Bangkok Nights

[The Breaker]

What were Bangkok Nights? They were nights in Bangkok, surely! What did they consist of? Well that's another question entirely. Tonight, on this nice January night is was in the high 80s as far as the weather went. Running atop the metal rooftops Jin was on his quest for the daring prize. A he-she wig from one of the most dangerous he-shes: Oopa Goopa. Renowned for being the most ...coveted... he-she in all of Bangkok, many fables have sprung up around this person. He was wearing his trunks and a few loosely tied bandages around the limbs. It was in the worst part of town which no doubt led to all of the superstitious mumbo-jumbo. Jin was sure of it.

Checking once more that the location had been right Jin took hold of the metal plating that comprised the make shift roof and slipped in through the window. It was a damp and poorly maintained building, clearly this room had not been inhabited in quite some time. A few rodents caught Jin's eyes as they scurried across the floor. Where there had been a bulb in the ceiling there now remained a simple remnant of a shattered piece of glass.

From the room next door Jin could hear some loud noises and what sounded like trouble. There were two clear options: leave, knowing that the urban legends were just some poor prank played on unsuspecting victims- or investigate.

It was clear to Jin what must have been done. Heading towards the door to the room Jin was currently in, as Jin's hand closed in and turned the knob, it was heard.

BANG!

[The Breaker]

There were times when even Jin got serious. Few and far between did the jovial attitude evaporate into the air and a strenuous demeanor was adopted. Unfortunately now felt as though it were one of those times. Throwing a shoulder into the door while he turned the knob ended with him crushing someone into the wall. He had felt badly until he saw the attire and the weapon lying on the ground. Suits never amounted to anything positive in Jin's life. Never. In front of the room that had Jin's guess written all over it for the source of the gunshot was another suit. Surgical in his precision and in a rare display a hand redirected the weapon and a single chop incapacitated the man.

It took a well placed kick to nearly rip the door off the rusting old hinges. There were two pairs of eyes staring at Jin. One was the look of a killer, the primal instincts that spoke volumes. The other was the look of sheer terror. A man in a white suit, distinguishable from the rest which were black, had another man at point with a katana to his throat. The circumstances could be anything. A drug deal gone bad, two wandering Yakuza that were native to the area or even just a bizarre hit. Jin didn't take the time to ask; instinctively his body asked for him with a flying knee.

[The Breaker]

In the distance the boom of the thunder could be heard. Wooden sandals briefly collided with the concrete floor and cleared the room with a flash of the lightning. Erratic and eclectic, Jin's approach as it had been in fights was presumably designed to overwhelm his opponents. It was not as graceful as a dance and rather relied on sheer strength instead of tactical prowess. Often he had taken a beating due to this, but it was the philosophy he'd learned over time. In the face of the expert swordsman, a man who thrived on discipline and control; it was a clash of ideals and philosophies.

( http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nftxDrStny8 -- please play now )

In the South American sprawls within Brazil, Chile and Mexico he had learned how to handle himself in confined spaces. Within the frantic scrambling of the man who had been held, possibly as a hostage, Jin had needed to adapt to the room. With a sandal in hand and a foot to the wall the precise and persistent blade was parried once more. Up and over he flew, resembling a crane in the form.

At a time like this Jin had to wonder why he was seeing those cherry blossoms. With the swordsman's proficiency, Jin was being pushed back towards the door. As Jin's back was against the corner and that curving blade came in towards his head he'd remember one flashback in particular.

Snow covered blossoms were adrift in the silent drafts. An ocean of white expanse drifted in each direction as far as his eyes could see. In the center with him lay the body which painted the powder a vibrant crimson. Those few words were stuttered through bubbling breaths, half-willed and whisping. He never really did forget how badly they burned, his eyes.

Now in the dirty decrepit room in this slum of a neighborhood he'd push himself past desperation. Driving his shoulder down onto the blade he'd take hold of the swordsman's throat with both hands and drive him into the wall.

Silence. His body jerked slightly and he looked down as he let go of the neck. His fingers ran over his abdomen to feel the hole. Red. The same red that coated the snow. Again, the pressure came but it had been silent. Instinct took over and the right hand surrounded the hilt and removed the blade from his shoulder. After disarming the pistol from the man and impaling him to the wall with his own weapon, wobbly legs took him to the window. Shallow breaths plagued his lungs and his insides were lit ablaze.

His last sight were the men pushing through the door frame digging into their jackets for their weapons. He felt so heavy, so very heavy. If he just let up on the grip a little on the window frame just a tiny bit. There, he was falling now. So what if he dented the car hood? So what if there were screams? It was fading to black rather quickly now. Maybe he'd get to meet him again, just maybe.

[The Breaker]

Stars glittered through the town in its window panes and homes all along the main streets. Bustling crowds filled the crosswalks hurriedly trying to avoid the more jammed causeways but there were parts of the city that no matter the hour never tended to their sleep. A district akin to a shade of red was among them where tonight a circle of men gathered at a green felt table. It was torn around the edges and screamed of makeshift hours and spilled alcohol.

"Hey are you going to make your move, ***hole?" The Bangkok native jeered at the man opposite of him at the table who had been staring at his hand for quite some time.

At the mention of the words the cards were cupped within the right hand and folded just under the gaze so that the pair of black lenses could fall over him and the elaborate silver trim along the stock of his pistol.

"What're you lookin' at you foreign monkey? Do I need to explain what this is for you to make your move?!" He drew the pistol as he slammed his palm down on the table and leaned in closer with the barrel facing down the man in the glasses.

The chattering men all went silent and turned their attention to the younger of the two in the glasses, black dress shirt and the pants that matched. On his right wrist was a gold dragon that looked to be eating itself and the edge of an orange tattoo that ended at either wrist. He slowly set down the cards and took the cigarette from his mouth before crushing it against the ash tray.

"Are you deaf ***hole?! Do you want to die?!" His thumb pulled back on the hammer while the rest remained stationary.

Slowly the younger man began unbuttoning his sleeves around the wrists and began pulling them up, just past his elbows. Visible on each arm were dancing contours that were eastern in design, black that was filled in with orange and black stripes. Two tigers if one were to guess completely encased the man's arms.

"That's a nice pistol you have there." He set his hands back down on the table in plain sight while his vision alternated between the pistol and the man.

"The **** is it to you?! I swear each year you fu--" Before he could finish the table was lifted up to obscure his vision. He fired three rounds in sheer panic and reaction before a pressure surrounded the back of his neck. He could feel his feet lifting off the ground before his face began to burn. It wasn't fire but the pieces of unfinished wood that lay under the poorly applied felt that began to pierce into his face. His arms went limp after the first six blows, when the count rose further the pistol fell from his hand and clacked onto the ground. His body followed shortly after, slumped with his back against the broken table.

All of the other men stood yet were too shocked to move. They had weapons but none of them wanted to end up as the man had, gurgling and choking on his blood against the ruined game.

"If you're going to kill someone do it with the bullets. The fall didn't do the job." He unbuttoned the black dress shirt and dropped it over the man's fleeting presence. Twin tigers lined his defined arms as sleeves and upon his torso where pristine lines had been gridlocked in muscle, two star-shaped scars had remained. He reached for his cigarette and reignited it while making his way to the door. The remaining men stared in silence.

"Sorry for breaking your table, just a habit of mine I guess." He made his way out of the door into the alley and began walking on towards the street where he'd wave down a taxi.

"Where are we heading tonight sir?" The taxi driver eyed his rear-view mirror and poised the question.

"Seoul." The response was short and firm. He had a few loose ends still to tie up before his final destination.