Sleepwake (Part 14/?)
See Part 1 for disclaimer.
.
.
Mike was indeed sick. Hell, sick was an understatement: Mike's hair stood in messy clumps, his skin was the color of pink lemonade, and he looked as though his will to live was slowly burning itself out along with his fever. Absolutely pathetic.
"Um," said Jin. "Shouldn't we, you know, wake him?"
Hwoarang heard a low, angry growl and realized that it was coming from him. He closed his eyes. Get a grip, he told himself. We need Mike. Play nice.
He opened his eyes and turned his attention back to the rumpled pile of pillows and bedding and bacteria that was Mike. Hwoarang stood over the bed, paused for one last minute to glare in irritation at the man's sleeping face, and leaned down to the general location of Mike's ear:
"Please wake up Mike."
Well, that was what he had intended to say. Somehow, it had come out more like:
"WAKE THE HELL UP!"
Mike bolted upright, sending one of the pillows flying at Jin's head.
"Wha?" Sleep-misty blue eyes blinked at Hwoarang. "Bob? Did Natalia send you with soup?"
Just looking at him made Hwoarang nauseous. How could Natalia pick this blond, clueless, incompetent, blockheaded, sorry excuse for a-
"I'm so glad you're here!"
scrawny smiling mule over-
Hwoarang hesitated.
"Come again?" he asked, his eyes slit in suspicion.
"You were on the news, and that guy," Mike's hand flopped in Jin's direction, "showed up too."
"The _news_?" Oh shit. Shit shit shit.
"Yeah, I think they're still broadcasting it. I thought maybe you'd got hurt." Mike looked genuinely sorrowful. Hwoarang ignored another twinge of nausea and snatched the remote control from the nightstand, turning up the volume on the previously muted television set. As the bluish light of the TV played over the room, Hwoarang was aware of Jin's face gradually contorting in horror, and knew he looked the same.
"massacre at a local police station, killing three and flooding the hospital with dozens wounded. Officials say that upon detecting suspicious activity, police chief Nagahiro Koharu approached the cell that held three mental ward escapees. The criminals attacked and killed her, using her firearm to break out of the prison. Authorities are offering a large reward for any information regarding the escapees."
A grainy image of his own face flashed across the screen. Then Jin's. Then . . .
Hwoarang felt a deep, vitriolic disgust for the lies being paraded before him. Xiaoyu had had her future before her. She wasn't even out of high school. What'd the girl ever do to deserve being reviled as a wanted criminal? Her only fault was stupidly following Kazama into this mess like a damn puppy!
And no mention whatsoever of the Tekkenshu. He had underestimated Heihachi.
Hwoarang turned off the television. He threw the remote hard, watched it hit the wall. The batteries rolled over the hardwood floor.
His heart was roaring in his ears. Hwoarang breathed deeply.
He turned to Mike.
"That's not what happened. Heihachi's hunting us."
Mike looked at him, nodding slowly.
"I remember his Tekkenshu."
"Now you understand why we came to you."
"You want new IDs? A place to hide, and a mask to hide you."
"I can't offer you anything in return: my cash isn't here. Credit can be tracked. High risk with no payback."
Mike sighed.
"Money's not the issue. The thing is. . .since Natalia and I. . ." His cerulean glance flickered up to Hwoarang and back down. "It's just that I retired, man. I don't have the contacts that I used to."
Hwoarang ground his teeth.
"Mike. . . please. We've got no other options, we ran out of luck hours ago. Just . . . help us. For the last time."
"Natalia. . ."
"She knows."
"She knows?"
"She knows."
"What do you mean she knows? She knows that I fake gov documents? Everything?"
Hwoarang rolled his eyes.
"Mike, she's _known_. And she has a better idea than I do of how good at it you are."
A pause.
"I am pretty good, aren't I?" Mike grinned. Ah, flattery.
"So you'll do it?"
"Yeah. Damn, I miss it. Just one thing."
Hwoarang braced himself.
"I feel like shit," Mike declared. Hwoarang raised an eyebrow, faintly amused.
"You'll want a good set of backgrounds, cred history, the works. All the research, plus the hard copy itself is gonna take energy."
Hwoarang knew he was right. Mike didn't have spare IDs on hand anymore.
