Open Challenge From Teh Scruffster

I'm not writing enough, so I think a good Fight Club Fight will limber me up for some proper challenges. So bring it. Be you newb or admin, just bring it.

'nuff said.

I accept. I hope this ass whooping teaches a lot, instead of simply defeating you.

So, it's come to this. I'm fighting more an more of my Forum Fanfic friends. Engar beats me into the ground, Arthos just doesn't reply, and you... well, you'll just be my first official win. I hope you like the title.

Hail to the Scruff.

Hail to Me too! The venue is Air Force One, enjoy! /me laughs evily.

The door slammed shut behind him as he stumbled through into Air Force Ones main corridor. Scruffie took a breath then sighed, “Okay, ****pit.”

Scruffie bolted down the corridor to the ****pit and leapt into the pilots seat. He immediately started trying his best to start the engines with what little aviation knowledge he had. Unsurprisingly, it didn’t work. “ Well, that’s that idea ou—hello, what’s this?” Scruffie had turned to get up when the button marked ‘Auto-Pilot’ caught his attention.

He highly doubted this would work, but he tried it anyway. Upon pushing the button, he could hear the engines warming up.

“Well that was unexpected…” Scruffie relaxed into the chair. “Okay, I get this baby Airborne, and make my getaway, hopefully jumping out somewhere near the British Isles…” Scruffie leant on his elbow and sighed. “But before all that, I have to find the drinks..."

Just then, he heard the distinct sound of a bullet ricocheting off of the planes hull. “Oh ****, it’s those suit dudes!” He jumped up to see if he could spot them at the side of the hanger from the window, but they were out of his line of vision. He heard a muffled “Over here! He’s in Air Force One!”.

“Damn... that can’t be good…” He frantically searched the control panel for something to let him talk to them. ‘Maybe I can reason with them?’ He thought. He finally found the button and pressed it. “Look, guys, I’m sorry for whatever I did, but I was so damn drunk at the time, I don’t even remember coming to America!” He heard a muffled chorus of things along the line of ‘That’s what they all say’ and ‘A likely story’. “No, seriously! Could someone please tell me what I did?” he screamed, pleading.
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Suddenly, the plane started to shake, and he remembered he had started the engines. “Oh, screw it!” He shouted, as he flipped off the mike. As he headed out of the ****pit, he heard a rather loud whistling noise from upstairs start then stop a few minutes later. “The hell? This thing has an upstairs?”. Shrugging, he crept upstairs, fingering the handle of the chainsaw at his side.

When he got upstairs, he saw that on of the emergency exits was slightly open, as if someone had closed it without locking it in place. “What the hell? ****, I hope one of those SS dudes isn’t up here.”

“No Scruff, just me.” He turned to see an old friend, Howarang, standing across the aisle from him.

“Phew, it’s just you… man, I was scared for a—“ It was just then he remembered his Fight Club arrangements with him. “Oh ****…” Scruffie leapt at the stairwell.

Howarang was right behind him, and he grabbed Scruff by the neck just as they reached the bottom. ‘****, I forgot how good this guy is… I’m in for some deep **** if I don’t stay out of arms reach…’
<o></o>

Holding Scruff in a headlock, Howarang whispered into his ear, “You can’t get away from me, you’re too weak…” Scruffie could feel it slipping away from him, conciousness. The walls were closing in as Howarang tightened his grip like a vice. Outside, the plane was still thundering down the runway, but this was all but forgotten as the oxygen drained from his lungs.

Suddenly, the plane jerked forwards on the runway, signalling that takeoff was near. Howarangs concenration was broken and his grip slackened.

Scruffie snatched at the arms quickly regaining their hold on his neck in a desperate attempt to gain an advantage in the fight.

“I may not have strength…" He gasped out through the headlock, stopping only to cough. "But I have luck in spades..."

In one quick motion, Scruffie used his newly gained energy to shove Howarang backwards into the cabin walls, loosened his grip, and fell down out of his rapidly closing arms. Turning sharply on the balls of his feet, crouched, Scruffie shot up and delivered an uppercut to Howarangs jaw, throwing him off his balance and sending him reeling backwards into the ****pit.

