Blood On Water


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Also Featuring:

eileen4_icon.gif kazimir_icon.gif raith_icon.gif f_rickham2_icon.gif

Scene Title Blood on Water
Synopsis Feng Daiyu and Ethan Holden have their final battle.
Date February 20, 2011

Long Island City


The hasty spray paint job emblazoned onto the flat of cardboard hangs limply from Patel Brothers. Below the Celebrating Our Food…. Our Culture sign. The small Indian specialty grocery store looks more downtrodden than usual. A smokey hue floats over the entirety of the storefront as if enveloped in a thin layer of misty fog. The charcoal mist pools over the broken out front windows and slides along the destroyed furniture that hangs half-in half-out of the shop. Shattered glass and miscellaneous items such as broken mop handles and a hubcap litter the proverbial 'front yard' of the Indian store.

As one moves closer, the burning stench becomes more palpable. The storefront looking more and more like a war-zone the closer one gets to the shop. A discarded and battered shoe sits in the doorway, surrounded by broken glass and shredded cloth. Only an inch away from the boot, the trail of dried up blood starts. Flakes of red spots progressively getting larger like a trail of bread crumbs leading to the loaf. Yet instead of a loaf of bread, an excessively large pool of blood surrounds a mangled corpse of what used to be a nondescript man. Now the only description that can be attributed to him is:Yucky. The man's foot is entangled with a thin wire, disengaged that runs to an elevated and discharged double barrel. A few feet away from him, another body lies half in a large barrel. The barrel Ethan and his cohorts had used for bathing water, a corpse now sleeps in. Half his body forcibly dunked and stayed into the now red dyed bath water.

Past him through the knocked down aisles of what used to be groceries a few more bodies lay strewn about. Some clad in comically dirty raggy clothing, others dressed more uniformly. Though more mismatched. A man dressed in half-Redbird half-Stillwater security clothing lays with his head smashed under a large wooden rack. Further back through Patel brothers, a burnt out section of the store where there was apparently an explosion, yet further back lies the Managers Office.

This seems to be the only room with actual signs of life. NEW MANAGEMENT scratched into the door, a vanilla tinged smoke permeates from the back room.

The smoke skips away from the end of the black vanilla flavored clove, wafting away from the smoker. The smoker who happens to be 'the Manager'. Ethan Holden sits languidly in the black armchair, puffing contently on the clove he produced from one of the attackers bodies. A patch of dried up blood rests above his brow other than that, however he seems to be unscathed. Dark colors blending into the darkness, his long sleeved and baggy peacoat fits loosely over his thick frame. Taking the clove out, Ethan glances down.

The man with the butcher blade protruding from his forehead has been conspicuously silent on top of the managers desk. And continues to remain so when the clove's dying embers is put out on the side of his face. Whether these attackers were simply trying to take Patel Brothers supplies, or they were sent by someone. One thing remains very clear.

They have been dealt with.

Queens has seen its fair share of trouble over the last few years, from the rise of the Vanguard, to the fall of Consolidated Edison, and now the dome cutting through its streets and entrapping its citizens. In the two weeks since the dome has risen, anarchy became an easy alternative for a disaffected and angry populace, became an easy outlet for violent tendencies and the self-destructive urges that the world seems to be so intent on feeding.

Queens has aso seen attempts at reconstruction, rebuilding, revitalization. Many of the construction sites in the neighborhood were busy with activity on the day the dome went up, quickly abandoned by the workers when it became clear the predicament they were in. Keys left in machinery, violent urges, heavy equipment.

The time for subtlety left a long time ago.

The rumbling noise Ethan hears over the sound of crackling fire outside is punctuated by a shriek of metal and a pop of glass, a car out of sight struck by another vehicle, a larger vehicle. The moment that heart-pounding sound carries through Patel Brothers, it is followed by a shearing sound of metal on metal, a shattering of glass and crunching pops of plastic and tin as a bright, yellow bulldozer comes crashing thorugh the front of the store.

Orange emergency lights are flashing, front bucket lifted like some sort of makeshift battering ram tangled with aluminum door frames and filled with glass, also acting as a shield to protect whoever might be hidden behind it from unwanted gunfire. The bulldozer plows further into the store, colliding with a checkout counter and tearing up the conveyor belt, knocking over a shelf stripped of candies and snacks, continuing onwards into the store with unstoppable momentum.

The clove is put out on the forehead of the man, rubbed out onto his lifeless skull. The burn scarred deeply into the gray tissue of the dead man's skin. Ethan's eyes raise up as the crackling of metal and concrete crash before the might of the large yellow bulldozer. The whole building reverberates with destructive force as the machine crashes inwards, towards his office. Emotion is scarce on Holden's features, eyes simply boring holes into the massive machine marching towards him. Ethan leans back in his chair, a light breath skimming out of his lips.

