Interlude: The Knight of Fire
The realization hit Hwoarang like a bullet train.
I'm alone…
He lay back on the grass. Looking up at the sky, he noticed three clouds. There may have been others, but the tall trees blocked his view.
I'm alone…here…in the middle of this god-forsaken forest. Where the hell am I?
He sat back up and turned towards the direction Jin lead Ling and that girl from school.
Fuck you, Jin.
He finally got up from the ground. His head was still a little woozy from the fight, so he sat back down. Waiting for dizzy sensation to wear off, he took a moment to inspect himself. The first thing he noticed was his bloody school shirt. He quickly turned away, trying to quell the anger boiling inside of him. His pants were torn every which way, revealing a bloody knee.
How in the hell did I get that?
The mud on his boots caused his blood to boil again.
Damn…that'll take forever to take off…and I can't ride my bike with mud caked on them…
Suddenly, he realized that he was missing something. He looked around clearing frantically, trying to find…
My bike! My bike! Oh my god…where is it?
Suddenly, it all came back to him. He quickly jammed both hands into his pocket. A partial wave of relief rushed over him as he grasped the keys.
That bike better still be there when I get back…
Cautiously, Hwoarang stood back up, testing the waters. He was still a little dizzy, but it was more manageable now. The lush, vibrant green of the forest made his head spin. Looking around the clearing, he noticed a small, dilapidated, brown shack several feet away. Curious, he walked over to the shack.
This must be where that motherfucker grew up…
As he got closer, he realized that it was made of wood. It probably would have appeared liveable in a previous era, but years of abandonment proved to be too much for the little cottage. Hwoarang almost tugged the door off of its rusty hinges as he let go of the tarnished doorknob. The inside of the house wasn't impressive. The first thing Hwoarang noticed was the overwhelming stench of the home. At first, he had to squint to see inside, as the only source of light was a small, dirty window on the opposite wall. The dreary walls looked like they would crumble any second. He noticed the remaining residents of the home; he saw several insects scuttle across the wood floor, probably fearing the vibrant rays of sun. The only thing inside that proved somebody had lived there was a rusted old-fashioned stove on the far left wall. Hwoarang walked over to it, noticing several spider webs along the burner. He thought of trying to turn on the stove, but decided against it and began walking to towards the door. After several steps, something caught his attention in the corner of his eye. Spying through the window several feet away, he noticed that he could see something dark behind the dirt. He walked up to the window, wiping off the dust.
What is that?
Several stones were jutting from the grass, making a circle. A wood frame was hung across the stones on either side. A rope, attached to the frame, lead down the into the circle.
A well.
Hwoarang made his way outside of the cottage and behind the house. The stones reached a little bit under his waist, and the rope tied to the wood frame looked like it would snap under any tension. Untying the rope from the frame, he first tested to see if the pulley was operational by sliding the rope back and forth.
The wheel needs a little grease.
He began to pull the rope roughly. After one tug, he immediately heard the bucket on the other end hit the edge of the well, probably spilling water.
If this well has any water still…
He continued to pull until finally, the bucket was obtainable. The water inside was crisp and clear. Hwoarang wanted to pour the entire bucket of water into his mouth to quench his undying thirst; it felt as if his throat was on fire. He bent over the bucket and cupped his hand with water. He saw his mangled, bloody reflection.
Christ…
With the water in his hand, he washed his face, rubbing his fingers against his skin roughly. After the task was done, the water in the bucket was tinted a light red.
At least I look slightly presentable…
Throwing out the water, he let the bucket down for another water trip. With the bucket filled to the brim, he drank half of its contents. The water felt cool as it slid down his throat. He felt replenished; his head wasn't dizzy anymore.
Regrettably leaving the comforting well, he returned to the front of the house, and walked over to the edge of the clearing where he last saw the other three.
This better be the right way, he snorted.
As he walked past the first tree, he kicked it lightly in the trunk as an expression of frustration at his situation. Despite everything that had happened in the past ten minutes, he decided to push everything into the back of his head. He was left with a nagging feeling; as if something was on his shoulder that he couldn't brush off.
Whatever is happening…I'm not a part of it. I've made up my mind…I don't care what the hell happens to those three…
His attempt at indifference had its temporary effect. As he left the clearing and entered the forest ahead, he only had one thought in mind.
That bike better be there when I get back…
Hwoarang slumped in his desk, sleepy from the previous day. After taking several hours to find the next town, he had to take two bus lines to the main bus station, which then brought him home. After retrieving his motorcycle from the side of the road as the sun was rising, he slept in his place for only a couple of hours before dragging his feet to school.
