Utility In Death


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Also featuring:

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Body of song_icon.gif

Scene Title Utility In Death
Synopsis With Song's fresh corpse and a a gaggle of wounded Flying Dragons in tow, Liu runs to Bao-Wei crying 'uncle'. Hao-Tung doesn't waste the ripe opportunity for tongue-lashing.
Date August 23, 2009

Cong Medical Clinic

Tucked in a sidestreet of Chinatown, the presence of the clinic is somewhat deceiving in that it possesses an old shopfront as the entrance instead of the usual single door. The large, single window is blocked from the sidewalk by white blinds, and the lettering emblazoned upon it reads the name of the clinic in Mandarin Chinese and English text; Doctor Cong's name is written below in a similar fashion, and below it is the Rod of Asclepius.

Inside, the front room is the waiting room, with a row of chairs along the sides, all of which more or less face the nurse's station behind a low wall and a windowpane. The trained eye will recognize it as very high-grade bulletproof glass.

To the side of the nurse's station is a hallway; there are two smaller exam rooms on the right, and a larger one that includes more major equipment on the left. Further down on the left is a locked door, only accessible by the doctor or his aides that leads into the fineries and inner workings of the office; important files, equipment, a small clinic lab, et cetera. At the very end of the hall is a heavy, often locked door, which opens to an elevator-sized room with three exits. One is a plain staircase leading up, and parallel to this is a inconspicuous door that leads to a staircase aiming downward. At the bottom is another door that looks like something straight out of a high-tech bank vault, though considerably more intimidating. Unless you are supposed to, you will not get in.

As for the door straight ahead of the main hall in the clinic, the heavy door leads into Doctor Cong's personal office. It is a rather picture-perfect physician's office, complete with a hardwood desk in front of a duo of chairs, framed documents, a large bookshelf, and only one window that offers a view out into another Chinatown alley.

It has long since been the late evening, and now it turns into the early hours of night; despite this, many people are not very close to sleep. The city that never does, as it were. There are only a few lights from the otherwise dark and quiet Chinatown clinic, and they happen to be leaking out from the upstairs level rather than below.

It may not be Full-Contact Mahjong, but it might feel like that for Hao-Tung; Bao-Wei has a propensity towards some merciless wins- he always has. That may count for other board games as well- strategy is the thing. The two men are in the second level, where it is wholly one of Doctor Cong's few places of residence. The smaller of them, but nonetheless meticulous and looking like the picture of what one might assume a high-income dwelling to be. Originally, Tsang came over for a discussion over something being moved out on Staten. Business as usual. But as usual, Cong also exercised his very weak social skills and now, the two are caught in a high-stakes game. Why not bet on it? It's just a game.

The set that sits on its own glass table looks like a well-kept antique; an accurate parallel, perhaps. "I still think that you should have left him alive. Making extra money off the side or not, capable men are getting harder to come by." The click-click of Bao-Wei's hand lifting one tile up to match it to another, and slipping them both off into the stacks on his side of the board.

It might as well be full-contact mahjong with football helmets and all, because Hao-Tung is sometimes about as subtle as a bull in a china shop when it comes to winning and losing things. Not that the good vanguard is uncouth enough to look like it, of course; there is some concentration in the set of his dark eyebrows, but other than that, his shoulders are squared away in a genuinely relaxed pose. It had been his father known for having a swift hand for this kind of intellectual game; no reason his son hasn't picked up at least some of the good fortune as well. "«He was somewhat capable, yes»," he answers the doctor aridly, his own hand rising up to mirror the other man's movements: two tiles are plucked up, one by one, and then dropped atop his own growing pile. "«He was also a deadweight. Our triad has no room for those whose insolence overrules behavior, however smart they might think themselves to be.»" And speaking of which.