His motions aren't enraged, they are calm, matter of fact. As if someone dealing with a leaky sink, or their dog peeing on the carpet. Feng has peed on many of Ethan's carpets. Pushing off his chair, Holden grabs the handle of the butcher knife embedded into the man's skull. Pulling it out easily, Ethan walks over to the side of his office. Bending, a handle is grasped and pulled out. One of the rolling coolers, blue and red, Ethan walks casually out of the office towards the tractor.

Butcher knife dangling in one hand, the cooler being led in the other. Holden's black boots slap quietly against the deafening roar of the destruction. The building practically imploding from the monstrous force. Holden walks through it like a saturday in the park.

Pausing in the organic vegetable section, Ethan sets his cooler down. Going down to one knee, the butcher knife is placed on the ground. Opening the cooler, Holden reaches in. Two bottles are set out in front of them, white cloth protruding from the spout. Reaching into his pea-coat pocket, a lighter is produced. Holden watching the machine quietly as he goes to setting the two strips of cloth aflame. Two home made molotov cocktails. Standing, the two flaming explosives are lobbed over the shield of the bulldozer, a short space given between the time of throwing.

After tossing the two explosives, Holden bends back down. Reaching into the cooler an actual beer is brought out, as well as Ethan's bloody butcher knife.

Glass shatters, liquid fire spills down the cage top of the massive bulldozer, and as a support column for the second floor is demolished by its fiery approach, the ceiling begins to sag with a groaning noise of strained metal. The bulldozer doesn't stop, pushing aisles aside and toppling shelves with crunching crashes. The metal treads rumble up and over one of the knocked over shelves, the slow and destructive path of the construction vehicle easy enough for Ethan's calm stides to take him out of the way, beer bottle slowly dook-dook draining as the bottom is tipped up towards the sagging ceiling.

When the burning vehicle passes by Ethan, shards of plaster from the ceiling are raining down in its wake as it drags the bent support pose across the roof, splitting plaster and exposing wires and ceiling joyces as the floor above threatens to join the floor below.

Burning from the molotov cocktails, the carraige top of the bulldozer is entirely empty. A chain is wrapped around the steering wheel, a sledgehammer propped up against one of the pedals and levers pulled back into movement. It ploughs past Ethan, colliding with the wall and pushing into the office, even as the ceiling shrieks and howls.

A gunshot comes from somewhere else in the store, brown glass explodes in Ethan's hand and sends shards bouncing against his chest and harmlessly off os his cheeks, the top of the bottle falling from his lips, beer foam everywhere.

Making no effort to hide himself, Feng Daiyu stands down the end of a long, bulldozed aisle beside a rotten produce section. A handgun is held up, trained on where he'd struck the bottle, dark eyes squared on Ethan. The challenge is unverbal, and when Feng throws his handgun aside, he exchanges it for the snap of a folding blade knife opening in his other hand.

Spittle and beer coming off his lips, Ethan gives an aggravated groan, brows knitting together in a disconcerted expression. Turning some to face the Feng poised for battle, his liquid covered hand shakes violently, the beer and spit flying from his splayed out fingers. Patting his chest down to get rid of the foam, he casts Feng a slightly annoyed glance. Looking at the man trading out the gun for the knife, a light chuckle is let out.

Gripping the butcher knife tightly, Holden's march towards Feng begins. Smashing bits of sheetrock and rubble below his heavy boots, the smoke and dust of destruction envelops him as he stalks forward. The butcher knife twirls once in his hand as his path leads him towards Feng. Normally two combatants would circle each other, test each other, feel the other warrior out. These two have fought before, these two know each other. The need for skirmishing is almost non-existant. The large flat blade swings in a high-arc, Feng easily ducking under and out of the way.

Feng's counter-strike at Ethan's torso is avoided with equal ease. Twisting his body and spinning, the butchers knife goes low and then comes out high cutting down powerfully at Feng, where the shoulder meets the neck.

The flat of Feng's empty hand pushes the large blade of the cleaver aside, exchanged for a long cut down the side of his thumb. An open-palmed strike lunges at Ethan's chest in follow-through, but the former SAS officer hops backwards to avoid it, his boots knocking away pissing soda cans spinning in froth on the floor.

Feng advances, even as the bulldozer ploughs straight through the office and out the back wall of the store, bricks collapsing down in a pile onto the floor. A swift snap kick up towards Ethan is blocked aside by the Wolf's forearm, a roudnhouse kick following ducked beneath as Feng continues his advancing attack. Crouched, Ethan's legs sweep out to try and take Feng down onto his back, but the nimble assassin hops over the sweep, boots clapping to the ground when he lands, swinging down to punch at the top of Ethan's head.

