The Respect He Deserves


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Scene Title The Respect He Deserves
Synopsis Ethan Holden and Feng Daiyu finally clash beneath the streets of New York City, but their first bloodletting will not be their last…
Date August 18, 2009

Roosevelt Island Station

Roosevelt Island is a station on the IND 63rd Street Line of the New York City Subway. Located on Roosevelt Island in the East River, between Manhattan and Queens, it is served by the F train at all times. The exterior of the station is poorly maintained, with two of the streetlights outside having been broken during the damage from the explosion years ago, and have yet to be repaired. Graffiti mars the concrete walls outside, and on the stairs descending to the station proper. Fare control is in a glass-enclosed building off of Main Street.

Underground, the station has two tracks and two side platforms. It is one of the deepest stations in the New York City Subway system, at about 100 feet below street level (approximately 10 stories deep). Due to its depth, the design of the station is also unusual. Similar to the stations of the Paris Metro and Washington Metro, Roosevelt Island station is built with a high, vaulted ceiling. Roosevelt Island Station also features a mezzanine visible directly above the tracks, common amongst stations on the Washington Metro, but not common in New York. The station contains elevators to street level.

It's that time at the Station that is most popular on movies. Late at night, early in the morning, whatever your perspective is. The time that has hosted many a train station beat down, rape, murder, what have you. Subway stations have long been the scene of many different horrendous acts. And tonight is no different, it is host to one of the most horrendous acts of all.

Ethan Holden talking to a little girl.

"Fuckin' 'ell." He growls, black gloves holding the hand of the little tiny asian girl. She could be no older than six, and is in a mess of tears. Apparently she was separated from her mother in a tragic train, oops I wandered off on the wrong station, accident. Busy on his hunt, Ethan found a little girl by herself in a subway station at like 2 in the god damn morning.

Maybe it's the guilt for having killed so many kids, or maybe he feels like he can do a good deed when no one else is watching. But his nightly routine of hunting Feng has gone on hold for the sake of reuniting a poor tired girl with her dumbass mother.

"You're mom's fuckin' retarded."

The girl keeps crying.

Sobbing softly with both hands over her eyes, the tiny young girl lets out a confused strangle of emotional noises, ones that are soon swallowed by the roar of a subway car screeching up to the platform. It comes to a hissing stop, doors sliding open, but there's no one aboard willing to depart onto the isolated streets of Roosevelt Island this late at night. The fluorescent lights overhead flicker and sputter softly, then the doors slide shut with a pressurized hiss before the subway car begins to rattle off again, rolling down the tracks as car after car begins to whip by.

Someone did get off though, standing on the opposite platform, visible only in glimpses spared in the space between the cars, a darkly dressed man in an ink-black suit, hands folded behind his back, brows lowered. As the last car of the train rolls past, the fluorescent lights flicker again, and Feng Daiyu begins to calmly walk towards the edge of the platform, his hard-soled shoes clicking on the concrete underfoot, thin lines of the ceiling lights reflected in his dark sunglasses.

No guns. No tricks. Just his gloved hands, with which to strangle the man who's back is to the platform, the man distracted by a little girl who should not be here.

Going down to one knee, Ethan sighs softly. "Listen." More sobbing, it increases as Ethan increases efforts in getting her to stop. Black gloved hands push down her wee little hands away from her face. "Listen." He commands a little more firmly. "We'll get you back to your mum, just stop the fucking crying, you're going to give me a kidney stone." He's not sure how kidney stones could be received in such a way, but he is no doubt scared it will actually happen.

Standing up he growls a bit at the louder sobbing now. "Listen girl.. shut the fuck up." He near yells, bringing the girl out of her dark place to look up at him sadly. Her eyes focus on him before going over his shoulder, to something behind him. A subtle twitch betraying the girl's fear of the new man's purposeful stride. She takes a very subtle step back. It's just enough.

"Huh?" Ethan starts to turn around, just in time to find the man he's been hunting right on top of him.