There's a commotion downstairs, a door being manhandled open too roughly and some half-dozen voices shouting. The office door crashes against the wall from the speed at which people come barreling in, and Bao-Wei recognizes one voice above the rest of them screaming out for help. "«Uncle! Uncle!»" It's rare for Liu Ye to use that guarded term openly, let alone with such a panic. Other voices screaming out obscenities and the sound of a shotgun being loaded and cocked are telltale signs that tonight's quiet — but intense — game of Mahjong has finally come to a close.

"«Bao-Wei! Bao-Wei!»" This voice is a woman's, but not Song's, instead one of Liu's gathered gang of Triad evolved, a woman who can turn into living sand, her presence and the panic in their voices is indicative of something terrible having happened. And Liu's next scream settles it; "«Song's been shot!»"

It only takes the first few seconds of racket downstairs to get Bao-Wei on his feet- though it is not until he hears Liu's voice calling up that the immediately angry bristling keels off of him in favor of a more blanched expression, though still quite riled. "«Game over.»" The larger man abandons the room completely, trusting Hao-Tung to follow him downstairs.

That is when the female voice cries up above the rest, above Liu's. Doctor Cong makes it most of the way down the stairwell in his already hurried pace- he is quite swift, surprisingly- though freezes momentarily before reaching to open the door at the bottom. He is not completely emotionless, contrary to popular belief.

Bao-Wei's hand reaches out, finally, wrenching the doors open to get into the main hall, bracing himself for the blast of noise.

Hao-Tung doesn't immediately respond when the first sounds of free-for-all reach his ears; his brows do lower another minute fraction, as if trying to soak up everything possible to hear, implications and all, crammed into a sliver of a second. Only then the solidly-built man is up to his feet, footfalls as jarringly heavy as always but dulled by the fact that he is wearing socks, his loafers left by Bao-Wei's door.

He is only a short distance behind Bao when he also reaches the bottom of the stairwell, icy gaze leveled evenly across whatever miscreant members of the Triad might be present once the doors are jerked open. At that convenient pause, he also takes time to slip his feet back into his shoes where they are sitting nearby on carpet, taking only a single brief, worming step into each. His expression, rigidly careful and drained of all warmth, never leaves Liu's face as he finishes. "«Stop your crying and explain what happened.»" It isn't a question; he is still Liu's elder, whether a technically close-ranking subordinate or not.

The scene downstairs is a grisly one, with half of Liu's men covered in blood and wounded. Johnny, one of Loiu's evolved liutenants is helping Wen, a wiry young man in a now bloodstained white suit carry the muscular and bloody form of Lao-Yan to drag him towards the clinic's back office where there's something appropriate to lay him on.

But Liu— Liu's focus is solely on the limp and lifeless form of Song Ye cradled in his arms as he comes staggering in. Zan, the woman who had called out for Bao-Wei stands behind Liu, dried blood spattered across her face and clothing looking hastily donned, bare feet tracking blood across the tiled floor.

Liu's expression is overwrought, blood trickling from between his fingers, one of Song's arms around the back of his neck, the other hanging limp with crimson droplets coming from her fingertips. Liu stands frozen, unsure of what to be doing, for the first time his youth is truly observable as a handicap.

Walking in behind the group, the wrinkled and diminutive form of Kun Li-Pang looks uncharacteristically emotional, his weathered face downcast into a frown as he walks in and past Liu towards Bao-Wei and Hao-Tung. "«One of Johnny's contacts was invited to the Golden Dragon,»" the calm old man states, glancing over his shoulder as he watches Jin take Liu by the shoulders, guiding him to follow Johnny and Wen. "«He turned out to be an assassin, hired by Daniel Linderman from the sounds of it. He tried to kill Liu I— I was not fast enough to stop him.»" Says the man who is faster than the human eye. "«He shot Song instead, due to my interference…»"

"Get his tranq gun. And all the little syringe looking things." It's whispered harshly.

