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Chicken!	By : Shinashi Category: +S through Z > Tekken Views: 5684 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Tekken or any of its spinoffs. I am making no money off of this fic.

Chapter List
- 2
- 3
- 4
Warning: Watersporting Humiliation (The reason why this is here is because this won't be a theme! I don't plan on any more watersporting humiliation, 'kay?)
AN: Woo! I was on the Greyhound last weekend, and I don’t enjoy posting during the week.
Sorry, SailorNemesis!
Anonymous: Winning? There’s no winning… They just have to collect stars and leave. Of course, there’s a bit of competition with each other. But it’s not going to be that easy…And Forest won’t be first XD Lars will be doing that. Isn’t Lee ALWAYS awesome? I tried not to follow the trope, but I just couldn’t. I was like, ew, that isn’t Lee at all. B and D are definite, and C is a plan, although it keeps exchanging with other things… I have two things in mind for A. If Bryan didn’t used to be an okay guy, I could just go with one, but I can’t help pitying him ^^;
Thanks for reading! Enjoy!
Redhead
Hwoarang. He didn’t sleep well. The floor was hard and cold, and the night got colder and colder. He slept next to Eddy and Steve (per doctor’s orders), and he found himself cuddling against one or the other throughout the night for warmth. With Eddy’s third warning- “I don’t care if I lose all my stars, I will knock you out”- Steve gathered him in his arms. That was just too embarrassing but Steve pulled him closer.
“Don’t be stupid,” he said. “I can’t sleep with you moving around like that.”
Well, Steve’s big arms and chest made for a very comfy cove, with all the heat of a more traditional covering. Before he could convince himself on how big of a baby he was, Hwoarang was asleep.
Something exploded.
Now, Hwoarang is a pretty heavy sleeper. It was one of his biggest flaws in the army. The trumpets or alarms would start blaring and he would sleep right through them. Someone would have to hit him or, the favorite of his superiors, poor warm water on his groin. For some reason, that made him piss himself. Afterwards, he didn’t need the water except for a touch-up now and again, because he would wet the bed by himself. No one had laughed at him for it. Hwoarang remembered grins in the fighting practices and paid them back sevenfold.
But he didn’t think he would have been able to pay back any of the guys who would laugh at him here. After whatever exploded, it took all his mental fortitude to keep from urinating. This was especially difficult as the other guys, too close for comfort, jostled around him.
“Good morning, everyone!” The doctor’s voice was cheerful and clear. “I hope all of you had nice sleep! Now, follow your schedules, I’m very busy man!”
A general sound of resentment passed. Hwoarang saw everyone now standing and making their little groups. With a shy whisper of thanks to Steve, they made their way to Baek as Baek walked towards Miguel.
Miguel smelled less of alcohol now, but a lack of a shower and shampoo did him no favors. It had been so confusing the day before that Hwoarang didn’t really get to Miguel, with whom he and Baek had formed a resistance against Jin Kazama. Plus, the man was often very drunk, and was as bad with Korean as Hwoarang was with Spanish.
“Miguel.” Baek extended a hand to Miguel, who took it with a grim frown.
“Baek.” He looked at the student. “How-rang.”
“Hwoa-rang,” Hwoarang corrected sleepily, the words coming by instinct. He didn’t even know why he even tried.
“Need to piss?”
“How-”
“Your dick.”
Hwoarang never paid attention to how his dick looked when he was in the mood to piss. He looked down now, more to hide his embarrassment than anything, but he saw his dick had a certain straightness to it, though it still seemed completely flaccid.
Baek was wisely keeping an eye to the side, and Hwoarang fought a blush.
“I need to go as well,” Steve murmured. “How is that going to happen?”
Again, they were forming an awkward circle-type shape. Penises in various sizes of erectness became the focus of Hwoarang’s attention, from Bryan’s full-blown hard-on to the wrinkled thing an irritated Lei sported.
The redhead rubbed a hand through his hair as he saw Jin’s stiff member. If he was suffering from that bulging morning wood, it did not show on his face.
When was the last time he’s even smiled?
A strong urge to let go prodded Hwoarang all of a sudden and it was a miracle there wasn’t a downpour.
“The schedule says we have lunch at one,” Lars announced, again taking the role of commander. In any other situation, such a demanding adult would have been annoying to Hwoarang, but now he was the center in something that could get really chaotic, really fast. Hwoarang did not envy him and whatever disasters were sure to drop on him unannounced.