Howarang, being a professional, soon managed to regain his balance and Scruffie was all for running away, but both were stopped in their tracks as the planes pitch changed dramatically, sending Scruffie to the back of the plane and closing the ****pit door in Howarangs face.
<o></o>

As Scruffie groggily got to his feet, the plane shot skywards, hindering his efforts to get up.

Scruffie speaks weakily as he slowly walks towards the ****pit. "Man, first I get pissed and somehow insult America, then I get nearly killed by Howarang and his 'choke hold of death'... this day can't get any worse..." Almost on cue he hears Howarang thumping on the locked ****pit door. "Oh yeah, I forgot, I'm God's personal cat toy..." Scruffie scowls at no one in particular as he falls into a window seat. He starts rubbing his forehead as he leans back into the chair, desperately trying to regain some of the lost feeling. 'Man he really did a number on my ol' conk... I can't think straight anymore... he must have drained all the air outta my brain...'

Groggily, his eyes wander to the window and look out over Washington DC. 'Nice City... shame I disgraced the whole place, looks like a--' Upon seeing the White House, Scruffie's thought processes shut down. He couldn't even comprehend the consequences of what he saw.

What he saw, spraypainted in big red letters on the White House's roof, were the words 'Hail To The Scruff, Prezzy'.

Umm, so in light of Scruff's post, screw smack talk!

heh, we kind of talked our trash before you accepted the referee job. anyways, i should have my 1st round tonight, when I get off work. laterz

Hmm, the writing's in Times New Roman... wierd, must be cus I typed it in Word. You can ignore that.

Hwoarang said:

heh, we kind of talked our trash before you accepted the referee job. anyways, i should have my 1st round tonight, when I get off work. laterz

Click to expand...

Fair enough, continue!

Hey, Howarang, how's that whole 'Round 1' thing coming? No pressure man, its just that I'd like to get this over with.

Optimus Prime, don't disqualify him for running out of time or anything, I'll allow him to take as much time as needed.

Ok, I was also starting to get worried... /me PM's hwo.

Just as long as you don't disqualify him. Winning by default doesn't sit right with me... no honour that way...

Air Force One shook from the turbulance, heading towards the Middle East. President Scruffie walked out of the bathroom, nodding to each of the accumulated secret service agents that watched every direction possible. Scruffie continued to stroll towards his study quarters, mentally scrolling through his current national problems. Suddenly, a voice rang over the intercom.

"We're currently cruising at 15,000 feet, heading towards the Soviet state of Russia. Let me guess, you would like to know what in the hell the pilot and co-pilot are thinking. News flash, absolutely nothing."

Gun fire could be heard over the intercom and the secret service agents immediately scattered into formation. Scruffie stood there, fearing the worst. Hwoarang jumped to the blood stained controls, setting the destination and engaging the auto-pilot.

"Get out quick and shoot fast," Hwoarang told himself as he reloaded the clip in his Mp-5.

Tucking a K&M .45 Tactical, Hwoarang ran up to the control room door. Hearing the click of someone else's gun, Hwoarang jumped around the corner and dropped two secret service men. Dropping back, he listened for anyone else's approach. Hwoarang could hear the overwhelming motion of secret service and began to focus even more.

President Scruffie walked up behind the secret service men. "Let me handle this."

One of the secret service man pleaded, "But, sir!"

President Scruffie placed his hand on his shoulder. "There is obviously something he wants. A negotiation could save lives and we don't know what else this character has up his sleeves."

President Scruffie walked forward, sweating profusely. Hwoarang stood still, listening intently.

"The question is not whether your a terrorist, it's whether your a Soviet terrorist."

Hwoarang laughed. "Why don't I just cut short the cute speech your about exhale with cherry blossoms and chocolate icing on top. I want you to come around the corner with your hands up."

President Scruffie's mouth dropped, but he knew this was a critical moment.

"I'm coming and unarmed as you requested."

Hwoarang smiled and looped the Mp-5 over his shoulder. Pulling out his K&M .45 Tactical, he listened for the president's footsteps. Growing anxious, he peeked around the corner. A shot rang out and everyone held there breath. Smoke poured from the bullet hole and the president froze in place.