The smell of blood and death is obvious- but if that bothered Bao-Wei Cong, he was in the wrong business to begin with. What bothers him more, what bothers him greatly, what bothers him more than knowing he'll have to patch up this literal mess- is Liu carrying his dead little sister through the hallway towards them. To Bao-Wei, they were always no more than ten years old. Never will be. So few would ever get as close to his children. The only thing that keeps him stone-faced and rigid is remembering that they were- are- decidedly not.

There is a man in there, somewhere.

The doctor's gaze travels from the younger to the older, coming to a rest on Kun as he offers the clear explanation. "«I see.»" Two words. Two, measured and menacing words before Doctor Cong is moving back into the clinic proper again. The largest exam room is fortunately big enough for most of them, though unfortunately, that probably means that he has to see to them all at once. Including Liu and Song, which some part of him actually wishes he could save until last. "«I only need one to help, the rest, if you are not bleeding on the inside or out, get out of here and wait. Nobody leaves.»" Why, exactly, he does not specify.

The polar opposite of Doctor Cong in that respect, Hao-Tung had absolutely never entertained the notion that Liu and Song were anything even close to his children. The expression he now wears on his face is coldly lined displeasure, true, but of a notably distant sort— that of intuitive disapproval at seeing someone do a job horrifically badly than the far more personal anger that must be affecting Bao-Wei. Now that Song's limp corpse is flopping in front of him, he remains no more sympathetic to either of them now.

"«Liu— while Wei-Goh is busy, I would like to talk to you aside,»" he directs towards the distraught, remaining Triad leader, lip curling in a way that signifies he will not readily take no for an answer. "«Bring your sister with or set her down, I don't care; but there's nothing more you can do for her.»"

"«You— »" Liu's eyes grow wide as he hears the way Hao-Tung speaks to him, one hand cradling Song's head to his shoulder as his reddened eyes stare down the older man. For the briefest of moments, there is a tug beneath Hao-Tung's skin, a strange sensation of something shifting and squirming beneath his epidermis, but on seeing the look in Liu's eyes, Zan quickly steps forward and grips him by the shoulder.

She's wordless, but intense, staring at Liu as he turns that same baleful expression on her, but realizes why she stopped him. Liu's breath hitches in the back of his throat, and he draws Song up close to him for a moment before taking a few staggering steps aside, moving closer towards Hao-Tung with shaky, blood-slicked steps.

Zan remains not far from Liu, her brows furrowed as she watches him anxiously, then turns to focus on Johnny and Wen as they drag the groaning and bleeding Lao-Yan towards the exam room. "«D— damnit, it burns— »" Lao-Yan murmurs, looking down to the bloody holes in his shirt, "«Fuck that— that cowardly bastard.»

Lingering near the door, Jin does exactly as asked, but tucks his hands into the pockets of his slacks, watching Liu and Hao-Tung quietly before motioning to Zan with a nod of his head. "«Come,»" he instructs quietly, reaching up to brush one stray lock of hair out of his face. Zan hesitates, eyes flitting back and forth between Liu and Hao-Tung, before the old man Kun reaches up to rest a hand on her shoulder, guilding her to follow Jin, leaving Hao-Tung and Liu along as the others move towards an area where Lao-Tan's injuries can be handled.

Seeing as he only has one paitient, Bao-Wei's preparation in the exam room is short. Firstly, gloves, which happens with unintentional timing- those bringing Lao-Yan back get an eyeful of Doctor Cong snapping his gloves on. If you see it once, you've seen it more than enough for one lifetime.

"«One of you stay. Start stripping him.»" Orders are issued in a timely fashion, and through the chaos it seems as if the older man has remained unphased. In most ways, that is the case. Then again, he is not quite aware of what is going on outside of the room with Liu and Hao-Tung. "«How many bullets, and where? Are there any more of you lot walking around with new airholes?»" Bao-Wei would not put it past any of them, as he thinks on that while gathering together what he needs for such an emergency.