I used up my last strike yesterday…if I'm absent for one more class, I'll get kicked out…and I'll really hear it from Sensei.
Apparently, the teacher in the front of the class was discussing the politics and the turbulent relationship between Japan and the United States. The only thing Hwoarang noticed was the revealing skirt she was wearing.
She's definitely too old for that…
Hwoarang glanced over to the empty desk several rows up.
Ling's not here…
He quickly expunged any negative thoughts out of his mind...including any thoughts about yesterday. To him, yesterday was a lost day.
She isn't still hunting around for the spirits and other bullshit like that…is she?
Suddenly, his throat felt scratchy, as if it were on fire.
Hwoarang was walking down the street, on the way to the dojo of Baek Doo San, his Tae Kwon Do teacher for the past several years. He quickly became a father figure to Hwoarang, even inciting Hwoarang's fear when he was angry with him. With his gym bag in tow, he was thinking of good excuses that would excuse him from missing yesterday's training.
What if I was sick? Nah…he would ask me why I didn't call. What if a cousin came to visit unexpectedly and I had to do things with him? Wait…he knows I don't have any cousins…
Before long, he reached the entrance of the dojo without a good excuse.
Maybe I'll just go for the stomach flu, and accept the consequences. I definitely can't tell him what really happened.
Walking up the steps, he stopped right in front of the door. He expected that Baek would be standing right at the opposite side of the door, with a stern look on his face that would strike fear into anybody's heart for not coming the previous day. Slowly sliding the wooden door open, he closed his eyes and stepped in, closing the door behind him, bowing, and yelled apologetically, "Sensei? I'm really sorry for not com—"
Several things happened at once. He heard Baek's voice mutter, "Oh no…" He sounded further away then he expected. He also thought he heard swift footsteps as he felt a small gust of wind coming from the front. He opened his eyes just in time to see the back of a stranger's fist fly straight towards his left cheek. Without any time to react, he flew sideways as he was struck, falling to the ground.
Shit! This is definitely the last time I cross Sensei…
Quickly positioning his body into a crouch on one knee, he looked up at Baek. His eyes widened with shock as his Sensei was not staring back at him from above. Instead, a large Chinese man was hovering over him, wearing a dark suit. The suit didn't mask the enormous bulk of muscle that undoubtedly framed his body. Upon further inspection, he could see flecks of blood on the expensive set of clothes. His intense eyes did not break contact with Hwoarang's eyes. Hwoarang suddenly felt a chill as noticed the severity of the situation.
Move, dammit! MOVE! You don't just sit there in street fights, waiting for your ass to be kicked! How is this different?
Another voice in his head answered. Well, this is definitely not a street fight…this guy's gonna kill me. I can see it in his eyes…
His legs were unresponsive. He was paralyzed, and a numbing sensation was quickly filling throughout his body as the large man began walking towards him.
"Hwoarang, get the hell out of here!" he heard Baek scream, but he couldn't see him. The attacker quickly grabbed Hwoarang by the neck with one arm and lifted him up off the ground. Hwoarang's body didn't expect for the oxygen in his body to suddenly become a rare resource, and his body began convulsing uncontrollably. His eyeballs felt as if they were going to pop out of their sockets. The man slammed Hwoarang's back into a nearby wall, causing the building to shake.
He's inhuman…I'm gonna die…
From this point, Hwoarang could see the entire room, and he saw his teacher, a man who he thought had no weakness, slumped on the ground, bloody in the face and looking on in horror as his star pupil was dying in front of him. Looking into his attacker's face, he noticed a stream of blood running down from the side of his mouth and down his chin. He finally had an epiphany at this display of weakness.
Fight back! What the hell are you doing? FUCK THIS GUY UP! Hwoarang's mind screamed.
Finally, whether it was the adrenaline coursing through his system or his mind finally overcoming matter, he pressed his feet against the wall and pushed against it with all his might. The attacker lost his balance at the unexpected act of defiance and fell back, with Hwoarang landing on top of him, elbows out to possibly inflict damage. His sharp joints missed their target, and Hwoarang rolled off of the man, holding his throat and coughing, urging air to enter his lungs as he lay on his back.
Silently, the man got up and kneeled next to Hwoarang. He brought both fists up behind his head, with every intention of driving them into his stomach to force air out. Just as he was about to strike, he saw Baek rush up from behind the man and pull his arms back to prevent the hit.