That brought to mind his kiss with Bryan.
He needed to pee again.
“One?” he said incredulously, to get his thoughts from it all, “Where’s the door? What are we supposed to do until then? What happened to breakfast?”
“Someone needs to use the potty. Why don’t you use your boyfriend’s mouth? You were cuddled so nicely.”
Hwoarang ignored him. That seemed the best course. Baek always said that patience and silence was the best course if it wasn’t an honorable fight.
“I bet the doors will open when we all piss ourselves.”
Lee groaned, nearly lying on the floor, as close to the ground as he was with his back to a wall. His bathrobe was gone, but his fingers still absently searched for it. “Are you really going to do this for another day? I know it hurts your musclebrain to be so clever all the time.”
Bryan was rubbing his eyes in an almost childlike manner, and stopped, a knuckle nearly gouging into his socket. He looked like he was about to say something but then he simply huffed, “It’s too early.”
“It’s five in the morning,” Lee agreed.
Hwoarang noticed the time as he read the translations. The earliest Baek ever made him wake up for training was nine, although he expected him to get up around seven for ‘meditation’. The redhead always thought that may have been code for ‘lighter sleep’.
The doctor’s abrupt voice came over the invisible sound system, “Good idea, Bryan! You are much cleverer than Lee is admitting. How about this? None of you eat until you relieve yourselves in someone’s mouth. I pair you up.”
For the first time since they’ve arrived, Bryan looked disturbed. It wasn’t yet fearful, but he didn’t exactly meet any of all the other eyes that went to him.
He even offered, “Can’t we just all piss on one guy?”
“Oh! Very nice! Who do you suggest?”
“That guy.”
And Bryan pointed at him. It seemed almost on instinct; Bryan wasn’t even looking in his direction, but Hwoarang it was. Now, he needed to pee again, and it seemed to tug the nausea welling up in his stomach. He wondered where the mouthy kid who had once beaten Jin Kazama, a ruin of the world, had gone. Now he was just tired young man. Forget about reaching a thousand stars, just the act of getting something to eat proved to be difficult enough.
“Well,” the doctor voiced agreeably, “whenever he’s ready. Or you can force him. Into…Here.”
A set of panels near Hwoarang slanted downward; Steve and Miguel had to get out of the way. At the center of this set, the floor went away and came back with a new piece, one with a hole as a draining pipe. Over it all was a little boxed force field.
“Whenever he’s ready.”
“How…How long do I have?” Hwoarang’s voice croaked. Hell, he was about to cry.
The doctor huffed. “You stand there for week. I give you no food.” Hwoarang could almost hear the lackadaisical shrug.
He tried to look to someone, anyone, but the thought of making eye contact made his eyes burn. A rage warred inside him as his vision blurred. For a moment, he imagine just kicking Bryan Fury’s kneecaps in, making him look like a fucking flamingo on steroids.
“Well, might as well go on,” he heard Lee say.
“Give him some time,” answered Lars. He would often call a guy like that a goody-two-shoes, but now he was only grateful.
Kazuya wasn’t as nice. “I’m hungry. Either he goes in in the next five seconds, or I’ll fucking force him.”
“How?” Lars challenged.
“How will you stop me?”
“Oh, by the way-” Hwoarang was really starting to dread the doctor’s voice coming over the intercoms. “-still no fighting allowed-”
A coil eased itself in his belly. He had time.
“-unless you’re fighting Hwoarang.”
That fucking fucker! I hope he has a fucking heart attack!
There have been few times that he has ever wished someone dead, but he wished it so hard at present that a thread of pain shot through his head at the sudden emotional intensity.
Someone shoved him closer to the drainage area, and Hwoarang didn’t need to turn around to see who did that.
But how could he truly be angry? Although he doubted the doctor would let them all starve to death, Hwoarang was quite certain he wouldn’t be averse to killing one of them off as an incentive for the rest.
“Sick fuck,” his lips muttered, and his feet took him closer to the drain.
“Hwoarang!”
Auburn eyes met his master’s- why did he sound so strict all of the sudden? Why did he look so stern all of a sudden? Hwoarang immediately felt that he had done something wrong, and the accompanying feeling of wanting to correct it, for Baek at least.
Baek nodded, saying, “Enclose it.” And he brought his fists together, and added, “All of it.”