Yes. Me, Hao-Tung's unswervingly stern-eyed gaze seems to respond adamantly, the lines beneath his eyes and in his brow creased deeper than usual. The official returns the young man's look stare-for-stare, lower jaw gritting so very slightly as he squirms at the feeling of something literally crawling beneath his skin, but he does not otherwise flinch even with the realization of what Liu is doing to him; thankfully, Zan is there in time. When it stops, he swivels a brief look of tense, thin-lipped thanks onto the woman before turning partially away himself, waiting for their company to depart so they can be left alone.

Once Liu and Hao-Tung are by themselves, the first thing he does is sturdily fold his arms across his chest and speak a very simple, two-syllabled greeting. "Dai lo." Big brother. The title in slang for the ranking leader of a Triad. Now, however, it is possible to detect sardonic undertones — Liu is not 'big' or older, but younger. So much younger. Accordingly, it is a title the man frequently used around Chang but practically never around the siblings, which they are well aware of.

"«You do not put yourself in danger.»" The start of what might be a long reprimand, it sounds like, but it only comes in abrupt clips to begin with. "«The Mountain Master— now, as always— is apart from the laymen. He does not throw himself into danger whenever the urge seizes him, nor does he disgrace himself by directly dirtying his hands in deals below his station.»" There is a pause, room for continuation of the stony, disapproving stare. "«Has your father never taught you?»"

Jaw trembling for only a moment as Hao-Tung's words cut thorugh him, Liu crouches down to lay Song across the lobby's sofa, staying in a kneeling position as his distantly focused eyes stare thorugh his sister's unmoving form. Liu swallows, noisily, and his response is remarkably humble in tone of voice, but still decidedly Liu. "«My father taught me tradition does not matter when you are dead.»" Doubly ironic, given his current situation.

"«It doesn't matter…»" He dismissively adds, bitterness rising up in his voice, "«It— it was just one piece of shit» guilao. «I am not a coward like my father was, I will not— I won't hide behind people to do my business I— »" He is self-righteous and defiant to the very end, citing every single reason why his sister is now dead without even realizing it.

Youth, anger, and shock all play a heavy hand in his poor decision making.

Decision making that, in Bao-Wei's back room, may cost yet another life. As Wen looks around the exam room and Johnny lays Lao out on the table, it takes only a moment for the young triad member to find a pair of scissors in his searching, cutting open Lao's shirt as Johnny backs away from the table, rubbing a hand over his forehead. "«Two— »" Wen states calmly, despite the seemingly frantic situation. "«One in the shoulder, one in his— »" he narrows his eyes, brows furrowing together, "«in his ribs, at— at his side?»" He's not a doctor.

"«Liu— Liu was bleeding when we left. The bullet that— »" Johnny can barely bring himself to speak as he looks away from Lao, "«The bullet that hit Song grazed his neck, it didn't seem bad. I— I think he's in too much shock to notice.»"

"«Ribcage? Damn.»" The half-question comes as Doctor Cong takes no extra time in waiting; one hand, attached to a strong arm, first pins Lao's arm down before the vessels in his arm are met with a careful dose of sedative- enough to make it easier for him to dig the bullets out, depending where they are- but not enough to make the blood loss and slowed heartbeat completely put him out. Regardless, his hand then pins Lao down there on the table. "«One of you, make sure that he does not buck, or I may just cut something else out…»" Then again, he is not wanting just yet to mention that the bullet may have already gone through a lung. Only so much that he can do on such short notice, and with these tools.

As soon as it seems like Lao is both restrained and somewhat still, the search for the bullet in the side of the man's torso begins. With a bloody squelch, to boot.

"«You will not talk about your father in such a manner.»" Hao-Tung's eyes go wide in a gaze that is suddenly harsher and tinted with warning, but his mouth stays in a vaguely downturned, repulsed line.

The bleeding on the side of Liu's neck doesn't go unnoticed, but if the wound doesn't seem bad, then it certainly doesn't worry him right now — the only reason he would be concerned is that it would be an annoying interruption in their Very Important conversation. "«You're right, of course. Tradition doesn't matter when you're dead—»" Tsang reiterates without emotion, without much of anything on his face, really, but there is the edge of a tiny sneer at the corner of his mouth.