"Hold your fire!" Scruffie screamed.

Hwoarang wasted no time and blurred around the corner, grabbing Scruffie and putting the tip of the K&M .45 Tactical's silencer to his temple.

"Nobody ****ing move! I so as much hear you breathe, he goes to hell where he belongs!"

Hwoarang dragged the frightened Scruffie throught the conflict positioned secret service man, heading towards the right corridor.

"How do we get to the cargo bay," Hwoarang questioned.

But Scruffie stood silent, his eyes focused on the silencer and Hwoarang's trigger finger.

Hwoarang screamed. "How the **** do we get the cargo bay!"

President Scruffie exhaled. "The stairs....the stairs at the end of the hallway."

Hwoarang picked up his pace and glanced back. He noticed two or three secret service men positioning themselves around the corner. Pushing the K&M .45 Tactical against his temple even harder, Scruffie jumped. Coming to the stairs, Hwoarang slid the doors open and they walked down. Entering the cargo bay, Scruffie decided to finally get aggressive.

"You know, no matter what you do with me, "they" will find you."

Hwoarang got right up to Scruffie's ear and laughed. "It'll take more than your pathetic Shadow Government and their puppet Spec Ops to deal with this"

Scruffie grew tired of this hostage situation and elbowed his left arm into Hwoarang's stomach. Swinging his right shoulder around, his right fist connected with Hwoarang's jaw. Hwoarang staggered back and his grip on the K&M .45 Tactical was completely lost. The gun slid towards the back of the cargo bay, but Scruffie payed no attention to it. Scruffie ran forward, pulling Hwoarang's shoulder down and throwing his right knee into his sore stomach. Hwoarang staggered to side, as his lungs gasped for air. Quickly gaining his stamina back, Hwoarang easily dodged the left cross that found nothing but open space. Hwoarang rolled back and grabbed his pistol, shooting Scruffie in the knee cap. Scruffie almost dropped to ground, clinching with pain.

Hwoarang laughed again. "Tsk..Tsk...Should have went for the gun."

Running up to Scruffie, Hwoarang whipped him in the back of head with the butt of his gun. Scruffie fell forward and his face smacked on the cold floor of the cargo bay. Hwoarang grabbed and put on of the one of the parachutes and plastiqued a bomb onto the roof of the cargo bay. He set the timer for 20 seconds and walked to the president, who was currently knocked out. Picking him up, Hwoarang heard and felt bullets wizz by. He looked up, watching as secret service men scattered across the cargo bay. He picked up the president and hit the cargo door switch. The secret service men were forced to hold on to what they could, while they watched as Hwoarang and the president flew out the back of the plane. Twenty seconds later, Hwoarang watched as Air Force One exploded into a million pieces. He finally sighed, falling high above the Earth, in a sea of darkness.

Both stories were awesome, I'm glad you were able to use the venue too .

Let's see, Scruffie had an awesome intro, and I was interested all through out his story and kept wanting more.

Hwoarang's story was a great read, like something out of a Tom Clancy novel, I mean come on... who single handedly takes out Air Force One . (Harrison Ford can take it back, but then again, would you suspect any less from Indiana Jones?)

I'm gonna have to give round one to Scruff, cause Hwo blew up the venue... haha naw, thats not the reason, I felt Scruff's story better, and I loved his ending.

Scruffie said:

'Hail To The Scruff, Prezzy'.

Click to expand...

Although I don't think Scruff emplyed BOTH of his attacks, the rules say you MAY have two successful attacks, it doesn't say you have to use both of them.

Good luck in round 2 gents, fight!

As the plane soared up into the clouds, the tension in the cramped cabin grew. Scruffie had long since got up onto his feet and was standing down the aisle from the ****pit door, staring at it, almost daring Howarang to make a move.

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For about five minutes now, the ****pit had been silent, not a noise was to be heard, and Scruffie was getting more and more anxious.

A slight thump up above him made him jump slightly. His nerves were at their end, so to reassure himself, he pulled his chainsaw from his belt, then yanked the cord, kick starting the motor which in turn purred like a kitten. The sound eased Scruffie in times of distress, it let him know he was safe.

