storm blew across the hillside. Thunder cracked in the sky, tearing apart the clouds. Light fluttered into my eyes, making me shut them. All I wanted to do was sleep.
Footsteps. I heard footsteps thundering across the ground floor. I got out of bed, wandering to the light. My parents were on the other side of the house, and it was unusual to hear someone screaming .
I raced across my bedroom, getting out into the hallway. With a SIG Pro in hand, I crept around the corner of their bedroom. I was fully loaded and ready to punch bullets into skin.
Of course, I suspected there were people who wanted my parents dead. Their cronies could not stand making less money than them. They wanted prestige that they had. They didn’t want to risk their lives anymore running around the streets of Tokyo and Manila, Jakarta and Singapore. The real Double Dragons sprawled across underground Asia, and everyone wanted a piece of our name. Our wealth.
One of the guys standing outside my parent’s door looked at me. They were all armed to the teeth—Smith & Wesson, Radom, some more brand-name pistols—and aiming at me. I did not flinch at all. I wasn’t scared of them.
There were only five of them anyway.
“If you die quietly,” one of them said, “then you will go to heaven faster. I promise it. God will still love you in the end.”
I laughed. “Please,” I said, “I have no god besides money!”
I fired the first round, knocking over some dude wearing black sweatpants. Then I ducked back into the darkness, rolling for shadow. They fired back at me, slinging metal all around my head. A hail of bullets struck the walls behind me. I crept back into my room, though they were unaware on account of how the blackness draped every corner, every inch of the house.
Suddenly, coming from downstairs—Hae-il. He grabbed my shoulder, his own SIG Pro in his other hand. “Stay with me,” he said.
The other goons came away from my parents’ room, some of them going inside. Adrenaline pumped through my body; I couldn’t have my parents die like this.
So Hae-il and I crawled upstairs, our heads low against the ground. With our hands raised, we propped ourselves against a nearby wall and took shots.
It was difficult to tell who was striking what. But I heard the sounds of men—grown-ass men—falling to the ground. Collapsing in a heap of hurt. I did not close my eyes.
I wanted to see those who would threaten us. Who would dare do this?
“Let’s go in,” Hae-il said, once we felled two men.
Too late. My parents…
Their bodies sprawled across the floor. And the moment I saw them, there came a light from the left side of the room, a spray of gunfire. Hae-il and I ducked, scurried out of the bedroom.
Our guns at hand, we made to kill.
I saw a man over my mother’s dead body, so I fired at him first. My strike was true, quick. He flopped over, as if an angel had struck him dead. Hae-il waited for his opportunity— he got it whenever the goons tried playing cocky, firing back at us in retaliation for their own deeds.
There would have been no deaths if they had not come.
They brought it upon themselves.
We wasted the goons who killed my parents. I didn’t feel anything at the time. There wasn’t anything to feel—how could you? Blood smeared their faces, holes riddled their arms. I looked away immediately, thinking nothing about the bodies beneath my feet. The goons who hurt them, the low-level thugs who didn’t know the end of a pistol barrel from the grip.
“Did you know anything about this?” I asked Hae-il later. He said he didn’t, but that didn’t explain what he was doing in my house in the middle of the night.
“I have a sixth sense,” he said. Though it was a very suspicious sense, and I had my own.
He wanted power. Maybe he changed his mind midway through the operation. I didn’t know at the time.
All I
Footsteps. I heard footsteps thundering across the ground floor. I got out of bed, wandering to the light. My parents were on the other side of the house, and it was unusual to hear someone screaming .
I raced across my bedroom, getting out into the hallway. With a SIG Pro in hand, I crept around the corner of their bedroom. I was fully loaded and ready to punch bullets into skin.
Of course, I suspected there were people who wanted my parents dead. Their cronies could not stand making less money than them. They wanted prestige that they had. They didn’t want to risk their lives anymore running around the streets of Tokyo and Manila, Jakarta and Singapore. The real Double Dragons sprawled across underground Asia, and everyone wanted a piece of our name. Our wealth.
One of the guys standing outside my parent’s door looked at me. They were all armed to the teeth—Smith & Wesson, Radom, some more brand-name pistols—and aiming at me. I did not flinch at all. I wasn’t scared of them.
There were only five of them anyway.
“If you die quietly,” one of them said, “then you will go to heaven faster. I promise it. God will still love you in the end.”
I laughed. “Please,” I said, “I have no god besides money!”
I fired the first round, knocking over some dude wearing black sweatpants. Then I ducked back into the darkness, rolling for shadow. They fired back at me, slinging metal all around my head. A hail of bullets struck the walls behind me. I crept back into my room, though they were unaware on account of how the blackness draped every corner, every inch of the house.
Suddenly, coming from downstairs—Hae-il. He grabbed my shoulder, his own SIG Pro in his other hand. “Stay with me,” he said.
The other goons came away from my parents’ room, some of them going inside. Adrenaline pumped through my body; I couldn’t have my parents die like this.
So Hae-il and I crawled upstairs, our heads low against the ground. With our hands raised, we propped ourselves against a nearby wall and took shots.
It was difficult to tell who was striking what. But I heard the sounds of men—grown-ass men—falling to the ground. Collapsing in a heap of hurt. I did not close my eyes.
I wanted to see those who would threaten us. Who would dare do this?
“Let’s go in,” Hae-il said, once we felled two men.
Too late. My parents…
Their bodies sprawled across the floor. And the moment I saw them, there came a light from the left side of the room, a spray of gunfire. Hae-il and I ducked, scurried out of the bedroom.
Our guns at hand, we made to kill.
I saw a man over my mother’s dead body, so I fired at him first. My strike was true, quick. He flopped over, as if an angel had struck him dead. Hae-il waited for his opportunity— he got it whenever the goons tried playing cocky, firing back at us in retaliation for their own deeds.
There would have been no deaths if they had not come.
They brought it upon themselves.
We wasted the goons who killed my parents. I didn’t feel anything at the time. There wasn’t anything to feel—how could you? Blood smeared their faces, holes riddled their arms. I looked away immediately, thinking nothing about the bodies beneath my feet. The goons who hurt them, the low-level thugs who didn’t know the end of a pistol barrel from the grip.
“Did you know anything about this?” I asked Hae-il later. He said he didn’t, but that didn’t explain what he was doing in my house in the middle of the night.
“I have a sixth sense,” he said. Though it was a very suspicious sense, and I had my own.
He wanted power. Maybe he changed his mind midway through the operation. I didn’t know at the time.
All I
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