"«—Or when your sister is. I can't say I didn't warn you,»" One wrist is clasped behind the small of his back, still as though he is discussing a completely practical matter, but his voice is lower in both tone and volume and usual, "«What would happen if you made such drastic changes to the structure of a group far older than you.»" He does not mention the proper adjectives along with, since Liu doesn't really need to be extra-roused right now, but the boy knows perfectly well what Tsang is talking about. Not only two leaders, both young and inexperienced, but one of them female.

That's besides all the mucking around the Ye boy has accomplished further inside the ranks.

There's a shuddering exhalation from Liu, brows knitted together, head downturned as his hands clench into fists that can only express his absolutely impotent rage at what has happened. "«Now— »" his voice cracks, "«now is not the time for lectures, Tsang. I— »" his shoulders shake, jaw trembles, dark eyes transfixed on his beloved sister's motionless form. "«Now is the time for— for the Triad to pull together against an enemy that has spilled our blood.»"

As impotent as Liu's fury is, it shows so fiery behind his dark eyes when they level up at Hao-Tung Tsang. "«Linderman has killed one of our own. It— it does not matter what mistakes were made now, nothing— we can't— »" his reddenes eyes take on a more glassy sheen as his teeth clench and emotion rolls over his features. "«He has to be made to pay for this!»" One hand swings down towards Song's lifeless body, "«We must strike back, fast and hard, we will make him regret this! Regret ever crossing the Flying Dragons!»" So much youth, so much anger, but at least in that Liu has a point. There must be revenge.

But it is possible only one life need be avenged. In Doctor Cong's exam room, Johnny and Wen look at each other awkwardly, and Wen nods his head towards Lao on the table, and Johnny rapidly shakes his head and nods his head towards Lao. Wen's eyes widen and he makes a grunt of a noise, then steps back to leave Johnny standing closer to the table. The sunglasses-wearing thug exhales an exasperated breath and inches forward, shakily moving over to lay his hands down on Lao's shoulders.

"«Lao— just— hold still man. I swear if you rip off my arms I ain't never hooking you up with one of my girls again.»" He swallows anxiously, resting his hands down on the man's shoulders. "«D— Doc, you got anything to sedate him or— I mean— he's really pissed and you— you know what he can do.»" Lao, to his credit, is merely scowling and curling his fingers into the sides of the metal table, which flexes and deforms beneath his fingers as if it were silly putty.

"«I am never.»" Even in the midst of prying into a conscious person that could tear him limb from limb- Bao-Wei finds time to correct youth in their mannerisms- namely, Johnny this time. It is something that they should be used to by now, regardless, but at a time like this is seems absurd.

"«Of course I know what he can do. In fact, I am already owed a new examination table.»" It seems as if Cong's one lighter colored eye roves on its own to find a fix on both of the uninjured men, even though impossible; he is simply glaring upwards. He finds them in turn much like the yellowed gaze of some creature. Always reminding such guests that they came into his domain. "«It is quite deep…»" Bao-Wei moves his knife out of Lao's side, gloves covered in a slick layer of red. "«I'll need another one of those- Wen, if you please.»" One finger points towards the still open drawer across the room- inside are an array of containers of syringes, but only one is open already.

"«Enemies have spilled our blood for as long as there have been triads. The Ghost Shadows, the Fuk Ching, the White Tigers—»" But Liu does indeed have a point; all that had been intertriad. Day-to-day abrasion, all within the usual. An upfront attack from an unaffiliated group, though, has a meaning that is considerably more drastic.

Open war, for instance.

In contrast to the emotional turbulence washing over Liu's features, Hao-Tung is still impassive, his eyes only flatly holding the rebuke of some chronically uncaring but still-disdainful parent. "«Yes, they will pay for this. Rushing in a second time, however, especially under your command will only result in the corpses of more Flying Dragons.»" Yeah, he dared to emphasize that.