<o></o>

‘Music to my ears…’ He thought, smiling slightly.

<o></o>

His eyes scanned the cabin, then flicked up to the roof, desperately searching for the cause of the noise. He was much more alert now, his trance with the door was broken. He was suddenly more aware of the silence in the cabin… a silence that to him, in this state, was deafening.

<o></o>

Just when he thought about going upstairs, his mind suddenly remembered the vent he had spotted not two feet behind him on the ceiling. He whipped round, only to see the vent cover fall with a metallic clang to the floor and a Howarang shaped blur follow it closely. On reflex he punched out with his chainsaw laden hand, the blade roaring to life. Scruffie’s swing missed the top of Howarang’s head by mere centimetres, as he had crouched upon touching the floor.

<o></o>

Howarangs instincts kicked into gear as he grabbed Scruffie’s outstretched hand, clamped it tightly overhead, and pivoted round, throwing Scruffie to the back of the plane.

<o></o>

Scruffie flew through the air, backwards, and landed upside down on an empty stewardesses cart, passing through a thick blue curtain in-flight.

<o></o>

‘****, I think he bruised my back bad… s’gonna be a pain to stand up.’<o></o>

<o></o>

The throw had caused Scruffie to drop his chainsaw, which he could hear humming distantly back in the main part of the cabin. He could hear it’s motor vibrate against the metal of the plane floor, a sound which abruptly changed after what he could only imagine was it being picked up by Howarang.

<o></o>

‘Man, I think he’s gonna win this one… with that chainsaw in his hands he could split my head open, and in this state, I don’t think I’m getting up for a while…’

<o></o>

Just as he contemplated forfeit, he heard Howarangs muffled voice through the curtains. “Hmm, let’s see who Hail’s to who now Scruffo…”

<o></o>

“Ughhhh….” Was all Scruffie could manage before he fell unconscious. The last thing he saw before everything faded to black was Howarangs face as he pulled back the curtains.

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THUMP!<o></o>

<o></o>

Scruffie felt a slight tingle at the back of his head.

<o></o>

THUMP!<o></o>

<o></o>

The tingle grew into an ache.

<o></o>

THUMP, THUMP!<o></o>

<o></o>

Suddenly two sharp pains jolted his head. “Hmm…”. His eyes flickered open, the bright light moving slowly above him blinding him momentarily.

<o></o>

THUMP!<o></o>

<o></o>

“Ugh…” He moaned. He was vaguely aware of someone holding his feet. He soon realised he was being dragged down a set of stairs.

<o></o>

“Ah, welcome back to the land of the living, Scruffster… I hope I didn’t hurt you too badly.” Howarang put him down, chucking, and Scruffie knew then they had reached the bottom of the stairs.

<o></o>

“Wh…where…”

<o></o>

“Where are we? The cargo hold. I’ll soon be tossing you out into the cold, cold air. It’s pretty thin up here, you may pass out from exhaustion, but don’t worry, I’m reasonably sure you’ll land in the sea… but only slightly…” He laughed devilishly at his joke. Scruffie managed to lift his head to see him standing in the corner of the room admiring his chainsaw.

<o></o>

‘This man, is mad.’ Thought Scruffie.

<o></o>

Scruffie rolled onto his front and somehow managed to push himself up off the ground. Howarang didn’t seem to notice, as his back was turned. He seemed to be fiddling with his chainsaw at a workbench on the opposite end of the cabin. After quickly surveying the room, he saw a huge retractable floor that covered the whole of what he assumed was the loading bay, save the small are he and Howarang were on. He noted the parachutes hanging above Howarangs head as he worked at the bench.

<o></o>

Scruffie limped over to the other side of the room, and grabbed a wrench off of a tool rack. Forcing himself over to Howarang, he stopped just behind him.

<o></o>

“How…Howarang… you’re going down…” He mumbled, still groggy. He raised the wrench overhead.

<o></o>

“Hmm?” Howarang said, turning. He almost saw the wrench coming.

<o></o>

He slumped to the left and slid along the smooth floor. His hand shot up and grabbed the side of his face, where a huge bruise was forming. “****…” He mumbled, through a rapidly swelling jaw. He was lying on his front, sprawled across the retractable loading platform of the cargo bay floor.