With all of his might, the man grunted loudly as he grabbed Baek's arms and threw him forward, over Hwoarang and landed on the floor near the door several feet away from him. Hwoarang took this opportunity to roll out of the way of the man and stand. Clutching his chest, the young warrior was wheezing for air. The man got up from his knees and walked over to the bloody Baek.
Not on my watch…
Hwoarang ran toward the man and attempted a jump kick. The man swiftly dodged, moving his body back to avoid the strike. Upon landing, Hwoarang brought one of his feet up over his head and attempted an axe kick. The force of the kick surprised his attacker, and he blocked with both forearms. Noticing an opening, Hwoarang brought his foot down, rotated on his hips, spun around and sent a kick directly into the man's ribcage. The man, stunned by the force and quickness, fell back and retreated slightly.
Hwoarang ran to his master and bent over him. "Oh my god…" he muttered, as he saw his face. Baek's nose was bleeding profusely. Several cuts above his left eye added to the display of fierce red carnage on his face. The top of his usually white gi was drenched in blood, and his battle-worn face indicated that he was about ready to give up. Hwoarang turned on his heel and faced the man.
"Who in the hell are you?" he yelled.
The man stood there silently, obviously pained from the last hit.
"I said…who are you?" Hwoarang screamed as he ran towards him, on the offensive. Hwoarang attempted to sweep his legs, but the man jumped over the attack. Quickly following the sweep, Hwoarang spun on his heel and tried to knock him out with a roundhouse kick to the head. The man quickly ducked and decided it was his turn. He closed the distance between him and the red-head with amazing speed. He swiftly punched him in the abdomen with staggering force. Hwoarang clutched his stomach in pain, and seeing the man right in front of him, hastily threw a sloppily-formed side kick. The man easily caught the attack, and unexpectedly wrapped his arms around Hwoarang's leg and thigh. Before he had a chance to know what was happening, the man spun around and slammed Hwoarang, back-first, into a nearby wall. The feisty Hwoarang screamed in pain as he made the dojo room shake. The man spun around again in the opposite direction, this time slamming Hwoarang face-first into the same wall. The dojo wall protested again and made a loud creaking noise. Hwoarang felt blood erupt into his mouth as he was against the wall, and let it spill onto the floor. Just as the man was going to slam him into the wall again, Baek came from his blind spot and quickly kicked him in the chin. The attacker dropped Hwoarang roughly as he reeled from the attack.
From the ground, Hwoarang looked over at the dueling warriors. It seemed that, even though in his condition, Baek had the upper hand in this round. Hwoarang touched his mouth with his fingers. They emerged bloody, as he expected. Hwoarang got up and ran up behind Baek.
"I'm ready!" Hwoarang yelled at his master.
Understanding the signal, Baek punched the man with a hook, stunning him slightly. Grabbing him to close the distance between them, Baek then ran up to him, and using the man's thigh as a stepping stool, he jumped onto his shoulder, and with his left foot, kicked him in the back of the head, sending him staggering towards Hwoarang. Even though he was supposed to land on his feet, Baek hit the floor hard face-first, in pain from all of his injuries.
As the stranger stumbled his way towards Hwoarang, the redhead angrily sent one kick directly to his head. As soon as he felt it connect, he spun around and kicked him in the head again, this time with the heel of his foot. Noticing that he was still standing, he sent one last roundhouse, putting all of his might into the strike. It felt like new energy coursed up into his leg, tightening his muscles and keeping his leg extended and taut. This new flame within him suddenly left him as his heel connected with the man's cheek. The man flew to the side, incapacitated.
Confident that the man wasn't going to be getting up any time soon, Hwoarang fell down on the seat of his pants, tired. He panted for air, calmly waiting for his body to return to functioning normally. He lay down completely on the dojo floor, slowing his breathing.
What the hell was that just now? Hwoarang questioned himself, but quickly reminded himself of a more important question.
"You O.K.?" he shouted.
Baek groaned loudly as a response.
"I'll get someone…" Hwoarang sat up from the floor, reaching several feet for his gym bag. He searched the small pocket on the side for his cell phone. Once he retrieved it, he brought it close to his face, dialing 9-1-1. As he was about to press "Send", somebody's strong hand grabbed his wrist painfully, twisting it unnaturally. He dropped the cell phone on the ground as he screamed in pain. Looking up, he saw that it wasn't the strange man he had just knocked out, it was a man clad all in black, with a gas mask for some reason. For a split second, Hwoarang thought he was imagining it. When the man let go of his hand and aimed his handgun at Hwoarang, he knew that this was real.