Hwoarang would have huffed in his usual way whenever Baek said something all priestly like that, but centering himself- on himself- seemed to be the best course of action now, or else he will cry or back out or kill someone, or all three, all unacceptable.
He started his calming breaths just as his foot touched the field. It felt no different than the surface of water as it wraps around a dallying leg. But when he lifted his foot, it wouldn’t release him.
He breathed some more and focused on relaxing everything, and enclosing any extraneous emotions. The man was rather surprised how much of his master’s teachings in his least favorite pastime he remembered, step by step. By the time he noticed, both knees were encased in the force field, and he was stuck but no longer nauseous.
A stream hit his back, and though he was utterly repulsed at first, he was deep enough to imagine it as the jet stream on his showerhead. One that smelled faintly sour.
Drink more water, he could hear Baek saying.
Another release, this one longer, and didn’t even smell, also on his back.
“Are we really going to go one at a time?”
Hwoarang didn’t recognize the extraneous voice.
“No,” said another, a disturbing rumble, and piss hit his chest.
“What the hell! You could have chosen his bloody shoulder or side- anywhere other than his fucking chest!”
Hwoarang wanted to say it wasn’t that bad, it didn’t even smell, but it was that bad, even without the smell.
Enclose it.
The familiar flare of anger ignited within him. This is what always got him in trouble before Baek, even with Baek (and Hwoarang didn’t want to imagine what else). Usually, before he knew it, he had his leg knee-deep in someone’s diaphragm. Understandably, there was no such outlet at the moment, and so he closed his eyes even more tightly, and attempted to enclose it all, to focus.
Someone pissed on his shoulders as a couple others took his back, and his evil brain, usually not good for much, thought it was a great time to remind him that three men were using him as a toilet. Also, just in case he didn’t know, the piss was traveling down his buttocks, between them to gather at his balls, or some took the route where his feet were pressed up against his bottom, and so the liquids streamed around his toes. Yet another person pissed on his chest, adding to the stench seeping into his chiseled stomach and red pubic hair.
“No pushing!” the doctor yelled, and Hwoarang was afraid he would see Baek or Steve being electrocuted. Nothing happened but more piss.
“Forrest Law, my boy, you had ample opportunities to relieve yourself,” the doctor suddenly said in a singsong voice.
Hwoarang knew that Forrest was a bit older than he looked, but even when people knew that, it was just too weird to think of him any older than seventeen. In one of his rare humorous moments, Baek said he aged like an elf.
The tightly wound Hwoarang could just imagine those big dark eyes wide with worry.
“I’m alright, Doctor,” Forrest said. His words carried a certain resignation; he knew their captor wouldn’t be satisfied.
“Hm? Alright? But your bladder is quite full!”
The intervals between falls were getting shorter, apparently the last men had to work up the courage, like Forrest.
“And Baek- you doing him no favors dragging out this! You are wiser.”
And Baek.
His master answered, “I do not need to at the moment.”
“Me neither,” Forrest said.
Hwoarang looked up, and saw Baek’s weirdly straight, yet flaccid dick. He needed to go as much as Hwoarang did this morning. The Korean boy had relieved himself somewhere along this torment.
The doctor was quiet, but Hwoarag doubted he was actually gone.
“I don’t understand,” he spoke quietly. Tension flooded the room. “I know when there is lying, so why lie? That is utmost disrespect. Utmost disrespect!” he screamed.
The doctor’s heavy breathing could be heard, and the look of fear on his master’s face was nearly alien.
“Punishment needs to be dealt, yes? I know punishment: piss in mouth. Show friend and pupil what liars you are; and Lei, do you want to help them?”
Hwoarang’s eyes seemed sluggish as he dragged them away from Baek and unto Lei Wulong, just as the Chinese man began to pee. He saw the arch, and the smell, feel and temperature were much more visceral as he took in the scene visually.
“Do not make me repeat myself!”
Forrest now looked pushed to action, but apologetic all the same. He reached out with shaking fingers and pulled Hwoarang a little closer, onto his knees.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered.
Hwoarang growled, “Don’t just stand there with your fucking wang in my face! Get on with it, you idiot.”
That’s not fair, Hwoarang.
He ignored him.
The younger Law didn’t seem annoyed, just sad. He pressed the tip of his member in between his lips and shivered all over as he let go.
“No, no, no, swallow it, young man!”