The change of Feng's movement from a stride to a sprint is almost instantaneous as he rushes the gap between one subway platform and another, springing across the wide gap in an agile display of acrobatics, landing in a crouch that folds up into a shoulder roll before he's back up on his feet in a single fluid motion, running straight at a bench in the middle of the train platform between he and Ethan. Feng leaps up onto it, one foot on the seat, then the next on the back, and he's airborne, grabbing a hole of one of the hanging fluorescent light racks, Feng swings forward and slams both feet into Ethan's back as the man turns around, sending him slamming into a tiled concrete column.

Feng drops into a crouch, one hand on the concrete, the other reaching up behind himself to his belt at the small of his back, unsheathing a small folding knife that snaps out; the wedge shaped blade a matte black color with a thin steel colored edge. "Holden." It's been so many years since Ethan's seen Feng Daiyu face to face, and from the predatory look in his eyes over the tops of his glasses, and the immediate shift of his focus to the young girl he can leverage to his advantage, it's clear nothing has changed.

Letting out a grunt as his chest hits hard into the column, Ethan doesn't lose any time in getting back into the fight. Once the voice calls out his own name, the Wolf realizes who he's dealing with. He could have been killed just now. It is only Feng's ludricous desire to claim dominance over him that he still has his breath. Fighting through the pain in his back, and the pain in his ego, Holden makes his move. Shoving hard against the column, he dances backward at Feng. Swinging one foot forward, he propels his body up and out. Bringing one foot hard straight into the air, Ethan contorts his body so he is momentarily perpendicular with the ground. And then the heel of his boot smashes against the tip of Feng's chin.

Landing on his back hard, Ethan scowls before scrambling to his knees. Reaching out, the bluthering girl is scooped up with one arm. With the other hand, he pulls out the large hunting knife at his boot.

"Daiyu." He growls. "You look fat and old. Great to see you."

The sharp kick to the jaw is a blissful reminder of how much Feng has waited for this moment. Jerking his head back, blood trailing from his lip, the Chinese remnant of the Vanguard quickly moves back in, knife held backhanded as he swipes out towards Ethan's fac as the thinner man backpedals from the slash, the blade missing his face by inches. Feng's opposite hand lashes out, grabbing a hold of Ethan's forearm, but a quick break of the grapple gives Ethan room to swing a long leg up towards Feng's head.

The darkly-dressed assassin blocks the kick with his forearm, then ducks swiftly as Ethan roundabouts, hopping onto another foot and windmills with his other leg right over Feng's head. The knife-wielding Daiyu lunges forward towards Ethan's midsection with the blade, only to find his arm caught in the vice of Ethan's own arm, braced against the side of his torso. Feng twists his waist, changing the angle of his wrist as he drops the knifeand delivers a single punch with his free hand to Ethan's kidney. Before a second punch can be delivered, the taller man releases Feng and shoves him back, putting a moment of space between the two as their eyes lock under the flickering fluorescent lights.

"You and I are both dead, Holden." The words are strained through Feng's teeth, "no matter which one of us survives this fight, we both die." His dark eyes narrow, narrowing his profile and curling his fingers closed into fists, lowering his stance and sliding his feet apart. "What matters here, is finding the answer. Were you his favored, because you were the best…" one hand draws back towards Feng's waist, the other curls up near head level as he takes a stance, "or were you favored because he was simply sentimental."

As they disengage, Ethan glances down at the girl locked under his arm. She's still blubbering and sobbing even more madly. Taking a step back, he watches Feng closely while crouching and lowering her against the pillar. Taking a step forward, he makes sure he takes up all the space in front of her. Making himself an obstacle in front of the girl.

While Feng goes into his monologue, Ethan also settles into his stance, holding his knife up. "Were you his favored because you were da best, or were you favored because pbtbtbt." The whole sentence is said in a very screwed up voice, as if he was pretending to be a older handicapped man with a speech impediment. The last bit just includes a lot of spit. It could be guessed that this is mocking. But the judges are still out on that one.