It hits the Brit's shoulder instead, sends him rolling backwards into a tumble that Ethan flips out of, back onto his feet and deeper into the store. The ceiling groans and quakes again, and Feng switches his footing, bringing the knife out in front and resting weight only on the toe of his front foot, a showy Muy-Thai knife fighting style.

"There's nowhere to run this time," Feng asserts as he edges closer to Ethan, knife pointed tip down in an underhanded grip. "No escape routes, just a cage. I couldn't have predicted this, couldn't have hoped for a better ending."

Feng's dark eyes level squarely on Ethan, and the assassin springs forward with the knife out, slashing at the air where Ethan's throat was as the Brit backsteps, swatting away Feng's follow up kick with a smack of an open hand. "I know how this is going to end," Feng asserts, shifting his lead foot from side to side quickly. "It ends with a surprise." That lead foot swings out in another snap kick.

The kick sails high, the calf getting caught under by Ethan's free palm. Pushing up so that the kick is over-extended the same arm drives a flash of an elbow strike straight into Feng's chest. The smaller and older man stumbling backward rapidly to regain his footing after the over executed and failed kick. The backpedalling continues as Feng finds himself dancing over unpredictable rise and falls in the terrain. The quickly executed dance number has Ethan on the offensive.

With something akin to a feral growl, Holden lunges forward. The cleaver coming up in a quick slash at Feng's forehead. The man's attempt to regain his footing is what saves him, a few more rapid jabs from the cleaver has Feng bobbing, weaving, and twisting out of the way. Finally Feng's slinky dodging maneuvers come to an end, as a large black clad elbow comes careening into his cheek. Neck snapping away from the powerful strike, saliva and blood explodes off onto the fabric of Ethan's black coat.

A quiet chuckle exits Holden's lips before he presses the attack.

The cleaver comes down powerfully at the side of Feng's head, but the smaller man is much quicker to recover than the Wolf could have expected. Spinning, Feng's blade cleanly slides across the Brit's attacking wrist. A feral cry is let out as the butcher blade is dropped and blood slings out from his forearm. An immediate and powerful cross connecting with Feng's jaw to send the man back, give him a few moments to recover.

Reeling from the hit, Feng crashes back into a mostly looted shelf of bagged rice, some torn containers spilled out onto the floor. He grabs one in his free hand, slings the five pound sack forward, causing Ethan to smack it away with one hand. Following the bag in, Feng ducks beneath and expectant kick from his old rival, grabbing Ethan by the leg and continuing the forward momentum, pushing him down the aisle and then into a pair of double doors that clunk loudly against Ethan's back.

The wild rush ends when Ethan impacts with a concrete wall in the back of the store, hands clasping together to hammer down on Feng's back. Releasing Ethan, Feng slumps from the hammering blow, rolling out of the way just in time to avoid a knee to the face. One leg swings up from the ground, catching Ethan in the mouth and knocking him back, into a short metal railing and head over heels off of the landing and down onto the concrete floor past the ramp nearby. Feng rolls on one shoulder, lands in a crouch and withdraws a fixed-blade throwing knife from his tactical vest.

It's thrown out in a snap, the first knife glimmering chrome past Ethan's weaved head, the second impacting with the Brit's shoulder and sending him further staggering back and into the storage area. He collides with a metal shelf, cardboard boxes toppling from up on high.

Withdrawing a third throwing knife, Feng sprints forward, hopping up onto the railing and then leaping up off of it, an edged weapon in each hand as he dives down towards his nemesis.

A ragged breath is taken as Ethan looks down at the blade protruding from his shoulder. Inhaling he lets out a light growl, his eyes slinking up to watch Feng in his attack. Leaping up off the railing towards him. Tilting his head back, a little groan is let out. His eyes rolling back as if annoyed by Feng's persistence. His hands come up to grasp the railing behind him. A large breath taken.

His heel clicks against the side of his other heel curtly. Causing a blade to pop out of the toe of the shoe. Gripping the railing, Ethan hauls himself up. Puliing hard, his legs are flung up. Holding the railing to prolong his elevated state. The shoe-knife goes forward first, up over Ethan's head to greet the falling Feng. The stiff leg and knife meet Feng's descent first, stopping his flight abruptly. But with the amount of momentum coming downward, the pair still go down.

His grip ripped off the railing, Ethan splats on his back, pulling his foot back quickly. To find blood dripping from the blade. Reaching up to his shoulder, a loud yell is let out as the throwing knife is pulled out cleanly. And then Holden is pushing himself back up to his feet.