But the young man wasn’t listening in the least. This was so far beyond him, nothing mattered anymore. It didn’t matter that he could already taste it and some of it was being swallowed, it just didn’t. He just wanted it to stop.
“Make sure he swallows it, Mr. Doo San. Or I will be forced to think of yet another punishment, and that shall make me very tired so early in the morning.”
With his blood pounding in his ears, to Hwoarang Baek’s words seemed to be gurgled underwater. What could his teacher possibly be saying? Don’t worry? Focus? Sorry?
“Hwoarang.”
He heard that. He looked up.
“Make sure you swallow.”
The cold words came from a cold face as cold fingers grabbed his jaw. The cock itself seemed to have the warm wetness of warm raw meat. It was pushed into his mouth, and Hwoarang relaxed as much as he could, but Baek pushed himself even further, as if to make sure, and then a little more, and began.
Whatever it was about having his mouth full, perhaps the stretching of his sinuses, actually made him tear up, and the Baek’s water filling his mouth, and his hand pulling his hair in warning, and him swallowing it down, on and on and on- That made the tears fall, and choke a bit, and cry some more.
“Good, very good, Hwoarang.”
He didn’t know who said that, Baek or the doctor, but it didn’t make much of a difference at the moment.
“The door’s open.”
“I bet he ain’t thirsty.”
“Hwoarang, mate, please stop crying. Please, Hwoarang.”
“We should go.”
Something in Portuguese.
Something in really badly accented Korean.
Someone pulling him up by his arm.
Someone else helping.
“Baek, where the hell you going?!”
Whatever explosion of self-pity that happened ebbed away finally. Hwoarang wasn’t exactly thinking, but he did shove off the hands trying to help him up, and pushed away any that continued the foolishness. He unconsciously wrapped his arms around himself and continued through the door and down the small hall.
He could still taste it!
In the gym, there was a table. On the table there was food, piles of delicious food.
He didn’t feel like eating- he could still taste it- but he sat near the Korean staples- right in front of the galbi and kimchi- and took one of the ribs. He didn’t pay attention to where he was sitting, so he was in fact in the middle of the table, and he smelled.
The shock was beginning to wear off as the rest of the men came and ate for a while, and he chanced to look up to see Baek on the far side of the table, staring at what looked like omelets. He didn’t seem to be eating.
“Ah, I was going to assign seats, but I decided to spoil you at the present. There will be fighting next! Fighting and exercise, so be happy and full, yes?”
There was no answer.
“No thanking of me? Eating my food and no thanks?”
Immediately, Forrest thanked him, and others followed suit. Hwoarang said it shallowly, hoping the doctor’s technology would pick it up.
“Hwoarang?” the doctor called.
Please, just leave me alone. You’ve already made a complete fool of me, a fucking weakling, what more could you possibly want?”
“Would you like a shower, Hwoarang?”
There had to be a trick, Hwoarang thought. Just had to be, but what did he have to lose, with the mess starting to itch on his skin?
“Yes, please…”
“He said please!” Bryan guffawed.
“I swear, Bryan,” Steve said from right next to Hwoarang, soft and low. “When you least expect it, my fist will connect with your jaw and fucking knock you out. You’ve been a bugger since the beginning.”
“Heh, and then you’ll get shocked.” Bryan demonstrated the effect, still laughing.
“Yea, and then I will get shocked.”
Bryan stopped laughing.
The doctor loudly cleared his throat, continuing, “We will do exercising, and then we will have fights. First are the mandated fights, then there will be volunteer challenge, one only. Will you volunteer challenge?”
Hwoarang bit into the rib. It wasn’t half-bad. The kimchi was even better, really spicy, just how he liked it.
“Yea, I’ll volunteer.”
“I ain’t no pushover, kid.”
He grabbed some rice.
“Well, I doubt ya Jin, so, no skin off my back.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
Hwoarang looked up to see Jin across from him, a hand around a small teacup. To Hwoarang’s right was Steve, looking so worried Hwoarang was worried. The left held Miguel with a huge plate of Mexican food, some sort of tortilla product, eggs, and different sprinklings of various dressings over everything. It looked colorful, at least.
Steve asked him, “Are you well?”
“I’m okay,” Hwoarang whispered guiltily.
“I was really scared.” The Englishman laughed. “Lei is a cop- you remember him? And I asked him, and he said you’ll either come back or you won’t, we didn’t know.”