"«I -must- know more about what's caused this. If Linderman intends to raise a contest again all Chinatown triads, and simply picked this lucky one to start with, then we may have allies. Call upon the Ghost Shadows for help, if it is a threat to all. But if it is some foolish personal affront…" Then those like the Ghost Shadows will probably be leaping onto the Flying Dragons's weakened jugular, first chance.

Linderman has been killing or arresting the competition for years now.»" Liu's eyes narrow into slits as he squares his shoulders and steps closer to Hao-Tung. "«The Civella family was ruined by him, which is why my father was able to make the power grab he did in the city before the Ghost Shadows could. But he will not stop with us. Unless we bend a knee and make ourselves his little puppets, he'll pout his heel on us and crush, that is what he wants, that is why he did what he did. We're a threat.»"

There's perhaps some misplaced pride there, in Liu's fiery words. "«I intended to talk to Zhao Wenzhuo of the Ghost Shadows. This is a threat to us all, this is a threat to what I intend to build out of my father's intended legacy. I— »" Liu's chin trembles, "«I will make the Flying Dragons greater than Daniel Linderman and his thugs, I will make people fear and respect us!»"

In Bao-Wei's exam room, Johnny glances back at Wen, grimacing as he nods to the drawer the doctor indicated. Given that doing this means Wen doesn't have to hold down the bull rhino if strength that Lao represents, he quickly fishes around in the drawer for the syringe, and circles wide the periphery of the table. Coming over to Bao-Wei's side, he offers out the syringe while giving an askance look to Lao's bleeding injury and Bao-Wei's blood covered hands. "«Is… is he going to— »" Wen's eyes dart to Bao-Wei, "«Is he going to make it?»"

Bao-Wei makes a point to inject the second sedative before an answer, after the drug seems to go without a problem. Lao's consciousness may be slipping more, but it gives the doctor room to maneuver. "«If the bullet has not penetrated anything valuable, perhaps. He already needs blood. Blood that I do not have here.»" The situation seems grim, by description.

After a moment of making sure that the sedative can take effect, Doctor Cong gathers his tools back up in order to once again pry his way into Lao's ribcage. "«I am able to handle a sedated man. You may leave.»"

"«Don't lecture me about Linderman's history. I know well what he has done.»" Keeping abreast of the news is the least of Hao-Tung's duties, but a foundation of most everything else he does. His sharp eyes touch upon Liu's quivering chin, then slowly slide further up on the Triad leader's face. There is nothing said aloud, but from his slightly winkled-nose expression it's clear that the thought lancing through his head is something along the lines of '…god, crybaby.'

"«Approach Zhao as soon as possible. Also, Liu, in a stage of preparation that is so delicate — it is wise not to alienate allies on the outside or the inside.»" One thick eyebrow hooks upwards, angle of his lower jaw set. "«I will forgive you on account of youth — however. If you have any kind of shame, put away your idiotic notion that only your special followers are of use. You might be surprised at what you have pushed aside.»"

A somewhat huffed exhalation of breah that may be expected from someone five or six years younger than Liu slips out before he swallows down his pride and stares across at Hao-Tung with narrowed eyes. "«Fine,»" Liu spits out, "«then you're coming with me.»" There's something accusatory there, about the way he seems to make that suggestion, but it's hard to tell what angle the young Triad boss is coming from. "«If you want to be useful, you will help me convince that old dog that he is better suited spilling the blood of Daniel Linderman's men then our own.»"

All that venom and ferocity in Liu's voice comes with an added hiss of, "«Once we bury my sister.»" If Johnny and Wen have anything, it's typically poor timing. The two come out from the back of the clinic with haunted looks on their faces just as Liu is spotuing off that emotional line about putting Song in the ground.