<o></o>

“And another thing, don’t you ever, ever touch my chainsaw again.” Scruffie had been kick started by the adrenaline rush hitting Howarang had given him. He no longer felt the pain delivered to him previously in the fight. He tossed the wrench away.

<o></o>

He ignored Howarangs smirk, and the fact he wasn’t even attempting to get up as he grabbed his chainsaw from the bench Howarang had been working at. He pulled the cord—And nothing happened.

<o></o>

“What the?” He tried again-- nothing.

<o></o>

“I figured you’d try to get that thing, but it ain’t gonna work… I took precautions. I brought it down to try and mess you up a bit for the flight down,” He laughed at this point, “But when you woke up, I decided to just…”

<o></o>

“You bloody disconnected the engine. This’ll take me ages to fix!”

<o></o>

“Funny, only took me a few moments to break…” He smirked again. Scruffie at this point had lost the adrenaline the fight had given him, and he slouched some more, his hand bracing his forehead. He dropped the chainsaw to the floor with a clatter.

<o></o>

Howarang stood up, and Scruffie stared him down through weak eyes. “C’mon man, you can’t fight me, look at you! When you hit that cart upstairs, you really messed yourself up… and thumping your head on the stairs on the way down sure as hell didn’t help.” Howarang raised an eyebrow. “Ready to give up?”

<o></o>

Scruffie took a breath in, as he quickly scanned his surroundings. His eyes fell on a bright red button, surrounded by warnings that it’s use could be fatal in-flight which was perched on the wall just between the parachute rack and the back wall. He got an idea.

<o></o>

He grabbed a parachute and threw it to Howarang, who was knocked back a few feet by the weight of the bag and the force of the throw.

<o></o>

“What the--!”

<o></o>

“Dude, ever see ‘Air Force One?” Scruffie quipped, moments before whacking the red button with all his might.

<o></o>

The floor flew open, sucking Howarang out, a fate which Scruffie was only saved from when he grabbed on to the workbench at his side. His chainsaw whipped past him and Scruffie caught it with his toe.

<o></o>

After about ten seconds or so, the emergency system kicked in, closing the floor again. Scruffie fell to the floor, the exhaustion and the pain delivered to him during the fight forcing him into unconsciousness.

The fight was over...

Dun dun dun, I wonder where Hwo is, I really don't wanna end this one in DQ.

You aren't. I'm his opponent, and I think it's fair to say that I'm able to tell you to ignore time limits. Even if he takes a while to reply, wether that be the way he rights or just lack of access to a computer, I'm going to give him as much time as he needs.

So nyah.

*edit* I apologize for this being fairly late, life and work has kept me busy
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Hwoarang kicked open the door to the ****pit, his eyes filled with anger.

He began searching for the location of his contract. "I hope this plane isn't headed to England. Pompous Brit, why do I always got to sweat for my collections?"

Hwoarang suddenly heard the attempt to start a chainsaw and then another. Turning around, he saw the desperate Scruffie, finally igniting the chainsaw.

Hwoarang sheathed his sword, while Scruffie erupted. "Egocentric Yank, Hail to the new.... president!"

Scruffie threw himself forward, swinging in Hwoarang's general direction. Using his sword to deflect the chainsaw's momentum, Hwoarang rolled to the right of Scruffie.

"Damn... what have you been sippin' on?"

"After the third bottle of Jack Daniels.... a fine, fine American liqour by the way... umm... after that I don't know to be honest."

Scruffie gave gas to the chainsaw, the mechanical roar echoing within Air Force One.

Hwoarang barely laughed, "I hope your not predicting a massacre, with that weapon of yours."

"This chainsaw has taken out legions. I can also now guarantee you one of your limbs."

Hwoarang flexed his muscles and laughed, but Scruffie reacted. Swinging upwards, barely cutting Hwoarang's left forearm. Blood poured from his wound, spreading across his hand. He tightly gripped his sword, blood dripping on the floor under him.

"The wounds only get deeper," Scruffie chuckled.