Lei was on the other side of Steve. Hwoarang didn’t even know the man all that well, and here he was making a fool of himself. He ended up pouting a bit as he bowed his head as sort of an apology. Lei waved him off bashfully, then turned to him, leaning forward to inquire quietly, “Are you really going to fight him?”
“Yes,” Hwoarang said immediately.
Lei’s lips went thin. “Hey, he’s no pushover, that’s right. And I know he’s not him-” He pointed a pair of chopsticks at Jin, who now seemed finished with his meal, with several plates and bowls before him. “-but he’s been, hm… He’s been mechanically enhanced. Most of him is metal, he’s like a Jack with skin and a brain, although how much he uses of that is debatable.” He snorted, but his eyes were sad as he eyed Bryan wolfing down a bowl of cereal.
“Did you know him?” Hwoarang asked, in English, to be more polite.
Lei nodded. He opened his mouth but his lips changed shape, and all he said further was, “Yea,” and he continued eating his noodles.
Steve changed the subject: “How can you eat them things this early in the morning? All this meat and salt.”
Hwoarang found the conversation familiar, but he decided to play along anyway, answering, “It wakes you up in the morning, gives you lasting energy.” At least, that’s what Baek always said.
Lei shrugged. “I’ve always eaten stuff like this for breakfast. I didn’t try cereal on a daily basis until I tried college, ‘cause I didn’t want cup noodles three times a day. And, like, I thought the milk will help me grow.”
Steve deadpanned, “How did that go?”
Lei chuckled. “For your information, I grew two whole inches.” He added softly, “And that was that.”
They laughed a bit, and Hwoarang reached for some more rice and noticed the dried piss. Unable to keep the discomfort to himself, he asked, “Don’t I smell?”
“Oh, yes, to high heaven.” Steve grinned. “But that’s what friends are for, to get knee-deep in shit with you. Not to compare smelling it to actually being in your situation at all, but, you know.” He shrugged his big shoulders.
“Who the hell got my chest?”
Steve frowned. “Bryan-”
“Of course. Fucking ass.”
Lars finished for Steve, “And Kazuya.”
Hwoarang snapped at Jin, “What the fuck did I ever do to him?!”
Jin shrugged. “I do not believe he had done it out of ill will. Does it really matter where he put it?”
“Are you defending him?”
“I simply asked if it mattered,” Jin returned, eyebrows creasing.
“Of course it matters! Would you rather someone pissed on your back or your stomach?”
“It’s the same.”
“Bullshit!”
“If you already had the answer, then why did you ask?”
“To call you on your bullshit,” muttered Hwoarang, although he felt chastised. Jin and he would argue like this and he would always ‘call bullshit’ on something that he asked of Jin. It was familiar and strange at the same time, because Jin was, like, a bad person. Right?
Jin simply smiled at him, finishing his tea.
It was quiet before Steve joked, “I see that you two were married before Jin decided to rule the world?”
Hwoarang, still a bit tense, flared up, “He wasn’t trying to rule the world, damn it! He was trying to get rid… get rid of something!”
The rest of the table already had already quieted, although Miguel was breathing harshly with his elbows imposingly on the table. No one moved much, except for Bryan still eating, not at all concerned with the oncoming topic. Surprisingly, both Kazuya and Lee seemed interested as well.
Hwoarang noticed Lars not giving anyone any eye contact- wait, why was he sitting next to Jin? Marshall was on his other side, and that didn’t seem to mean much, but Lars?
“So,” growled Miguel, “did you ‘get rid of’ that something with all your bombing?”
Hwoarang remembered Jin in the locker room, and thought that, no, he didn’t, at all.
But he wasn’t going to say that, of course.
And then Jin said, “No.”
Miguel’s hands balled into fists, “No? So… My sister died for nothing?”
“Yes.”
How can you say that with a straight face, Jin!
Jin had a knack for saying the impossible with no change in expression, especially when he was joking, when he was younger and the devil gene wasn’t making his life a literal hell. What was worse was that Jin probably had no idea who Miguel was talking about, or what bomb he dropped and where and why, but he took responsibility for it nonetheless.
Now, Miguel looked like he would kill him eventually, though he continued eating, but then slammed his plate down, screaming, “What were you trying to get rid of?!”
The doctor intervened loudly, “No more breakfast. Everyone seems full. Time for exercising!”