"So.. 'ow did you think this would go?"

Tangles like snarling housecats, Feng rolls away from Ethan with a hand clutched to his side where Ethan's boot knife perforated his midsection around the ceramic plate of his ballistic vest. "With you," Feng asserts, "shamed." The knife-wielding assassin springs forward and thrusts his folding knife towards Ethan's arm. The Brit pulls away, following the curve of the railing as he clears distance between himself and Feng, swinging a leg up and slashing a dangerous arc in front of himself with his boot knife.

Feng leans back and away, the knife nearly clipping his nose. As Ethan's roundhouse kick winds back to steady himself, Feng springs forward, one leg lashing up and missing Ethan's head by inches, but causing the Wolf to stumble, foot-work hasty as he collides with a push-cart designed to carry palette stacks of groceries.

Ethan rolls backwards over his injured shoulder, across the wobbling cart, while Feng steps onto the desk of it and follows soon after. One stomping drop of a booted foot after another chases Ethan, each stamping motion designed to crush down on a lingering appendage, but Feng finds no such purchase.

Thinking he has the advantage, Feng stabs in, only to have his knife kicked away by Ethan's bladed boot, snapping the knife edge off of the shoe and sending Feng's folding knife clattering across the concrete floor and under some metal shelves. Feng rushes Ethan, colliding a shoulder into the Brit's chest, lower center of gravity allowing him to lever Ethan up off of his feet and back into a metal shelf, sending cardboard boxes collapsing in a tidal wave down to the ground. Some break open with packages of crackers, other pill bottles clatter open with tiny, assorted capsules/

"Do you remember Tikrit?" Feng snarls as he slams a closed fist into Ethan's ribs, pinning him against the shelf. "Do you!?"

Tikrit, Iraq

July 17, 2006

Smoke billows out of the building, loose papers caught aflame by the explosion rise up into the air, caught on both the thermal wind from the inferno and the cool desert wind at sunset. The one floor dwelling is demolished, ceiling collapsed and flames lapping at the sky as black smoke belches out into the Iraqi sunset.

Walking down the street, shoes crunching broken glass underfoot, a long man in ink black clothing watches the pyre with brows furrowed. Wire-framed glasses reflect the fire in them, pitted gargoylish countenance sags into a frown of displeasure. Folding gloved hands behind his back as he stops in the middle of the street, Kazimir Volken turns to regard the dragonfly buzzing in the arid breeze beside him.

"Inform the others," Kazimir murmurs, blue eyes looking back to the burning building. "Fenrir successfully set off the explosives…" Behind Kazimir, another man comes into view, sandy brown clothing loose ovr his small frame, dark hair toussled in the wind. Feng Daiyu regards the smoking building with a measure of solemn surprise.

"He's dead," Feng murmurs in disbelief, tension evident in the corners of his eyes. "He was… admirable."

"You left this."

Gleaming in the fading light, sun reflects off the silver metal as something flies gently through the air. Kazimir reacting just in time to catch the wolf-headed cane tossed to him by the owner of the gravelly voice. Stepping out from the other side of the building, Holden appears: charred. Blackened by the explosion and smoke, little remains of Ethan's flack jacket. The scraps of it clinging to his black covered torso. "You're going t'make me think y'didn't like me gift, sir." Holden commands, a small smirk raising up his lips.

The MAC 10 in his hand is fed another clip, the hammer pulled bac as he readies the weapon. A glance sent to Feng as if nothing had just happened. "Get me a shirt, Nidhogg. Your own if you 'ave to." The Wolf commands sternly, going to stick the gun in the back of his pants for lack of a better place. Glancing up to Kazimir, he gives a little shake of his head.

"No sign o' Sing."

Holding the Wolf-headed cane aloft, Kazimir's lips curve up from a frown to a smile, lowering the symbol of his authority and bond to Ethan. Sunlight gleams off the cane's snarling wolf head, and turning blue eyes to Feng, Kazimir arches one gray brow slowly and expectantly. It is a wordless reminder of you heard the man.

Feng is taken aback in shock, unaware of the tiny dragonfly zipping away behind him. His focus is squarely on Ethan's burned, bloodied and cut form. A huffing breath of disbelief is cast out of Feng's nostrils, dark eyes wide and mouth agape. Indignation crosses Feng's features as he looks to Kazimir, still watching Feng attentively with that expectant expression.

Unfastening the velcro straps of his flak jacket, Feng begins to strip so as to offer his shirt to Ethan, lips downturned into a scowling expression the entire time.