The pair look back and forth from one another, and begin walking out towards where Liu and Hao-Tung have been talking. "«Boss,»" Johnny calls out with a tip of his head, "«Cong's working on Lao, but— I don't know. He's lost a lot of blood…»" Wen, conversely, says nothing, his eyes downcast and hands folded behind his back.

Liu's focus is torn away from Hao-Tung, then over to the doors they emerged from, before finally looking back to Hao-Tung with a tense swallow. "«If you're so set on proving a useful unity between those with power and those without, then you will work with me to unite New York's Triad against this threat. The more we fight each other, the sooner we all wind up dead.»"

"«Now, Lao-Yan…»" Doctor Cong speaks to the mostly unconscious man after he is absolutely sure that the two others are long gone, back into the clinic. "«…you have something that I need.»" Contrary to what he said minutes ago, the bullet is not deep; metal tweezers pluck it out of Lao's ribcage without so much as a noise. The doctor continues to speak, regardless of if he is heard; all movements are dreadfully slow, nearly lazy. Bao-Wei's features retain a passively smug expression, and his usually great and growling voice has simmered down to barely a muttering. "«You were lucky. It broke a rib, but that is nothing…»"

He lifts his knife again to dig out the bullet sitting in the young man's shoulder, letting it fall into a pan with a metallic clink, his tools to follow, to be replaced by a stitching needle. Doctor Cong takes his time, content in knowing that there is probably an according distraction from the exam room going on outside.

I am not so concerned about my usefulness, Liu.»" The smirk on Hao-Tung's broad face is more distinct now, and there is no sign that he is affected in the least by the other's accusatory tone; his implication? It's Liu should be. "«Nevertheless, very well. I shall go with you.»" And that's all that the vanguard had to say, apparently, because his attention is also temporarily caught up by the appearance of Wen and Johnny.

Then it returns to Liu one more time, and he allows his gaze to lock into the youth's. "«The triad comes first; that's what's important. But hopefully in the future, you will take better heed of the advice of your elders. Hm?»"

Liu's look to Johnny and Wen is torn, both worried for Lao's life and at the same time not wanting either of them to see Hao-Tung brow-beating him. Liu's shoulders square again, eyes turning towards Hao-Tung as he rolls his tongue across the inside of his cheek. "«Do not fancy yourself Cong Bao-Wei's place, he has, and always will be the one I turn to first for advice.»" There's a tightness at the corner of Liu's eyes, oone that betrays some of the uncertainty in his heart.

"«But… I will be certain to listen to all advice for sound judgement.»" Having tensed up some, there's still that emotional edge to Liu as he turns to look back down at Song's body, finally reaching down to do something he should have done a long time ago.

Close her eyes.

Doctor Cong's timing is so very impeccable, is it not? He appears in the mouth of the hallway; somehow he is very skilled at materializing out of thin air, for such a large man. If he were smaller in stature, he may very well have gone missed, though the clinic ceiling lights are caught a s they glare off of the panels of his glasses. The front of his shirt and pants are smeared with Lao-Yan's lost blood, and in his hands is a damp towel, tinted red and pink as he wipes his hands clean.

His features are grim, however, Bao-Wei nearly always looks that way. Nothing new, save for the tightness in his jaw. It is not for his announcement of "«He's dead.»", rather for the skimming sight of a lifeless Song.

Liu's face hangs into a frown as his eyes close, and both Johnny and Wen close their eyes and look away when Bao-Wei gives the news. There's silence that hangs over the clinc, a casual glance given towards the direction Zan, Jin and Kun took off to when they arrived, but he has no desire in him to break the bad news to them right now. Though Liu isn't aware they've just been standing on the other side of the office door together, listening, and their heads too sink in memory of the perceived loss of Lao-Yan.

"«Two lives, now. How much blood of ours has been spilled tonight?»" Liu states flatly, looking up to Bao-Wei, then to his sister's body, then finally to Hao-Tung. "«There will be rivers of it running in the city by the time I am through with Daniel Linderman.»"