The tiny benches that served as chairs sunk into the floor, causing everyone- everyone- to fall straight on their asses. When they were standing, the food was gone, and Hwoarang realized he didn’t even drink anything, and he was thirsty.
The doctor didn’t care about any of that: “All of you have been assigned number, from one through eighteen. There will be panel of your number and that is where your feet will lie.”
Hwoarang looked at his screen, which now seemed like just an extension of his arm, like a watch. His number was four. The floor was matted, but squared off where their dining area was. Elsewhere the mat was complete. The panels in the ceiling had small projectors shining lights on the area of whole mat, and they were arrange three by six. That put Hwoarang in the second row behind Marshall, in front of Eddy.
And beside Bryan.
The hulking mass was far enough away that Hwoarang didn’t feel too challenged, but he was definitely close enough to make him feel uncomfortable. His skin was starting to itch terribly, but he didn’t want to scratch when Bryan was looking at him.
“Damn it,” Hwoarang cursed.
Bryan began walking closer. He stepped to the edge of his brightly glowing name and then stepped over, and fell into a series of shocks, his back arching as if to get away from the pain. Large parts of his skin seemed to glow, and Hwoarang could see bits of metal pushing out. That must have been excruciating.
Hwoarang smiled.
“Do not leave space of yours,” the doctor warned, albeit late. “Now, your instructions are individualized. After success with one mission, you go to next and that might be something exercising to be done with group. Then you are done when all are done, there will be fighting, and then lunch, and then afternoon challenges and perhaps, perhaps, you can go outside. Yaaaay!
“Excited, yes? Now, you will train and equipment will be put before yourselves and so on and so forth. Follow rules and have fun and everything will go smooth as butter.”
Hwoarang would usually listen to music when working out on his own (Baek was further to the back) but that wasn’t an option. Still, the workouts were pretty straightforward but almost unbearably intense. Not much time has passed over breakfast, and they were exercising far longer than he’s ever had too with so little to eat and nothing to drink, plus no breaks except for short times to catch his breath. Water was plentiful, however, dropping from above into his hand, or through his fingers.
Some of the routines required diagrams, a silhouette of him doing a move. One such move had him standing in one of his one-legged stances, and kicking a hologram displayed from a panel projector (different from the one outlining his name). Whenever he rested his legs, he was punished with a shock, and the routine started over.
“Bloody fucking Christ on a fucking cross!”
Obviously, Steve was upset. He was last in his row, so Hwoarang had to turn around, looking past Eddy, Paul behind him, and Bob after him, and see Steve doing his damn best to balance on his hands. He seemed to hold it for a time, but apparently it wasn’t enough for his routine for he was shocked each time his top-heavy body hit the ground.
Eddy saw where he was looking and told Steve, “Bring your legs straight up.”
After reading the translation, Steve attempted his task. And fell.
“Don’t dawdle. Just bring them over, and bend your elbows more.”
Steve’s legs nearly fell forward on the next try, but he bent his arms and fell back, then forward, then back, and with a triumphant yell, fell completely forward. He was not shocked this time.
“Goddamn, thanks, Eddy. Those things were killing me.” He rubbed his scarred left arm. “Thanks,” he said again.
Eddy merely shrugged, and began the incredibly revealing processing of doing kicks. They were utterly bizarre for Hwoarang. Eddy would touch the ground as he swung his foot in a half-moon. Usually such a flamboyant kick would leave a fighter completely open if he missed, yet at no point in the kick was Eddy vulnerable. At its end, he was back in his low, protected stance, moving back and forth in his capoeira style.
Hwoarang doubted he was doing it to the satisfaction of his schedule, for he was shocked each time he stopped.
“Are you supposed to do it over and over?” Lei, who was next to Eddy in the center row, asked.
Eddy shook his head. “I’m not doing it fast enough.” He looked at his wrist again. “Are we doing this shit until lunch, or until we finish?”
Lee answered in a strained voice, “He said we’re done when we’re all done.” He stopped balancing one leg and turned around, a scowl on his features as he endured a shock. “I’m thinking we have to finish everything before we fight or eat.”
Eddy shook his head again.
They continued their training.
Thoroughly exhausted, only halfway through, Hwoarang heard a growl. It was a familiar, deep-seated growl.
