. The entire world was now rendered a shining white.
"WHIP! Madam Director Whip!" Carl Lewis WAILED out the loudspeaker when he could not hold it back any longer.
One, two, three, four five and six. Six red lights lit bright in the white canvas behind the Whip. Twelve then thirty six all at once, red eyes opening all at once, like a veracious monster bared its fangs.
6… thirty-six lights went from red to green in synchronous fashion.
Behind Muchiko: The Boeing AH-64 Apache is an American twin-turboshaft attack helicopter with a tailwheel-type landing gear arrangement and a tandem cockpit for a crew of two. Considered in modern times, as the pure bred ULTIMATE COMBAT HELICOPTER.
While Muchiko had no power, it was rendered all irrelevant in an instant as a DRAGON roared a bestial scream rising with a blaring roar behind her mistress.
"Destroy them ALL, Carl!"
36 green lights blared brightly signaling 6 PREDATOR missiles ready to counter attack.
"Yes, Madam Chairman!" Carl answered, unlatching the guard over the red button under his thumb. "HAIL to VICTORY!"
The BEAST – part 22.
"Heidern… you dare…" Rugal growled, putting his arm over his stomach defiantly and even when the excruciating pain ripped through his midsection, he steadied himself to stand.
"Wait!" Mature cut in. She looked at her master then back at her enemy.
"You dare threaten Rugal?!" Rugal snarled.
"WAIT! WAIT!" Mature put one hand in front of her master's chest and splayed her other palm up at Muchiko. "We surrender! We surrender!"
Whip twisted her brows and reflected a sour expression for an instant, leaning back, but immediately leaned forward with a grinning snarl her arms still hanging a wide wingspan.
"Heidern… We don't have Heidern's body. He is in the basement! The basement!"
A? Whip looked at her three enemies one by one, once again. Out of all of them, only one attacked, Vice, who was now crippled on the floor. Mature's face had bloody marks and her midsection was wrapped in bandages. Likewise, the powerful Rugal made no move to attack. His entire chest and the area in between his neck shoulders were completely covered in bandages. In the center of all of them were four tell tale signs of dark spots in multiple arrays where they had been mortally impaled. Whip immediately recognized Heidern's trademark attack.
"It's too late!" Mature said, perhaps out of pity and some shred of fleeting guilt. "It's useless to go back down there!"
Whip clearly realized… The morose look on her face had been instantly replaced with an urgent expression of panic.
"Director W?!" Carl said into the speaker, but by that time, Whip had already turned around and broke into a feverish run, sprinting with her entire strength away from her enemies and towards her own helicopter.
The Apache helicopter flew forward on instinct towards his mistress at the middle of the rooftop to defend her in the likely scenario where the Blackhawk were to strike her from the back as she retreated. "Don't you DARE!"
"Carl?" His co-pilot said, with a growing tension and fear in his voice. "CAAARL!"
Whip ran hard and fast, not even sparing a moment to slow her pace and only continued to accelerate. This much her subordinates clearly understood. When time slowed into slowly fleeting frames… whump whump.. whump… whum.. WHUMP!
One by one the rotating blades spun as Whip paid no heed to any consequences and her body crossed the underbelly of the Apache attack helicopter in freeze frame when Carl's mind screamed in shock.
The Apache helicopter pilot slowly rotated his head, turning around in order to track his mistress who ran with all cylinders blaring, now, away from the Apache, and to the far side of the roof.
"Director?" Carl said… "DIRECTOR W!" The helicopter swung around violently, tossing Mature and Rugal backwards with the sudden change in pressure.
…
This LIFE is a story, a merciless reflection of where we went wrong.
Fleeting feelings of regret, about how we can no longer change our mistakes, borne from ignorance. From fear and weakness.
However, as we looked to the ground in remorse, we did not notice…
…
The Apache now turned and flew forward in chase. "This is the 35th floor, Director!" Carl said into his earpiece as his co pilot white knuckled his armrests with both hands.
"…and this is the quickest way to Heidern." Whip responded. "Aren't you a gold medalist, Carl?"
"Director! DIRECTOR WHIP!"
Is THAT man special to you, too? Perplexed and left in wonder, when one asks a question they cannot help but feel a change occur in their body.
We are the Childrens of Heidern.
…we did not notice that in our travels, we had, if merely by happenstance, accidentally come across OTHERS, other weak, ignorant, and scared people just like us…
As we lay in despair and cradle our faces in our hands, we did not notice…
That there could be others who would willfully sign a contract in this life – to see us through it…
To the end.
Chapter 162: Gravity
You are NOT alone. Gravity is a dreamer's greatest enemy. So it only follows that she would DEFY it.
"DIRECTOR!"
The sounds of the world faded into silence…
Being right handed, Muchiko's left foot floated over the edge of the rooftop and pushed off from her right foot into the air fearlessly.