"Give me a night or two, and when I'm not a zombie anymore, I'll show you work so beautiful, you'll _wish_ you were that ID."
Hwoarang laughed, feeling a burden suddenly lighten.
"Thanks Mike."
"No prob, Bob. Crash in one of the guest rooms. Nat and I will be able to kick you out in no time," Mike said cheerfully.
* * *
She was back in the cell. She had already been there a hundred thousand times. Now the soldiers step inside. Now one grabs her neck and drives a gun against her jugular. Now Jin yells, she pushes the gun away, the bullet bounces off the wall and dives into-
the bullet bounces off the wall. Now there is blood, and some of it is on her, but very little so that only she notices. Now they have escaped.
And now, she is back in the cell.
Each cycle was exactly the same to the last detail. She always reacted the same way, and felt the same fear, and thought the same thoughts. It was only at the beginning and at the end that she even realized, with futile despair, that it had all happened before. She would live through it again.
In that tiny fraction of a moment between the end of the circle and the start, a word would shape itself in her mind. Murderer. Sometimes she would have time to gasp, "But I'm not!" and then the soldiers would come in, and show her that she was.
The blood, just a tiny speck of it, lands above her eyebrow. She can feel it dry.
Did Jin or Hwoarang ever see the woman, in her last seconds, stare straight at Xiaoyu? Did they see her expression as she realized she was dying? Did they understand her silent message? Save me. Did they ignore it?
I'm a fighter, she wanted to scream in protest. I hurt people! People die!
But the woman hadn't been fighting her. The woman had tried to help her. And Xiaoyu, as thanks, pointed a gun at a wall and shot her.
Murderer.
"Stop," she whispered, her voice strained hoarse.
Then they'd crawled away, Xiaoyu hadn't even looked back, Xiaoyu hadn't tried to help her in return.
Why was there so little blood on her? There should have been more.
Back in the cell.
Murderermurdemurderemur
And the soldiers step inside.
.
.
Author's notes:
Many thanks to Sam.
Ug, someone save me from all this school!
.
.
Constructive criticism will be printed out and framed. Flames will be used to toast marshmallows. Yum.
See Part 1 for disclaimer.
.
.
Mike was indeed sick. Hell, sick was an understatement: Mike's hair stood in messy clumps, his skin was the color of pink lemonade, and he looked as though his will to live was slowly burning itself out along with his fever. Absolutely pathetic.
"Um," said Jin. "Shouldn't we, you know, wake him?"
Hwoarang heard a low, angry growl and realized that it was coming from him. He closed his eyes. Get a grip, he told himself. We need Mike. Play nice.
He opened his eyes and turned his attention back to the rumpled pile of pillows and bedding and bacteria that was Mike. Hwoarang stood over the bed, paused for one last minute to glare in irritation at the man's sleeping face, and leaned down to the general location of Mike's ear:
"Please wake up Mike."
Well, that was what he had intended to say. Somehow, it had come out more like:
"WAKE THE HELL UP!"
Mike bolted upright, sending one of the pillows flying at Jin's head.
"Wha?" Sleep-misty blue eyes blinked at Hwoarang. "Bob? Did Natalia send you with soup?"
Just looking at him made Hwoarang nauseous. How could Natalia pick this blond, clueless, incompetent, blockheaded, sorry excuse for a-
"I'm so glad you're here!"
scrawny smiling mule over-
Hwoarang hesitated.
"Come again?" he asked, his eyes slit in suspicion.
"You were on the news, and that guy," Mike's hand flopped in Jin's direction, "showed up too."
"The _news_?" Oh shit. Shit shit shit.
"Yeah, I think they're still broadcasting it. I thought maybe you'd got hurt." Mike looked genuinely sorrowful. Hwoarang ignored another twinge of nausea and snatched the remote control from the nightstand, turning up the volume on the previously muted television set. As the bluish light of the TV played over the room, Hwoarang was aware of Jin's face gradually contorting in horror, and knew he looked the same.
"massacre at a local police station, killing three and flooding the hospital with dozens wounded. Officials say that upon detecting suspicious activity, police chief Nagahiro Koharu approached the cell that held three mental ward escapees. The criminals attacked and killed her, using her firearm to break out of the prison. Authorities are offering a large reward for any information regarding the escapees."