"«They had best be true rivers, and not simply dams that you've broken.»" Doctor Cong breaks the second awkward silence. Rivers are two; free-running rivers, and torrents that are mistook for rivers post-dam breaks. Only the former has any true effect on its surroundings.

He remains there for what seems an eternity, eyes set on Liu, for a moment passing onto Hao-Tung, and then to Johnny and Wen. "«It is late. Perhaps all of you should go. Rest.»" His mouth creases into a frown as he approaches Liu, eyes going from the young man to his sister below. At his most paternal, Bao-Wei reaches out to take Liu by the shoulder. "«You included. Business may wait until all of you have had the chance to sleep.»" Even the best men can find themselves at a loss without it.

But Hao-Tung hadn't been only talking about himself, but Chang, as well. A stone-dead elder he might be, but an elder he very well is.

"«The doctor has a point. It's been a long night for all of us; you, in particular, should rest before you run off and do something else completely rash.»" Hao-Tung directs this at Liu in a slightly rougher voice than usual, one brow raised again. He slants his gaze towards Bao-Wei, and then briefly down towards the hand laid on Liu's shoulder, but appears unconcerned by it as he turns to shoulder past the exam room towards the doors of the clinic. There's nothing else he has to do here.

Stepping out from the doorway with those words, Kun's wrinkly old form pushes Jin ahead of him, and gives a narrowed stare towards Wen. The two swallow awkwardly and approach Liu, Wen being the one to speak up. "«We'll— take you home, sir.»" There's a momentary look of consternation from Liu as he seems to consider it a show of weakness to need to be taken home, but his eyes close and he simply nods his head, watching as Jin quietly passes by with his hands folded behind his back to the front door.

Kun looks over to Bao-Wei, then to Hao-Tung, offering the pair a solemn nod of his head before snapping his fingers to Johnny. "«Come on, you can walk an old man home.»" There's a look in Johnny's eyes like he wants to refute that idea, since Kun can walk faster than most cars drive. But as he sees Zan moving to follow Kun, Johnny's smile grows a subtle margin as he nods in somewhat selfish agreement.

Moving to the door with Wen, Liu looks over to Bao-Wei, offering him a thankful nod, "«I will talk to you in the morning…»" then over to Hao-Tung, and finally Song's body. There's no words, just Liu waving for Jin to open the door as he steps out onto the street.

The calm before the storm.

There is already a storm; a small one, granted- fettering away at the edges of Bao-Wei's mind. As the group files out, slowly but surely, Liu receives one more look from the man he calls 'Uncle'. Tired in body, but steel in spirit. Most of them are feeling this way tonight. Doctor Cong steps after their exit of the clinic proper, seeing them off with the click of metal as he twists the lock into place. He travels back, his steps the remaining sound through the hall.

"«I knew this was coming.»" Bao-Wei's low voice bounces off of dark walls as he clicks off unneeded lights, making his trek to Song's side a foreboding one- but only to the furniture, an unconscious man, and a corpse. "«I knew you would not last as long as your father.»" In many ways, he prepared for a premature death. In some ways, he was not ready regardless of his wish to be. Cong's broad chest heaves a sigh, one hand, still stained, moving down to Song's cold features to brush a wisp of that inky black hair from her face. The sigh is a somewhat defeated sound, not unlike that from a beast in some cavernous lair, finally figuring out that today is to put it quite simply- not a good day.

"«Liu will be broken for a time, and some of us saddened- but your end is not without its advantages, Song. You will be useful to me, even in death. I promise that.»" Ignoring her still damp clothes, Doctor Cong bends to pick her up; Song Ye was small in life, and somehow, even smaller in death. It is no task for him to carry her corpse away, down to the small lab below the clinic.

If he is to extract Song Ye's brain to ascertain physical damage, it is best to do so immediately. The first of many things before Doctor Cong decides to preserve her for burial.

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