"'E liked me better because I wasn't so fucking annoying. Jesus. It's like they gave a middle school girl kung fu powers and an asian man's body. Fucking 'ell." His knife flips up easily in his hand before he takes a single step forward. "If we could do the rest of this without you giving me all the latest and greatest juicy gossip, I would be much obliged you little bitch."

Ethan lunges forward, swinging his knife out in a cut that would purposefully miss, but uses the momentum to turn his body around hard and deliver a hell of a roundhouse on Feng's cheek.
The kick connects, sending Feng spinning back and away, still standing. A hand moves to his cheek, baleful eyes staring up at Ethan. "I will beat the respect I deserve out of you." Hopping forward, Feng lunges in towards Ethan with a quickly snapped punch, one the wiry man manages to sidestep, though Feng's small and remarkably fast body ducks down, pivots at the waist and delivers a second blow to Ethan's midsection. He rolls across her shoulder, tumbling in front of Ethan to avoid a hammering fist coming down on him, then angles to the side to dodge a rising kick.

With Ethan's leg up, Feng's arm wraps around the man's thigh, and a hand comes up to grab at his throat, using the leverage of the grapple to swing Ethan over him and down onto his back on the concrete floor. Feng winds up with a knee in Ethan's abdomen and a hand pushing down on the knife gripped still in the Wolf's hand, pushing it down towards him.

"Or perhaps," Feng states with a snarl, "I'll cut it out of you." Ethan's taller, lankier, and ultimately stringer as he swings Feng off of him and slams the chinese man into the bench, shattering the wooden slats on the back. Managing to roll up to his feet, Ethan sees Feng recovering, even as the roar of another approaching subway car starts thundering in the subterranean room.

Ethan continues to mock Feng. Happily. "Or pershmaps, I'll fffhaah—" Is the sound Ethan makes as he throws Feng into the bench. Straightening up he holds his knife at his side, before lowering his hand. "This 'as been fun and all. But I 'ave things to do." The gun at his side is taken out. "Just because you want me to respect you little girl, doesn't mean I won't shoot you."

It's the most casual thing in the world when Ethan takes off a few shots at the man. One. Two. Three. The gun is lowered, Ethan sidesteps towards his littlest friend.

Guns. The shots fired cause Feng to break into a sprint again, using the square concrete columns a cover as gunfire peppers them with shattering rock and stone dust. He dives for cover behind another bench, a bullet shattering the wood of the seat as Feng reaches inside of his jacket, retrieving his own gun. There's a snarl of his upper lip pulling back, dark eyes focused through the slats, watching as Ethan starts to move towards the little girl.

Popping up from behind the bench, Feng levels the pistol and opens fire, the first shot hitting the intended target square in the chest, knocking her right off of her feet and sending her slapping up against the pillar she was near with a red spatter behind her. She starts trembling, almost as immediately as the dribbling crimson starts rolling down the front of her shirt, legs starting to give way, but there'sa already more gunfire, one bullet whizzing over Ethan's shoulder to strike the pillar with a loud pop and a crack of the stone.

Behind Feng, the subway car comes to a shrieking halt, but this time people are getting off. Three young teens and a middle aged woman with a tired look in her eyes step out just in time to hear the gunshots and see Feng ducking behind a bench for cover. They scream, the teens scattering on the subway platform, and the woman dropping her purse as she starts to stumble back into the subway car.

Ethan's features practically cement as the tiny little body slaps against the pillar. No expression comes out, no emotion. No words. His gun dangles at his side as he looks down at the dead body. He watches the blood seep off her body far too long before the bullet whizzes by his head. His muscles take over. Doing what he's trained to do, survive, fight, kill, win."

His clip drops out of the gun before it is swiftly replaced. Ethan's second hand goes to the back of his pants, where another gun is pulled out. His eyes blink close for a fraction of a second. And then…

His boots carry him out into the open, heedless of screams, heedless of oncoming fire. He walks straight toward Feng, one arm raised. Any time the smaller man even pops up for a breath, a bullet is let off. Two guns firing in synch. It might be safe to say he's mad.