"I knew I picked right," Kazimir's gravelly voice adds insult to injury as he taps the metal tip of the cane down on the duty concrete underfoot, "Fenrir."

Present Day

A growl is let out as Feng's fist connects with his ribs, body twisting to move into the strike some. With his back pressed against the shelf he can feel it breaking out of it's place. A groan is let out at the very uncomfortable position he finds himself in. A constipated growl is let out until it explodes into a feral howl. One hand goes to grab at Feng's hair, pulling his head back so the throat is exposed. The next moment Ethan's injured wrist is colliding with Feng's adams apple.

In the same moment the boot knife is pressed down into Feng's thigh, finishing the combination of attacks with a powerful push. Sliding off the shelf back down to the ground, Holden is quickly reaching behind him. Pulling the now detatched shelf with a sharp yank. Two hands closing on the broken metal shelf, Ethan takes a single step forward, bringing the big thing down in a bludgeoning move at Feng's back. As soon as it connects and Feng is sent to the ground, the shelf is dropped. Patting himself down and flexing his back as if to stretch out the pain he lets out a snarl.

"Whot about it? I remember I completed the mission. And you stared like a baby doe. Y'say th'weirdest fucking shit in our fight scenes, bitch."

The broken end of the boot knife scrapes bloodily across Feng's skin, the strike to his throat knocking him down to his back, cracking the ceramic plate inside of his heavy body armor. He swings his legs back over his head, rolls away from Ethan and slips out his last throwing knife, embedding it into the Wolf's knee with a wet snap and a howl of pain.

Springing up from the floor, the top of Feng's head collides with Ethan's jaw, causing his teeth to clap down on his tongue. One knee rises, catching Ethan in the midsection, an elbow jab to the side of the head knocks him back into the shelving again, sending more lightweight cardboard boxes toppling to the floor.

"You don't get it, do you!?" Wiping blood from his mouth with the side of one hand, Feng follows after Ethan's hobbling stride, up until the Brit yanks the knife out of his leg, throwing it underhanded back to Feng. The knife narrowly misses the assassin, clipping his ear and splitting flesh, spilling blood down across the side of his cheek. "I am the best Kazimir had!"

There's a swing, a right hook that goes too wide, and Ethan dodges it easily enough, leading in with a stomach blow that impacts hard against the plate of ceramic in Feng's body armor. The assassin brings up a knee, and Ethan lurches back. Hopping from one foot to the other, Feng delivers a roundhouse kick, cracking against the side of Ethan's head and sending him collapsing down to the ground, crushing the boxes that had fallen from the stock shelves, smearing blood across the PHARMATECH logo.

Feng wastes no time, dropping down on Ethan, legs on either side of his stomach, delivering a punch to the Wolf's jaw, blood darkening Ethan's teeth. The Wolf retorts, slamming his forehead against Feng's, then rolls to the side and winds up on top, smashing hish ead against Feng's nose, then again, and again. Blood pools on the concrete and boxes below, and Ethan is blindsided by a smack of one of Feng's fists to his right ear.

"You're inferior!" Comes with spit and blood from Feng's mouth. "I should have known!"

East Harlem

October 13, 2009

Knuckles go white as he watches Raith collapse in the rear view. He'll be fine. Even if he isn't going to be. That's okay too. His eyes flick to the side view to take in Eileen taking off two shots. His lips spread into a thin line as the car is shoved into gear. He has to be responsible. Ethan's foot slams down on the gas pedal.

And the car shoots forward.

The engine roars powerfully as the Civic zooms towards the abandoned apartment building. Water sprays up on either side from the tires path, rainwater quickly obscuring the view from the windshield. But it doesn't matter. Straight forward. The rest of Ethan's clip is emptired into the windshield before he casually lets it drop out of the bottom of the gun. Leaning forward with his face on the steering wheel he goes to take his extra magazine out of his back pocket. Reloaded the safety is flicked on before being tucked back into his chest holster. A glance to the rear view to see the quickly shrinking shapes of his comrades and then…

In an explosion of drywall, brick and ex-door the stolen civic bursts into the bottom floor of the building giving it a rather abrupt stop. Which in turn makes Ethan press the proverbial eject button.

Arms out as a shield burst through the glass first, the Wolf going flying out of the car and toppling into the darkness of the abandoned building.

It's hard to see in the dark, but the way Feng jerked away from the window right when Eileen shot at him made it look like she might have hit him. Though it's difficult to discern how well fromt he distance, the dark, and the rain. The maddening act performed by Holden that sent a car straight thorugh the wall of a building has left the Wolf laying prone on the concrete ground floor, where no furniture darkens the concrete-floored and empty warehouse-like space. Only iron supports for the ceiling divide up the space in narrow columns.