Hwoarang swung his sword horizontally, forcing Scruffie to step back. Gaining on his current momentum, Hwoarang rotated his body, bringing the sword around for another horizontal attack. Scruffie unhesitantly ducked, springing like a frog. He dove for Hwoarang, giving his chainsaw constant gas. Hwoarang stepped back, watching as Scruffie flew into side of the plane. The engine of his ambient weapon cracked and rumbled, while Scruffie layed on his stomach, unconscious.

Hwoarang slowly crept up to Scruffie, holding is sword in a ready to attack position. Suddenly, the chainsaw roared and Scruffie rolled over, bringing the sadisitic tree cutter with him. Smoke poured from the chainsaw as Scruffie's counter attack dropped down in Hwoarang's direction. Hwoarang spun to his left, aiming his own counter attack for Scruffie's head. Scruffie rolled away, only to roll back, attempting to send the chainsaw at Hwoarang once again. Hwoarang spun to the right, screaming as he brought his sword down on Scruffie's leg.

Scruffie flung his chainsaw, knocking Hwoarang's violently descending sword back. "I don't think so!"

Hwoarang stepped back, trying to stop the repelling effect that brought his sword over his shoulder. Hwoarang and Scruffie stared at each other, then towards the crackling chainsaw. "That was smart... throw your weapon away"

Scruffie slowly rose from his previous position, watching for Hwoarang to react.

Hwoarang stepped forward, dropping his sword into attack position. "I wouldn't do that if I were you!"

Scruffie simply smiled, quickly grabbing for a concealed smoke grenade and tossing it. Hwoarang gasped for air, watching the area around him in Air Force One, fill with blinding smoke.

Hwoarang gasped as he heard the chainsaw continuously roar. "Life isn't fair... is it?"

Hwoarang ran forward, putting his fear and pain aside. He threw his sword back and waited for Scruffie to become visible. Using the chainsaw's noise for directional purposes, he found the camping Scruffie outside of the smoke cloud, with his eyes lit wide open.

Hwoarang erupted out of the smoke from like a reborn pheonix. "This blade, shall know your soul!"

Scruffie held his ground, waiting for quickly approaching Hwoarang to engage him. Hwoarang flung his high-held sword down on Scruffie. His reaction unhesitant, Scruffie braced his arms and threw the cycling blade of the chainsaw in Hwoarang's sword's path. Sparks spread like fireworks as the chainsaw grinded against the sword. Pushing all his weight into the chainsaw, Scruffie laughed as the metallic sparks bounced of Hwoarang's face. Watching as Scruffie forced his issue closer and closer, Hwoarang's eyes focused on the menacing chainsaw. Suddenly, the plain shook with turbulance, giving Hwoarang the chance to push away the advancing strength positioned Scruffster. Scruff stumbled to his feet, wide open for Hwoarang's next move. Running forward and bringing his sword up again, he lashed down on his stability collecting enemy. Life threatning intuition filling his mind, Scruffie could only swing his chainsaw in a defensive manner. Sparks flew once again, as Hwoarang sword sliced off the tip of the chainsaw.

Scruffie ran back, eyes filled with rage. "How could you possibly... even do that!?"

Hwoarang looked towards his sword, watching as visible aura leaked from the blade itself. He looked towards Scruffie, anticipating a confused expression.

Scruffie's heart beat began to race even more, in awe of the super natural weapon that Hwoarang possessed. "Most swords would be gensu scraps. What.. what... are you? Some kind of God?"

Hwoarang eyes dropped to the ground, as a smirk began to develop on his face. "I'm no God... just consider me the messenger!"

Hwoarang blurred forward, catching the unsuspecting and puzzled Scruffie off gaurd. Preparing to attack, he held his sword in his right hand, and horizontally pointed over his left shoulder. Bringing it around, he gritted his teeth in disappointment as Scruffie leaned under it. But he had left himself open and Hwoarang took advantage, drop kicking him in the face. Scruffie rolled back, losing grip once again with his chainsaw. The crackling and rumbling of the chainsaw, couldn't out blast the following murderous combo of kicks that bloodied Scruffie's face. Hwoarang finished his barage with a spinning left back hand, sending Scruffie spiraling to the ground.