"I got your distress call," the masked man said aloud. Hwoarang didn't know to whom he was talking to.
He noticed movement to his left, and realized that the large Chinese man was shuffling, getting up from the ground.
How in the…
"Did you get the sample?" the masked man asked.
The suited man was standing now, and several steps later, he was hovering over Hwoarang. The Chinese man had several cuts on his face. Two other trails of blood stemming from his mouth had joined the initial one Hwoarang saw beforehand.
"No…not yet…these two proved to be a little tougher than the others," the suited man's voice was very deep.
"You got beat by some geezer and some kid?" the masked man asked incredulously. The Chinese man gave him a dirty look, and the he quickly turned his attention to his gun and Hwoarang, avoiding his gaze.
"Just get the sample and let's get out of here…the Zaibatsu put us on a time constraint," the masked man said.
One lone word resonated within Hwoarang's mind. Zaibatsu…Zaibatsu…
Hwoarang saw Jin in his head. We're going to the Mishima Zaibatsu Jin was saying. We're going to the Mishima Zaibatsu…
The masked man interrupted his thoughts.
"Should we silence him?" the masked man asked, motioning toward the grounded Hwoarang with his gun.
"Nah…I want to take care of this kid myself…" the Chinese man said, kneeling down on the ground next to Hwoarang.
Hwoarang stared hard at the man, lips in anger. Strangely, he wasn't afraid at this confrontation.
"You got spunk, kid. Gotta respect that," the Chinese man stated flatly. The Chinese man grabbed Hwoarang's red hair with both hands and bashed his head on the ground several times. Hwoarang gritted his teeth to keep from screaming in pain; to keep himself from showing weakness. With one hand still holding onto his long hair, the man curled his fingers and struck the young man's head three times. Letting go, the Chinese man got up and kicked Hwoarang in the stomach.
"He'll be out for a while…let's just get the damn sample and get out of here…" the Chinese man lead the masked man over to Baek.
Everything was blurry to Hwoarang. Stars danced around head, urging him to fall asleep. Hwoarang looked over to his master. Black began to cover the top of his field of vision. The two strangers kneeled over Baek. Hwoarang's eyes began to close. The last thing he saw was the blurry silhouette of the Chinese man stabbing his master with something in his hand.
Damn…that bike better be there when I get back…
Hwoarang found himself in a forest.
God dammit…I hate forests…
This forest was dead, though. Instead of the usual blue nights of Japan, this evening was tinted red. Without getting a chance to look around, he suddenly, he saw flashes of people. Things. Places. He couldn't discern all of them, but he knew that they were all things that he had known. The last thing, and the thing he saw for the longest time was a flame. A flame that was burning out.
Hwoarang opened his eyes to see a blue sky in a very different forest. And apparently, he was lying down.
Why are my pants so tight?
He got up and looked down. He was wearing his Mishima High School uniform.
Oh…these crappy things…
Suddenly, he heard voices to his left.
Shit!
He got up cautiously, careful not to make a sound. Creeping, he approached a clearing where he saw three figures.
I can't shake this feeling…they look familiar…
He entered the clearing.
"Oh crap…" the pig-tailed girl said.
Oh crap indeed…
"What the hell…?" that new girl muttered.
I'm just as confused, bitch.
"How did you get here?" his rival asked.
I want to wipe that smug look off your god damn face, fucker.
"How in the hell…holy shit…seriously…what the fuck?" was the only thing that managed to come out of Hwoarang's mouth. He began to hit the sides of his head repeatedly, whispering "Wake up…wake up…wake up…wake up…wake up…"
Ling turned to him, "Dude…we're just as confused as you are."
"You guys don't belong in my dreams! Especially not that motherfucker!" Hwoarang pointed at the man who started it all.
Well…maybe one of you belongs in…wait…I can't think about that shit right now!
"Why in the hell are you guys still with him? Haven't we already established that he is a crazy motherfucker?" Hwoarang yelled, trying to persuade the others to stop defending the asshole.
"Shut up," the new girl directed to Hwoarang.
Bitch…if I—
Jin interrupted his thought. "Did you see that?" he breathed. Suddenly he was panting.
"See what?" Ling asked.
"That…dead forest…just now?"
What…the…fuck…is…he…talking…about…
"Uh…this forest isn't dead, Jin. What are you talking about?" the new bitch questioned the asshole
"You didn't see it?" Jin looked as if he saw a ghost.
"See! He's crazy! Jin Kazama is motherfuckin' crazy!" Hwoarang yelled.