By the time the Wolf has pulled his battered, bleeding and scraped form up frm the ground, there's a small miracle that he didn't dislocate both of his arms. Only then is there a thunder of footsteps coming down the stairs, and when Feng Daiyu bursts out of the door, one arm tucked against his chest like a broken wing, the faint droplets of blood he's leaving in his wake may as well agitate Ethan in the same way it would a shark.

Feng's gun immediately comes up, only to be swatted to the side by Ethan's herky-jerky slap of the weapon with one hand. The weapon fires, shattering into the concrete underfoot before Feng finds an approaching fist lobbed towards his head. The older man ducks, weaves to the side, and moves to swing up with a kick, but the pain at his shoulder causes him to stagger aside and slam into the brick wall by the stairwell instead.

He can barely make out Eileen and Raith across the street, and Ethan's already coming at him again. A staggered punch from sore hands, blocked by his forearms, a roundhouse kick to the bloody shoulder elicits a scream, and finally Feng drops his gun.

The Chinese man staggers back again, reaching inside of his jacket as he leans away from a jab towards his throat, and whips out a small canister clutched in one hand, ring-pin around his thumb. The pin pops out and the canister hits the ground, and immediately begins hissing and spinning in a circle as chalky gray smoke issues forth.

Eileen has the sense not to fire into the smoke. Her chances of hitting Ethan are as high — if not higher — as hitting Feng, and that's not a risk she's willing to take despite launching herself out into the open just a few minutes ago. Clambering over loose chunks of rubble that clack and crunch against one another as she struggles to find and maintain a foothold, she climbs over the ruined wall and into the building, maneuvering around the side of the wrecked Civic with one arm held out for balance and the other training her pistol on the shadows swirling hungrily around them.

Green eyes swimming in moonlight frantically move through debris, searching for any sign of Ethan in the smoke. "Holden!"

Present Day

It causes Ethan to roll to the side, his arm flinging out to catch him. His foot bracing him as he rolls backward away from Feng. Holden's hands splay out to slowly push him up to his feet. Injuries weighing heavily on him, Ethan finally straightens to his full height, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Feng is on his feet as well, knees bent slightly. Ethan lets out an aggravated sigh.

"Just once. I'd like t'fight you without a stupid monologue."

And with that Ethan is springing forward. One hand going high, the attack is easily batted away as Feng dances backward. A counter punch sent at Feng's jaw is also avoided. However, Holden catches Feng's strike. And in three jerky motions Feng's arm is yanked down away from him somewhat. Ethan's knee coming up powerfully at the backside of Feng's elbow. His arm being snapped in the wrong direction. With a shriek, Feng is then tossed a strong right to the jaw. Daiyu stumbles backward towards the maintenance room. Catching himself on the side of the doorway, a kick is sent up to keep the Wolf at bay.

Catching the foot, his free hand hammers down at Feng's knee before a followup strike on the man's chin, sending him toppling down into the janitors closet. As Feng topples headfirst into a collection of cleaning supplies and mop buckets. A loud yell is let out as Ethan moves forward, grabbing Feng by the back of the collar. Picking the man up, Holden places his hand on the back of the man's head driving his face down powerfully into the floor. Twice. Thrice. Four times. Ethan is then standing up, yanking Feng up and throwing him back out into the hallway. Letting out a grunt as he stumbles to the side with the amount of strength exerted.

Feng braces himself in the doorway as he stumbles into the hall, bringing both feet up with a swift leverage kick to Ethan's chest, booting him backwards into the storage room again. When Feng lands, he dives towards Ethan a second time, arms wrapping around his midsection as he slams the Brit back into another shelf, more boxes small toppling and clattering to the floor. Feng's head bobs up, catching the bottom of Ethan's chin, then a firm grip wraps around the Wolf's throat, fingertips biting against soft and vulnerable flesh.

"You always surrive," Feng asserts with blood in his snarling teeth, "no matter what I throw at you! I thought you were better than me!" Feng stares up at Ethan, a line of crimson running from his broken nose down the side of his jaw.

"You're not."

July 23, 2009

Pinehearst Company

Fort Lee, New Jersey

"Back up, Princess!"

Shoving the barrel of his pistol into the molten hole of Rickham's mouth, Ethan pulls the trigger several times, resulting in flashing sparks and a shattering explosion as his gun gams and practically fuses to the front of Rickham's face from the heat, eventually sliding off and tumbling out. The other side of the basement can be seen through a hole at the back of his neck from the gunshots on the softened metal. "Well, now m'just not sure entirely wot kills you," his brows lower, eyes uplifting towards one of the catwalks, then along cabling traversing the floor and finally to the broken water mane that the workers were repairing when they first came down here.