He looked past a serious Bryan punching at a quickly moving hologram to see Jin, drawing something in the air and moving a foot around. Whatever he was doing, he did it wrong, and something from the odd dark sphere that kept him hostage would fly into Jin’s skin. It rendered him immobile, brought him to his knees. But he kept going, as they all did.
“What are you trying to do?” Hwoarang called. For some reason that stopped several others and had them watching.
Jin grunted. “I’m supposed to move my foot clockwise, then keep moving my foot clockwise as I draw a six in the air.” He growled again. “My foot would start going the other way.”
Bryan, without stopping, said, “Of course it is.” Jin actually paused to ask him why, to which Bryan shrugged through his punches. “Something about the brain is wired to go in the same direction for one side, so all the limbs go that way, or some shit. Whatever, it’s impossible to do that.”
Jin’s face said what was on any sane person’s mind: Why was the doctor making him do this?
“The doctor is giving us objectives that are specific to each man, hard for him to do, and impossible for others. For some reason, he thinks you can achieve this task. Can you think of any way how?” Raven asked through a series of extremely fast push-ups. He looked like a piston in an engine.
There didn’t seem anything special to the movements, nothing to do differently, except not be human.
And that’s when Hwoarang figured it out. He thought he might as well tell him, since he’s partially revealed Jin anyway.
“Turn more into your… winged… demon form, Jin.”
It’s been some time since he’s given me that glare.
“That’s the only damn way it could possibly work!”
Then there was a flash behind them.
Everyone stopped to turn and see, even Hwoarang, although he had an idea of what was happening. If Jin was given the task, why not his dad two rows behind him?
“Why is he purple? Why is he purple why is he purple why is he purple?” Forrest was between the father and son, and was quite, understandably, confused. Before him, Jin was sparkling with red lightning, and tensed as if ready to pounce the nearest annoyance. Behind him, Kazuya was purple, but for Hwoarang, that was the last of anyone’s troubles. He had horns, huge and rearing back like his hair; he had claws, stretching from large scaled hands, also purple with tinges of green; he had talons, and bulbous legs just as scaled as his hands and arms; he had wings, which really freaked Hwoarang for no good reason- how do you fight something that flies?
But the direst of his new appendages was the yellow jewel in the middle of his forehead, which Hwoarang knew could fire some sort of energy beam. The thought of simply being shot from afar caused the boy to shudder. Will the doctor be able to stop it in time?
Kazuya gave Forrest a terrifying grin. Forrest seemed to firm up, as if ready to fight, which Hwoarang believed was pretty impressive, as this was Forrest’s first time seeing the devil gene at work. Foolish, but impressive.
Now completely uninterested, Kazuya brought his leg up and spun it clockwise. It was such a simple and benign movement, it looked ridiculous. In any case, the Devil Kazuya drew a six in the air with no problem, his leg going its separate rotation. With a flash, Kazuya went back to his paler, scarred body, although there were bits of red shocks going through him. He ignored them all as he went through some required katas.
And now everyone’s eyes were on Jin.
Jin was red, embarrassed, ashamed, angry, as he has always been with his dark secret. Yet, the dark orb that seemed to control his powers came closer from a panel and boded ill, unceremoniously beginning its intimidating spin. Shots of energy went from it to Jin, and he stood there to take it, gritting his teeth, sweating, grunting.
Hwoarang began a routine where he had to kick fifty times within a minutes. It felt so weird with his junk wiggling around, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. The thought of only wearing a fundoshi while exercise made him feel even more exposed.
Lee Chaolan, still stuck on whatever he was supposed to be doing on one leg, told Jin after enduring a shock, “We all know what to expect, so there’s no reason to just go on.”
Jin gave Lee on long glare, eyebrows creased in recognition and confusion. “I can’t control it,” he finally said.
“Honestly? I think he’ll control it for you. It’s not like he’ll let you murder all of us.” Lee chuckled, but it was entirely unconvincing. That was evident by everyone else’s tenseness.
Jin’s transformation was slow, wriggling, with him growling in muttering in Japanese. Hwoarang kept doing his kicks. The first try he put in only thirty, and the shock was nearly made him pass out.
Finally, Jin roared. He must have turned around because soon Hwoarang heard him roar in another direction, then another, then another.
“Why he got feather wings, and you got them leather ones?” Bruce asked Kazuya offhandedly. He grimaced at his task on his wrist and attempted a backflip, only to catch himself on his hands and fall.