I knew it…I knew it…I knew it…
Suddenly, a bright light flashed, and Hwoarang was all alone.
"Hello," a voice out of nowhere said.
What? Who said that?
"I did," the voice replied to his thoughts.
That voice…it must be…
"Yes…it is."
It really didn't surprise him. After all the crazy shit that has happened to him, he knew he was bound to get another visit from her.
"No matter which path you take, Knight of Fire, destiny always finds a way. Always."
Hwoarang woke in a hospital bed. Upon opening his eyes, he quickly stood up, looking for Baek. The first thing he noticed was that he had a splitting headache. Touching the base of his forehead, he felt a large strip of gauze wrapped around his head. As he reached for his head, he saw the IV tubes in his arm. He quickly ripped them out, clenching his teeth to help with the pain.
Jumping from the bed, he pulled back the curtain to the next hospital bed.
And there he was.
Baek wasn't looking too good. Bandages wrapped around his face, some were red to the surface with blood. His breathing was much louder than usual. He was still…too still. Hwoarang just stared at his mentor in shock.
"Umm…sir?"
A nurse had appeared behind him.
"You should really be in bed…"
"Will he be O.K.?" Hwoarang demanded loudly.
"Sir, please…"
"Will he?" he screamed.
"He should be…it'll take some time…"
Hwoarang quickly brushed past the nurse, ignoring her calls to return to bed. Following the signs, he quickly made his way back to the entrance of the hospital. The various people on the street stared at the sight of the strange young red-haired man out on the sidewalk with a hospital gown.
Hwoarang recognized the neighborhood the hospital was located, and realized that his house was only a couple of blocks away. He began quickly walking toward the house, with only one thought in his mind.
I'm going to the Mishima Zaibatsu.
Almost two days later, Hwoarang found himself at the door of the huge conglomerate's headquarters. He had parked his motorcycle several blocks away from the building and walked the rest of the way. He was dressed in the most menacing biker's outfit he had. He was wearing a green and orange sleeveless jacket. His blue jeans were fitted with several belts down his thigh and along his leg that didn't seem to serve any purpose but decoration. A huge silver belt-buckle glistened in the sun as he walked. The biker goggles on the top of his forehead fit loosely, and the biker gloves on hands cut off at the fingers. His steel-toed boots were fitted with spurs. Any kick would definitely incapacitate any opponent. He would make sure of it.
They should even take care of that crazy motherfucker…
Upon stepping into the building, he was immediately fixed with curious stares. He quickened his step to the huge receptionist desk several feet in front of him.
"Can I speak to the head of the company?" he calmly asked.
"Uhh…what?" the pretty receptionist asked.
"Can I speak to the head of the company?" he repeated, this time slowly.
"I'm sorry sir, you can't just—"
"I just need to speak with him for a short while," Hwoarang interrupted, aware of two security guards that had moved behind him.
"Unfortunately, it doesn't quite work that way," the receptionist stared at Hwoarang coldly.
Suddenly, Hwoarang reached over and grabbed the receptionist by the collar of her uniform.
"Why did you try to kill me and the closest person I have to a father?" he whispered into her ear, seething with anger.
The two security guards quickly hooked their arms between Hwoarang's and dragged him away.
"Call the Head of Security," one guard told the other.
The guard pressed a button on his radio pack. "Mr. Chaolan, did you see what happened in the lobby?"
"Yes…bring the young man to holding room B. I'll be there," the man on the radio responded.
"Come on, hotshot…" the guard instructed, escorting him down the hall to the right.
Hwoarang was seated in a cold, steel chair in the small blue room. The long, silver table was separated him and the silver-haired on the other side.
"So…Hwoarang, was it? Our receptionist has made a statement saying that after asking to see the head of the Mishima Zaibatsu several times, you accused her of trying to kill you and your father…mind explaining what you mean by that?" the silver-haired man motioned at the pen in his hand toward the microphone on the table. The microphone was connected to a laptop in front of the silver-haired man for recording purposes.
"I didn't say that. I said the closest person I have to a father. I have no idea who my real father is," Hwoarang flatly stated.
"In either case, the Mishima Zaibatsu is a pharmaceutical company. Could you fathom any reason why a major pharmaceutical company would want to target either you or this man?" the silver-haired man leaned back in his chair, bored, obviously thinking that this would lead nowhere.
"I don't know, but I want to know what's happening! I owe Baek that much…" Hwoarang looked at the silver-haired man. He was losing hope, fast.