Distracting Rickham as he unholsters another pistol, Ethan fires a shot off into the iron man's throat, then brushes past him, making a beeline for the far wall. Rickham turns, feeling another gunshot peppering the back of his head. Staggering, stumbling, he makes his way across the floor towards Ethan. The Brit unclips something from his waist, looking back at Rickham before lobbing a grenade off to his side and rolling behind the forklift for cover. The grenade stops at the wall, bounces twice and then explodes in a sudden blast of stone dust and metal shrapnel.

Rickham reflexively covers his face with his arms, looking around for Ethan as another cooling glob of molten steel drips off of his gaping upper jaw to slap down on the ground. Blue and white sparks start flicker-snapping in the air, as where Ethan's grenade blew up on the wall, exposed electrical conduits now spark and crackle, loose wires dangling back and forth, sputtering and popping with live electrical currents.

"Princess, all we got t'do is— " As Ethan dives out from behind the forklift, Rickham is already there, moving with a long stride to slam Ethan with his shoulder, sending the Vanguard soldier flying through the air and into the concrete base of the reactor. He crumples up against the wall, struggling up onto one knee before one of Rickham's iron fists comes down and slams him in the back, dropping him face down in a pool of water.

Present Day

Ethan drives a knee up into Feng's midsection, sending the assassin flat onto his back again, then hops in and stomps down with his heel impacting the cement next to where Feng's head was a moment ago. One arm grabs Ethan's leg, two fingers push into the open wound at his knee, and Feng drags Ethan down to the floor again.

Climbing atop Ethan, Feng drives a hook into the Brit's jaw, blood spraying from his mouth. Another punch from the opposite direction jerks Ethan's head back, splits open his brow and spills blood in one eye. Feng's nose is broken, he's wheezing blood down on Ethan and getting tired while Ethan shows no sign of fatigue.

"You," Feng raspingly exhales, reaching behind himself to withdraw a large, serrated combat knife from a sheathe at he small of his back, "were never like me!" The blade comes down, swift, angled for the center of Ethan's chest.

August 18, 2009

Roosevelt Island Station

New York City

The world isn't steady, it's all shaky and unfocused.

His head feels like it will burst open should anyone so much as tap it lightly. Ethan would be wise to avoid getting hit there anymore. He turns slowly, blood dripping all over his face, Ethan's hands snap forward, seizing Feng's shoulders. Then the larger man harpoons himself forward, the top of his head plowing into Feng's face. Gripping against the older, and stupider, man, the pair land on the ground. Ethan on top.

Raising his head, he brings his forehead flying down into Feng's face again, and then again. It seems all that headbashing Feng was doing needed a lesson. His forehead smashes again into Feng's face until one hand clamps around the man's neck, Ethan's knees slip forward to pin Feng's arms. Blood drips from his face down onto Feng's suit…

"'oo.." He's too fuzzy. He can barely concentrate let alone talk. But he won't let Feng see that. He can't let Feng see that. His free hand delivers another jab to Feng's temple.

"'oo are y'workin for.."

His grip around Feng's neck increases, his hand coming down again in another strike. Yet this time, it's weaker, a little of the edge of his previous booming strikes taken off.

Blood paints Feng's smile as his lips peels back to reveal crimson teeth. As his face begins to turn red, a strangled sound coming up from him before he manages a slurred response of, "It— doesn't matter." Blood spatters to either side of Feng's lips as he says those words, grinning into the choke, neck muscles tight under Ethan's hand. "We— will all be dead— so— soon enough."

But Ethan, Feng is quite certain, will be dead first.

Present Day

Beneath Ethan and Feng, in their struggles, pharmecutical supplies have been broken open from the storage shelves. White cardboard boxes with a PHARMATECH logo on them come with the promise of Simple and Easy To Read. Gauze pads litter the floor, smear in Feng and Ethan's blood, spots of red and blue on each of the pads.

Ethan's hand snaps up in time to grab Feng by the wrist, arresting the knife before it hits his chest. Their eyes lock, Feng's expression wild-eyed and full of hate, but also full of //satisfaction.

Suresh Linkage Complex Test Kit the boxes say, smashed unintentionally beneath the two fighters. Where Feng's blood smears on the chemical sensitive pads, they are blue; simple and clear indicator. Where Ethan's blood stains the pad, they are a bright cherry red.

"I should have realized sooner," Feng growls with clenched jaws inches from Ethan's face, blood and saliva running stringy off of his lip.

