Foreword.
stories written for the birthday of pornononna ValyChan, it is nothing of that, or something amazing, but I've made an effort, here! And though we miss almost a month to the fateful day, I decided to start now. This story takes place in three or four chapters and ending on D-Day, with many good wishes to the grandma.
I know how you like the couple, I like it too ecchecavolo EAR
And so I decided to write about Hwoarang and Xiaoyu. I do not mean a lot of Tekken, I played very little to 5, but this pretty much FICT is set at the beginning of the fifth volume. Hwoarang was taken Korean army, but escaped for the tournament. My story starts here.
Happy reading \u0026lt;3
trivial way, forgive me I'm not able to give names to my stories
1. The caged tiger
.
In the silence of the night, the military training camp in Seoul, still asleep, echoed one noise, an eerie screech that would certainly put the willies to anyone who was awake, or accidentally awakened by the sound annoying.
Like a sadistic teacher who taunt their students scratching their nails on a blackboard, a figure quite massive red hair that was visible even in darkness, crouching in front of the wall of his room rubbing violently a pebble scratching against the wall to draw a long line, followed by many others.
was the personal manner of the young man to take account of the days that passed. If he had not he probably would have lost track of time, so the days passed too slowly and crushing monotony, he seemed to live forever on the same day.
soon concluded that meticulous sat patiently counting the notches on the wall, gathered in groups of five. It was exactly 67 days passed from his imprisonment in the prison disguised as academy, too many for someone like him.
When they had forcefully taken from the Iron Fist Tournament he was told that he was part of the voluntary military service army. But what volunteer? What freedom of choice?
Hwoarang was taken by force, with guns pointed at, and was thrown into the sewer to serve a country that he had never given anything not even respond, otherwise the butt of his pistol against his forehead.
That place slowly destroys and erodes from within the soul, in its most fragile sanity doing crazy, like slow drops of water digging the hard rock with their incessant tapping sequence in a precise and mechanical.
not give a damn about the war, politicians wanted to bite each other? But let me take a seat outside, he said to himself.
and cares even less about the future of South Korea, a country that had taken so much and had never given anything in return.
His home was the street. His purpose in life was to beat Kazama. His aim to win the tournament. Then Korea could happily go fuck with his love of country.
did not know why he was there.
His fighting skills were perhaps useful to some general?
The government had so afraid of as a criminal by Hwoarang volerselo remove the back and at the same time making it useful for the country?
Besides, if he had died in war would have risen weight come back?
But he had no certainty, nor knew the real reason. He could only assume vain assumptions, so no one would confirm them to him.
Being locked inside the walls were mildewed, obey orders daily to cruel, make grueling training, was the opposite of what he did in his ordinary way of life, and this gave him on my nerves.
was a tiger who loved freedom, and owner of the place, did what he pleases as long as the army is not dogs decided to put his leash and a muzzle and had been locked in a cage .
But it would be released soon.
Although, if you kill it was their goal, there were succeeded very well.
" Hey Hwoarang!" Bunk-mate called to him from the darkness of their litter, still awake or awakened by the sound of the red rocks, leisure, launched against the wall. "Why are you still awake? At five o'clock there is training night. " Chon'tae Ku. A country boy who had enlisted on his own initiative and got on the nerves to Hwoarang. For him it was all a game, and he liked to sit in that hole closed with the sole purpose of faithfully obeying his superiors.
" I know, Ku. We do it all damn morning, the very same time! "Attacked him showing his teeth like a furious animal, gesturing aggressively. Chon'tae curled up on himself afraid, the former champion in taekwondo when she was in a bad mood, he never went annoyed or contradicted.
restless and aggressive behavior of Hwoarang, he used to be in control, not to follow orders, the disciplinary letters always meant-without giving him the satisfaction of being kicked out of camp, and hours or whole days locked in a dark cellar, or detention cell, as they called the recruits, a symbol and manifestation of the idea that red was made of the field: a real prison.
sighed heavily, clenching his fists and his teeth trying to quell the anger. "I will go from here," hissed a sentence which seemed filled with so much hope and certainty.
" I hope for you, friend" merely remarked recently Chon'tae convinced, even more irritating Hwoarang.
" And I will do now,"
center of Seoul, after a few hours.
Massage the hand and ignoring the aching pain flipping to its side Hwoarang walked slowly through the streets of the metropolis Korean, maneuvering for the dark alleys inhabited by poor and homeless vagrants as if he knew the roads by heart.
He had managed to escape from that place, almost miraculously dare say.
During training of the five had escaped the control of the general for a moment, breaking the lines and running with all the breath he could to his only escape route: a wall with barbed wire.
The sparanono against, but thanking his almost feline reflexes managed to dodge most of them. That is why the wound between the ribs.
With a leap he could to climb over the wall, all the muscles pulled up to asking him for mercy, but not to fall into the wrong he had to cling to the wire, cutting his hand in a superficial way, fortunately. He landed on the other side, exit, freedom, and running like crazy to make up to avoid capture and bullets aimed at his legs-legs valuable for taekwondo, legs that had always led to victory, legs had also saved in that time-racing at breakneck speed, madly toward the center of Seoul.
He had said farewell to general screaming, he had said goodbye to the cold, the mud, the humiliation, those crazies who had cut her long red hair.
And those soldiers had shown a dashing middle finger raised in triumph.
And now he was there, among the garbage and criminals, in what was once called home, and eagerly sought his old haunt. Where were his men. Yeah, them, because they were waiting for him?
When he was in front of the place where-theoretically-should have been his mansion-not worthy of a king, of course, but for someone like him more than enough-that hole, he found nothing but rubble. He tried to ask around, but it was useless.
" All those who were here, those bloody bandits were arrested and executed a month ago," said a white old lady who was there, and that he had seen lost. A friendly and pretty old, Chinese-featured, entirely out of place in that infamous place. "It's not good news, young man?"
Hwoarang cursed. Now where would he go? What would happen to him. Was bleeding a lot, and certainly could not go to the hospital, there was one of many places where the army was waiting for him with a radiant smile and handcuffs ready.
Damn! He thought. Hostage taking the old woman was out of the question, but was this to give him a hand to try to help him, moved by his despair, from his wounds, and his state of anxiety, as if he had lost.
" You look tired. Why do not you rest at home? Until you get up again you will be my guest! "Smiled the little old kinesin cordially, leaving the red stunned. But how? Accepted him into the house, he? A perfect stranger, a former gang leader and now a fugitive? Yet that was his only chance of salvation, and risk everything to be wary of a harmless lady could not be calculated. Or do you, or returned to the field.
did not know but that chance meeting with the gentle Chinese would upset his life
0 comments:
Post a Comment