Curious, the silver-haired man typed in the name "Baek" in the Zaibatsu database on his laptop. As the program cycled through names, it came up with no results.
The silver-haired man turned the laptop toward Hwoarang. "See? I just did a database search for the name 'Baek,' and cross-referenced it with every name related in any way to the Mishima Zaibatsu dating back 10 years. Nothing is here," the silver-haired man explained. "Now, I won't press charges, but—"
"Wait," Hwoarang interrupted, pointing at the laptop screen. The silver-haired man looked at him dubiously and turned it back towards him. On the bottom of the screen, the name "Baek Doo San" was highlighted in green. Under his name, in red bold letters, was "CLASS S SECURITY".
Oh shit…Baek Doo San was a target for…the project…
"What do you want with him!" Hwoarang leapt across the table. This new information made his blood boil.
Everything that had happened to me…to Jin…to Ling and her friend. And the ghost…it was all true. Everything was validated.
"Guards! Get him to Class D security! Extract any information he knows about our project!" the silver-haired man yelled loudly. Several security guards picked Hwoarang up off the table and pulled him to the ground, pinning him. "You," the silver-haired man pointed to one of the men, "alert my father. All Class D security breaches go straight to him, without exception. Make sure he hears of this swiftly. Tell the others to contact me as soon as they have something!" The silver haired man quickly left the room in a huff.
I don't know how, but know something, kid…and after you tell us exactly how you found out what you know, we have no use for you.
"Our job is to get you to talk. One way or the other, you will talk, boy," a bald man with a scruffy voice threatened as he finished tying the last wrist constraint.
They had stripped Hwoarang of his shirt and tied him to a metal rack. The more skin that was in contact with the conductive metal, the more pain electric shock torture would cause.
"If I knew something, I would have told you when you guys were sucker-punching me in the stomach for the last hour," he replied coldly.
The bald man scowled at him. "Let's test this machine out, why won't we?" The bald man snapped his fingers. Another bald, ugly man in front of the machine flipped the switch
Suddenly, Hwoarang twitched uncontrollably on the rack as electricity coursed through his body. It felt as if his muscles wanted to burst out of his skin. He screamed in agony as they moved unnaturally on the bone.
The bald man snapped again, and the electric current stopped, leaving Hwoarang breathless.
"Jeez," Hwoarang muttered, breathing heavily, "that was fun…"
The bald man snapped.
Electricity
Pain.
Snap.
Hwoarang didn't know how much more he could take of this.
I'll probably die here…I really don't know any more…I already tried making up shit…they won't believe anything until they hear what they want to hear…
The bald man swept his arm over a nearby table. Various scrap metal trinkets flew off the table and onto the ground, making a loud cacophonous crash. He sat on the table and lit a cigarette, blowing smoke directly into Hwoarang's face.
"You've said some pretty interesting things up there, kid. Mind explaining yourself?" the bald man took another drag from his cigarette.
"Nah…that's O.K. Actually, would one of you mind getting me a cup of water?" he motioned over at the water cooler in the room on the opposite wall.
The bald man made that ugly scowl once again. Suddenly, he chuckled. "You know kid, at the higher voltages, this machine can run enough electricity through your body that your muscles will snap in two."
I think this voltage already can do that… Hwoarang thought.
"Sounds fun," he mocked, thinking that the next round of electric shock would be his last. I want to go out with a bang.
Snap.
Hwoarang didn't try to squelch is screams this time. He really thought this was the end. He suddenly thought of all of the craziness that had happened in the past several days. The visions…the forest…that strange dream…everything was real. Everything.
And now…I make my grand exit…
Suddenly, the electricity stopped.
Damn…I was really ready this time…
"Ready for another dose?"
"Bring it, shitface."
And don't hold back this time, fucker. Crank that bitch up.
Suddenly, the door to the room opened, and he saw three feminine figures at the entryway.
Angels? one voice thought.
Angels? When in the hell did you believe in angels? another voice in his head berated the other.
"What the…Ling? Uhh…girl from school?" he muttered weakly.
I really wanted to call her 'bitch from school', but 'girl' is easier to say…
"This doesn't look good…" an entirely new bitch that he hadn't seen before said as he saw the various men in the room mobilize.
"That depends from where you're sitting…" the bald man pulled out a handgun.
The bane of my motherfucking existence.
Note: Well then…this "short" interlude turned out to be longer than expected. I just kept typing and typing and typing.
And apologies to anybody offended by the excessive language in this chapter. I imagine Hwoarang to be a foul-mouthed character.