Hwoarang knew his gift was calling to him, as his eyes began to randomly flash red. Scruffie rose to one knees, looking towards his lonely chainsaw then towards Hwoarang. The each waited for the other to make a move.....

I love reading Scruffie's story, it kept me wanting more, and I was actually kinda sad when it ended. But I also liked how Hwo's kept evolving into something, and his ending, I really wanna see where this is gonna go..

Round 2, Hwoarang, good luck gentlemen, round 3 begins... NOW!

Scruffie and Hwoarang's eyes were locked in a struggle. They were both trying to stare the other man down, to end the battle here, on the mental plane, but neither would concede. But still, neither man dared move.

Scruffie mentally scanned the situation. First, there was Hwoarang, cold and calculating in his fighting skills, the man was a true professional. Then, there was Scruffie, a street fighter who barely knew the meaning of the words 'martial arts'. It was clear here who should be the winner...

'But then again,' Thought Scruffie, with a smirk, 'life isn't always fair.'

Scruffie winked ****ily at Hwoarang, who shot back a piercing stare. Time for fun and games for over for Hwoarang, it seemed. Not for Scruffie, however. Never for Scruffie.

“Don’t blink…” Scruffie suggested, his plan finalising in his head, his body still not moving an inch. “Or you’ll miss it.”

Then, in the short moment after he finished that last sentence, several things happened at once. Scruffie and Hwoarang both moved at the same time, Scruffie ducking down, reaching for his left leg with his right hand, grabbing at the combat knife he kept at his ankle, his opponent leaping forward, swinging the sword round masterfully through the space Scruffie’s head was just occupying, scraping the wall behind him and cutting the corner off of a passenger seat.
<o></o>
Their moves synchronised, Hwoarang quickly brought his sword round in a clean motion, spinning in a full circle to his left, sweeping the blade round in an upward arc while Scruffie rolled forward and twisted mid-roll, landing face up under Hwoarangs sword. Scruffie brought up the knife to deflect Hwoarangs blow, a blow that would have taken off his nose in one clean motion.

As Scruffie rolled backwards onto his feet, he brought the knife up to defend himself, facing Hwoarang, who already had come round and brought his sword up in a defensive stance. Their eyes locked again, both smirking at each other. Hwoarang looked almost triumphant, and Scruffie couldn’t figure out why. However, his face fell flat when he realised that it was a feeble defence against such an impressive blade: While deflecting the blow, Scruffie had lost the top half of his knife, which now clattered to the floor, and had gained a small knick in his nose.

“Bugger.” He said, breathlessly. He really wasn’t up for much more.

Hwoarang jumped into action as the combat knife settled on the floor, slashing expertly at a frantic Scruffie with his blade. The deadly metal passed millimetres away from his face, and on a few occasions even sliced it up. The blade danced in front of him and cut up his shirt pretty badly, as he staggered backwards, away from the blows. Unfortunately, Scruffie ran out of room fast, and as he moved backwards, he tripped on the leg of a seat, and fell hard against the back wall of the cabin. His head bouncing off the wall, he slid down and landed with a thud right on his arse. Small blood stains begin to grow slowly on his shirt.

Only just managing to bring his head up to face Howarang, he heard the quiet swish of his sword moving swiftly through the air, and watched as he brought it into position overhead. He held it firmly in two hands and prepared to bring it down on Scruff’s beaten and battered body, a mad glint in his eye.

Just as Scruffie was about to call it a day and accept his fate, although reluctantly, he felt his right hand brush against something metallic. He recognized it instantly as the handle to his broken chainsaw. ‘It must have slid back here when the plane was climbing a while back’, he reasoned. Not questioning its presence any further, he firmly grasped its handle, making sure he didn’t break eye contact with Hwoarang, hoping to distract his attention away from the weapon.

At that moment, Hwoarang spoke. “Ready to surrender, Scruffie? Or do you want to die with honour?”

“ Ladies first...” Scruff said, in a tired but mocking voice, grinning. Hwoarang didn’t retort, but swiftly brought the blade down upon Scruffie. He had had enough of his insolence for one day. No, for one lifetime.

‘It’s now or never!’