The rapid-fire pop of small arms reverberates in the subway as the bench Feng Daiyu uses for cover is shattered piece-by-piece from the shots Ethan Holden takes at him. Scrambling away like a cat from a junkyard dog, Feng's weaving path snakes across the concrete with loud clicks of his hard-soled dress shoes, enough to grab one of the young men who had gotten off of the subway car and throw him in the oncoming path of one of Ethan's shots. The bullet rips thorugh the teen's shoulder and exits out his back before punching into the side of the subway car.

By the time the teen has hit the ground, screaming in wet, ragged breaths, Feng has dived in through the open doors of the subway car on his back, holding up his pistol and laying out cover fire from his back in Ethan's direction. The shots mostly go wide, but by the assassin the time it takes to get to his feet and begin running towards the head of the train as the doors begin to hiss shut, the conductor unaware of the gunfight happening at the rear of the vehicle.

One boot lifts neatly over the screaming body, and touches down on the other side. That wasn't Ethan's fault. He continues to advance on the subway, now people are learning to give Feng and he a much wider berth. "Really, you fuck?! You're going to talk about who's the best, and then run? You fucking pussy!"

Two more shots ring out on the tails of Feng's departure, as Ethan is already behind him. Guns up, the bullets exit the chamber and crash into a window one car behind where Feng entered. The doors are closed, but the windows are still readily accessible. Almost. Spending the rest of his clip on the window, Ethan increases his pace.

The subway starts to roll off.

Glass shatters around his shoulders and head as he comes barreling into the subway car. He lands thickly in the aisle, blood dripping from his brow. Both guns empty, he reaches back to his leg for the knife again. Pain fills him, but it's nothing new.

He scrambles to his knees.

…Just in time to receive a kick to the face.

As Ethan's head jerks to the side, Feng's foot sweeps up again, three rapid-fire kicks slammed into Ethan's forehead, cheek and brow, sending him sprawling down to the floor of the subway car. Ethan's gun comes up, and Feng swings his foot to the side, stepping down on that wrist as a bullet is lodged in the side of the subway car. The second gun moves, and Feng shifts his body weight to one side, the bullet whizzing up past his head to puncture the roof before he stomps down on Ethan's elbow joint, then hops off of the wrist like an Irish line dancer and kicks both guns away with a clatter to the rear of the car.

"I didn't run," Feng growls out as he bends over and grabs Ethan by the collar of his jacket, hoisting him up to his feet, "you're predictable." A headbutt from Ethan sends Feng staggering back, hands slipping from the jacket. The lanky Englishman lashes out with a kick, blocked by quick handword from Feng, then a snap of a punch out, but Feng moves inside of Ethan's reach, slamming the heel of his palm to the underside of Ethan's jaw, knocking him back again.

Distance is afforded to the two, blood running down from a split on Feng's cheek where Ethan had kicked him, a hand coming up to smooth the trickling line awa as a rouge-hued smudge on his skin. "Old and predictable." Once more Feng's profile narrows, one arm held forward and outm, palm up and fingers bent, the other hand leveled at his waist. Those proffered fingers curl forward in rapid succession; a taunt, a beckon — come and get me.

One finger comes up wiping at the blood trickling down the side of his voice. "At least I don't 'ave such an annoying fucking voice." The Wolf growls as he lowers his stance. When Feng taunts him, Ethan rolls his eyes.

Taking a strong step forward, Ethan leaps to the side. One foot placing himself on one of the seats. Propelling himself upwards, Holden grabs onto the railing. Swinging forward, his legs fly out hard, planting firmly into Feng's chest. Replacing his feet under him, he lands heavily, arms hunched at his sides.

Feng's back slams against the door to the next car, while Ethan advances, blood dripping over his eyes. Ethan then mimicks Feng's stance, his hand coming out and beckons Feng forward. Come and get me.

But Ethan's is only done with one finger.