Bruce practiced in the last row behind in Kazuya’s column, standing behind a very unsettled Baek. He lifted an eyebrow as Kazuya raised a shoulder in an unconcerned shrug.
“Woah, why is his name wider?” Lei asked from behind Bryan, who stopped his exercise to glare warily at Jin. Jin himself was walking towards Forrest.
“I am going to crush you.”
Forrest raised his hands in utter panic. “Why me? All these people who want to hurt you and you come after me?”
“Not you, fool.” Kazuya snorted. “Me.” He walked forward, flashing into his devil form with ease.
One step over his name sent him back to human form, quaking underneath a steady wave from his own orb. Forrest in front of him was at the farthest edge of his name, towards the door, and trying to keep from harm’s way. Jin’s name overlapped with his, but not enough to get close enough to touch the younger Law. That seemed to put him at ease.
Jin shot a laser from his forehead.
“What the hell!” someone screamed.
“Bloody, fucking, Mary,” Steve cursed.
Hwoarang went back to his kicks, stomach churning.
The beam went through Kazuya, who took it without a murmur, and the wound healed in moments. He went back to his devil body, breathed in with a mad grin, and shot a bigger, more powerful beam that lasted twice as long as Jin’s and followed his son’s retreat, eating through a wing and shoulder.
Like Forrest, Lars in front of Jin was at the furthest edge of his territory, eyes wide with fear.
They had all been trained to fight to their very limits, but none of them were lion tamers either. What could anyone do? Especially since this was probably the chaos the doctor had in mind when he demanded those objectives for Jin and Kazuya.
A blast of some sort of energy, fast but short-lived, flew from Kazuya and hit Jin, roasting the mat underneath. The heat from it made Forrest fall, outside his name, and he must have been unconscious because he did not move from there. Hwoarang could feel it from his spot, and Kazuya was already making another one, cackling all the while.
The blast wasn’t something in Jin’s arsenal, because he ducked away from the next one and aimed his laser, shot, and missed. He hissed at his barrier.
Hwoarang finally got fifty kicks in. His chest heaved and his breaths hurt but he was done.
His next task was unfathomable.
Get Jin’s attention, however way you can. You will be showered in 5…4…
The countdown finished, and a stream of water came from above, plus a towel and soap. He quickly cleaned, ignoring everyone’s face of utter confusion and shock- Lei was even scratching his head with his mouth opened wide, he was so puzzled. Hwoarang just rinsed off underneath the warm water, and read his panel that was obviously waterproof:
His barrier will not hold him. Intervene immediately, or I will kill Baek. I don’t care how, but Jin must not know the drainers do not work on him in this form! NOW!
Hwoarang looked up just as the deviled Jin was ready to chance stepping over his barrier.
“Jin!”
His foot came down outside his name. He should have been punished as everyone else, and the orb was spinning madly, but Jin only seemed mildly irritated.
He hasn’t noticed. Keep it that way, Hwoarang.
Hwoarang looked over to see several guns pointed at Baek. When Hwoarang saw them, Baek turned and saw them as well, eyes widening, back straightening.
“What in the hell are you doing, Jin? Trying to get us all killed?”
“It would help if you didn’t turn his attention to us,” growled Bryan. Even he had retreated out of the laser’s way.
The Korean boy ignored him, and continued soothing Jin, “How about you just get that all under control and we can keep on how we were doing?”
“Hey, Hwoarang, your name is gone,” Marshall whispered.
It was true. Hwoarang didn’t understand.
Lee did, “A shower, your name is gone? I think the doctor means for you to release Jin’s frustrations.”
“Huh?” Hwoarang asked- Jin was looking at his dad again.
Lee rolled his eyes. “Try a more physical approach.”
“I can’t beat him like this!”
“Not a fight! How dumb are you? Seduce him!”
Hwoarang blinked. “What does seduce mean?”
Lee’s face went blank.
He pinched the bridge of his nose.
He sighed, as another laser left Jin’s forehead. He was still behind his name.
“Go kiss him. And keep his attention from there,” Lee said finally.
Hwoarang would have balked: it was too weird in front of people, it was too weird in front of his teacher, it was too weird in front of Kazuya, it was too weird with Jin.
But the guns were still pointed at Baek, and Jin was leaving his edge.
So Hwoarang walked straight forward, pulled at Jin’s elbow, wrapped an arm around a neck strongly pulling back, and pressed their lips together.
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Chicken!