Scruff pulled the chainsaw towards him, swinging it round and grabbing the cut blade in his left hand, holding it up in defiance, trying for all his worth to push away the blade. He hoped with all his heart that it wouldn’t slice straight through. The blade embedded itself in the chainsaws motor, and as both parties pushed forward on the other, leaning in with all their might, until their faces were merely inches apart, Scruffie spoke one word in Hwoarangs face, spitting slightly.

“Hail…” With that, he pushed Hwoarang forward with the last ounce of his strength, dislodging the blade and giving himself time, however little, to stand. Moments later, their two weapons clashed again, resulting in a similar struggle.

Hwoarangs blade grinded against the still spinning motor of Scruffie’s Chainsaw, and sparked in Scruffie’s face, forcing him to close his eyes. He held the blade of the chainsaw in his left hand hard, and it was hurting like hell. ‘Any longer and this thing will take off my hand!’ He thought as Hwoarang put even more strength behind his attack.

Scruffie was bearing his teeth, using all his strength to push off Hwoarang, but he couldn’t use his eyes to find a moment of weakness in Hwoarangs defence. This was the main reason he didn’t see the foot coming.

Scruffie felt himself stagger back into the wall, nearly falling but just managing to keep his footing. He really couldn’t take much more, he was only a few minutes away from collapsing altogether. No longer feeling the heat from the sparks, Scruffie opened his eyes and saw Hwoarang had used him as a springboard to leap across the cabin and land directly opposite him, about five or so metres away.

Hwoarang drew his blade up in front of him, ready for Scruffie’s next attack. Scruffie was tired, pissed off, and very, very sore. He needed a quick way out of it, so he wasted no time in executing his plan. In the blink of an eye, Scruffie’s shotgun had been drawn, ****ed, and aimed.

“Say goodnight Gracie…” Scruffie quipped, as he fired two booming shots at Hwoarang. One shot ripped through Hwo’s hilt, sending the blade up into the air. The second shot, aimed upwards slightly, shattered the floating blade into pieces. Hwo didn’t move solely so he could show Scruffie the futility of his attack.

“Really Scruff, you think that’s going to stop me?” He started, as the countless shards clattered to the floor around him. That blade was forged in a pure aura, it’ll take more than a shotgun pellet or two to break it.” The pieces started to move slowly towards each other. “Within minutes it’ll be whole again. As long as the pieces remain close together, it’ll reform.”

“Oh, I was hoping you’d say that…” He said, grinning. During his little rant, Scruffie had already reloaded his gun, and brought it up again, aiming across the room at Hwoarangs face.
<o></o>
“Oh come on, don’t you get it? You lose! It’s over! I can move faster than you can shoot! And look at you... you can barely hold the gun steady. Do you really think you can take me once that sword has reformed?” Hwoarang crossed his arms. “So do you have any last words before I kill you?”

“Just a few…” Said Scruffie, his arm not lowering. “In case of an emergency, emergency exits are here --!” He shifted his aim slightly to the left and blew the lock expertly off of the airtight emergency exit, blowing it open. He spun the gun round to the right this time. “And here!” He blew the lock off of the second door.

Now Hwoarang was caught between the two forces, both pulling at him, leaving him no way out. The shards of his sword had already been sucked out, spreading across miles of land.

“No, I can’t—NO!” He struggled to get a grip, dragging himself away from the left airlock, only to be caught in the pull of the right one, and then sucked out.

“And ladies and gentlemen,” He brought the shotgun up and blew into the barrel, loving the soft whistling sound it made. “have a Groovy flight, and thank you for flying with Air Scruff…” He finished, twirling his shotgun back into it’s holster with a ****y grin. That was when it hit.

He hadn’t realised, but that fight had maybe gone on for a little over an hour, and in that hour, he’d been choked, cut, slashed, bruised, sparked on, insulted, and shouted at. His chest was bleeding pretty badly, and there were nasty cuts all over his body. He could barely move his left hand after holding that chainsaw, and his eyes were clouding over with exhaustion. He collapsed onto his knees, and then onto his chest, fatigue taking quick control.

'Hang on...' He thought, before he completely gave in to sleep, ‘Who's flying the plane?'.