Shaking the cobwebs out, Feng's eyes blink as he resumes his stance and lunges across the floor like a striking viper towards Ethan. The younger, taller man's offense comes with a quick jab to Feng's jaw, sending him to the side before Feng's age and experience allows him to leverage Ethan's arm in a joint lock, allowing Feng to whirl about and backhand the younger man across the face. As Ethan recovers, Feng echoes the same maneuver Ethan used before, springing up on one of the subway seats, but he continues his ascent by bouncing to the next wall, then spinning off in a roundhouse kick then sends Ethan up against the closed doors to the subway car.

When Feng lands in a crouch, Ethan sneaks out with a kick, and the agile old man rolls across the floor and comes up with a punch to Ethan's midsection, catching a right hook to the side of his head for his effort. Feng reels back, and Ethan continues the assault, a series of quick rapid-fire kicks that lash out towards furiously blocking arms. On the third kick, Feng slides inside of Ethan's reach again, delivering a knuckle-jab to the man's windpipe, causing him to clutch at his throat and stagger back.

Feng pushes the attack, stepping forward with a sharp side-kick to Ethan's chest, then a hustle of step forward before he hops up into the and and snap-kicks across the Englishman's brow, sending him crashing back into the subway car doors as the lighting overhead begins to flicker and sputter. Briefly thrown into darkness, Feng barely manages to avoid two quick punches thrown by the Brit, catching a third in the chest as he staggers back, managing to keep his footing even as his chest aches from the force of the blow.

Ethan's next swipe is blocked by Feng's quickly raised arm, wrist grabbed and Holden is turned around, arm bent behind his back as Feng grabs the back of his head and smashes his face into one of the doors. He pulls back, pushing forward again and this time the glass cracks under the force of the blow. As Feng prepares to smash the younger man's head into the window again, a cruel smile starts to play on his lips. Feng Daiyu's own sadistic enjoyment of this pummeling distracting him for the brief moment Ethan needs to deliver a fierce elbow to Feng's mouth, spraying blood down his jaw and causing the dark-haired man to stumble back in blinding pain.

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.

Swinging his legs up, Feng locks his ankles around Ethan's neck, squeezing tightly as he pulls the Englishman's weight back, ripping him off of Feng as the older fighter rolls with the monentum, reversing the chokehold and winding on top of Ethan. Feng reels back with his now freed hand, slamming his fist squarely into Ethan's forehead, then another strike to his nose, bone shattering and blood spraying out from the hit, then another punch, and another and another and then a gunshot—

The sound comes witha yelp of pain and a shout of "NYPD!" Feng rolls to the side, looking up at an NYPD officer with his gun drawn, barrel smoking. Blood drools out of a wound on Feng's shoulder, and the dark-haired man doesn't both reaching for his badge, instead his eyes move to the broken window Ethan had come in from, seeing the light of a subway platform coming up.

Daiyu bolts up into a sprint, bounding over Ethan and wrapping his arms over his face as he dives out of the speeding subway train car and disappears into the black of the subway tunnel like some phantom of an urban myth. The NYPD officer stares blank-faced at the near suicidal leap out of the speeding train, then lowers his gun and rushes over toward Ethan's prone and bleeding form. A hand goes up to the officer's shoulder-mounted walkie as the switch is depressed.

"This is officer Oliver Wilson, shots fired on F-line bound for Long Island City station. I've got a man down here with severe head trauma, suspect fleeing on foot requesting backup and ambulance immediately." The officer moves to crouch down near Ethan, one hand coming out shakily towards him, "Hey are you— " he notices the two disarmed guns nearby, and his eyes widen.

"I.." He pushes weakly as the officer goes to aid him. His eyes blearily catch the man through the tangle of fuzziness and blood. Ethan's hand raises up, to take Oliver's hand. "Th-thank you." He murmurs softly, weakly. "O-Oliver?" The Wolf asks, gently.

Several things happen at once, and a final shot rings out. The bloody bullet penetrates into the ceiling of the subway, as the Officer falls to his back, motionless. The gun he had been holding, now in Ethan's hand. "Wrong place." He whispers.

Going to slowly get to his feet, Ethan tucks the gun into his holster at his side and limps to take a seat by the door. Collapsing into the seat, the Wolf clasps his hands in his lap, looks straightforward, and waits for the next stop.

Time to go home.

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