Eyes widening, Ethan stares down at the SLC test kit, his mouth parting as blood drips from his lip. Holding the knife at bay Holden looks down in near horror at the bright red that stares back at him. Feng might as well be talking on a different planet for all Holden hears him. His arm starts to give way as Feng's knife nears his chest. But he doesn't have time for this… It's time for the ace in the hole.

Ethan's free hand flexes as he swings it down out of the way. A small pistol slides out of the sleeve and into Holden's hand as if summoned by a magic trick. In the same motion the gun is brought up with a quick bang bang two shots. One for each of Feng's kneecaps. Giving a heavy push against the hands holding the knife to propel Feng backwards, Holden stares blankly down at the test.

"This can't be right…"

A yowl of pain comes as Feng is shot in his unprotected knees, thrown off of Ethan and onto his back with a crash. Agony paints Daiyu's face, even as a groaning creak shudders through the entire building. Plaster and pieces of metal fall from the rafters overhead, and as Feng's dark eyes stare up at the ceiling, pain nearly blinds his vision. A ragged, painful breath escapes the assassin, and rolling onto his side, Feng stares at Ethan, watching the way the Brit considers the test kits scattered across the floor, some red, some blue. The ones that he visibly drips blood on unchanging from bright crimson.

"Kazimir," Feng breathes out with a line of blood running from his mouth, "was wrong. You— were never his best." A rough, wet breath escapes Feng, blood running from his sinuses down into his lungs and the back of his throat. He coughs, exhaling a wet mouthful o pink mucus.

"You were just a freak," Feng breathlessly taunts. "I— win."

A fresh kit is held in one hand as Ethan stands up, smearing some blood on it. It definitely changes bright cherry red as Ethan stares down at it. Eyes wide in disbelief. He stares down at the test, finally Feng's words bring him out of his thoughts. Attention going down to the gloating dying man. A raspy chuckle emits from the larger man's lips, the test kit flung to the side. Taking a few steps forward, Holden dips his head down. The laughter becomes a little louder, before one boot swings out at Feng's side.

Taking a step back, Holden takes a few steps away from Feng. "You're the only man 'oo could claim victory while bleeding out, Daiyu." Taking a few steps back into the store, Ethan disappears for a few moments.

Feng is left in silence, the sound of Ethan's footfalls and the crushing plaster and crackling fire the only things that can be heard. Soon, Ethan reappears. His coat and shirt are gone, the wrist gun apparatus also thrown down. He walks forward, blood smattered across his body and the cleaver in his hand.

Sliding his tongue across his teeth, Feng spits bloodily as blurred vision follows Ethan's motion, watches the Wolf approach with the gleaming cleaver that he had lost on the floor. Shuddering, rattling breaths vibrate in Feng's lungs as he pushes himself up with one arm, elbow wobbling as he does. Blood pools out from beneath Feng's ruined knees, dark eyes waver open and closed as his lips peel back into a cold, heartless smile over red teeth.

"I— told you…" Feng begins, rattling breath choking his words. Between breaks in his speaking, the ceiling groans again, this time eliciting the metallic ping of steel breaking away from support structures. There's no more words left for Feng, nothing but the wet and gurgling laughter echoing through the storage house as the ceiling buckles downward one more time, a metal support beam bending from the weight with a groan of protest.

Feng's dark eyes stare up waveringly at Ethan, acceptance of his fate resigned in those cold, snake-like eyes. Feng's Daiyu's final words to Ethan, accompany the roaring groan of metal splitting from stress, and the weight of slate shingles, bricks, sheet rock and glass finally giving way.

"We both die."

And the building collapses.

He has a shirt loosely draped around his broad shoulders now as he returns to the bedroom.

A mug of tea in each hand. He's allowed her to stay on the bed and has done his best to entertain her — without doing what she had originally intended.

Setting one mug on the dresser for her he goes to reclaim a seat by her. His hand tucks under the pillow, withdrawing the silver pistol. He gives it a few twirls in his hand. "You shouldn't be livin' like this, Eileen— Munin. Wha'eve'. You're a beau'iful girl, you don't 'ave to beg anyone for anyfing. People should be comin' to you, right?"

Bringing his tea up he takes a sip. Bringing the mug down he takes a breath. "Because you're a Princess." He remarks, giving her a faint grin to try and lighten the mood for her a bit.

Munin takes the tea, using the porcelain mug to warm her hands. It's cold enough in the flat as it is — never mind what it must be like for someone wearing only a sheet and tousled curls of sweaty black hair around her neck and shoulders. She looks as though she might laugh, though no sound bubbles up from inside of her. Instead she begins to shiver with mirth, a small smile curling at the corners of her mouth but never quite reaching her pale gray-green eyes.

"My da used to call me that."

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