A grainy image of his own face flashed across the screen. Then Jin's. Then . . .
Hwoarang felt a deep, vitriolic disgust for the lies being paraded before him. Xiaoyu had had her future before her. She wasn't even out of high school. What'd the girl ever do to deserve being reviled as a wanted criminal? Her only fault was stupidly following Kazama into this mess like a damn puppy!
And no mention whatsoever of the Tekkenshu. He had underestimated Heihachi.
Hwoarang turned off the television. He threw the remote hard, watched it hit the wall. The batteries rolled over the hardwood floor.
His heart was roaring in his ears. Hwoarang breathed deeply.
He turned to Mike.
"That's not what happened. Heihachi's hunting us."
Mike looked at him, nodding slowly.
"I remember his Tekkenshu."
"Now you understand why we came to you."
"You want new IDs? A place to hide, and a mask to hide you."
"I can't offer you anything in return: my cash isn't here. Credit can be tracked. High risk with no payback."
Mike sighed.
"Money's not the issue. The thing is. . .since Natalia and I. . ." His cerulean glance flickered up to Hwoarang and back down. "It's just that I retired, man. I don't have the contacts that I used to."
Hwoarang ground his teeth.
"Mike. . . please. We've got no other options, we ran out of luck hours ago. Just . . . help us. For the last time."
"Natalia. . ."
"She knows."
"She knows?"
"She knows."
"What do you mean she knows? She knows that I fake gov documents? Everything?"
Hwoarang rolled his eyes.
"Mike, she's _known_. And she has a better idea than I do of how good at it you are."
A pause.
"I am pretty good, aren't I?" Mike grinned. Ah, flattery.
"So you'll do it?"
"Yeah. Damn, I miss it. Just one thing."
Hwoarang braced himself.
"I feel like shit," Mike declared. Hwoarang raised an eyebrow, faintly amused.
"You'll want a good set of backgrounds, cred history, the works. All the research, plus the hard copy itself is gonna take energy."
Hwoarang knew he was right. Mike didn't have spare IDs on hand anymore.
"Give me a night or two, and when I'm not a zombie anymore, I'll show you work so beautiful, you'll _wish_ you were that ID."
Hwoarang laughed, feeling a burden suddenly lighten.
"Thanks Mike."
"No prob, Bob. Crash in one of the guest rooms. Nat and I will be able to kick you out in no time," Mike said cheerfully.
* * *
She was back in the cell. She had already been there a hundred thousand times. Now the soldiers step inside. Now one grabs her neck and drives a gun against her jugular. Now Jin yells, she pushes the gun away, the bullet bounces off the wall and dives into-
the bullet bounces off the wall. Now there is blood, and some of it is on her, but very little so that only she notices. Now they have escaped.
And now, she is back in the cell.
Each cycle was exactly the same to the last detail. She always reacted the same way, and felt the same fear, and thought the same thoughts. It was only at the beginning and at the end that she even realized, with futile despair, that it had all happened before. She would live through it again.
In that tiny fraction of a moment between the end of the circle and the start, a word would shape itself in her mind. Murderer. Sometimes she would have time to gasp, "But I'm not!" and then the soldiers would come in, and show her that she was.
The blood, just a tiny speck of it, lands above her eyebrow. She can feel it dry.
Did Jin or Hwoarang ever see the woman, in her last seconds, stare straight at Xiaoyu? Did they see her expression as she realized she was dying? Did they understand her silent message? Save me. Did they ignore it?
I'm a fighter, she wanted to scream in protest. I hurt people! People die!
But the woman hadn't been fighting her. The woman had tried to help her. And Xiaoyu, as thanks, pointed a gun at a wall and shot her.
Murderer.
"Stop," she whispered, her voice strained hoarse.
Then they'd crawled away, Xiaoyu hadn't even looked back, Xiaoyu hadn't tried to help her in return.
Why was there so little blood on her? There should have been more.
Back in the cell.
Murderermurdemurderemur
And the soldiers step inside.
.
.
Author's notes:
Many thanks to Sam.
Ug, someone save me from all this school!
.
.
Constructive criticism will be printed out and framed. Flames will be used to toast marshmallows. Yum.