Tag Team vs. Captain Lam
Dave glanced sideways, whispering to Norman.
“You think you can take him?”
Norman didn’t even blink.
“Not a chance.”
Dave looked a little disappointed. In his mind, Norman was a beast. But it wasn’t that Norman wasn’t strong. It’s just—Michael was on a whole different level.
Norman cracked his neck, then laid out a quick plan:
“I go low. You go high.”
And before Dave could even nod, Norman had already dropped to all fours and took off like a dog on a mission. His target? Michael’s sacred spot. He was going for the death roll.
Dave followed close behind, muscles tense, eyes locked. He threw himself forward with his full-body signature—Muscle Dash—aiming straight for Michael’s face.
Michael watched them both. Calm. Calculated. A little amused.
He didn’t even flinch at Norman’s approach. He just—well—stiffened up. Down there.
“You again,” he muttered.
He let Norman sink his teeth in, but made sure that whole region was hard like steel. Literally. Then he shifted focus. Dave’s punch was coming in hot.
Michael raised his right hand and met Dave’s punch head-on.
Crack.
Dave’s wrist shattered. Again.
He was launched backward and hit the ground hard, grabbing his right wrist with his left hand, rolling around in pain.
Meanwhile, Norman thought he was about to rip glory from between Michael’s legs. But before he could even start his rotation, Michael reached down and yanked him clean off. Like peeling gum off a shoe.
Then—he dipped him up. Like a sack of laundry.
Norman’s feet left the ground. His jaw dropped.
Michael’s left hand locked down on Norman’s shoulder like a vice. His right hand drew back, forming a fist. Aimed for the kill shot—right to the face.
Norman couldn’t move. Couldn’t duck. Couldn’t even blink.
In that split second, all he saw in front of him… was one giant word.
“DEATH.”
Frozen. Trapped. No way out.
Died For Loyalty
One hour earlier.
Norman and Dave stepped into the massage parlor like they owned the place.
First thing they saw?
A Shiba Inu.
Cute. Too cute.
Norman froze.
The dog froze.
Then—recognition.
The Shiba flipped over, paws in the air, and squirted out a tiny stream of pee. Submission.
“Dogman… King of Dogland,”
it whispered in its own language.
Norman gave a small nod, crouched down, and patted its head.
“Luke,”
he said softly.
“If I get in trouble… come.”
The Shiba barked once.
But they both knew that meant,
“I will.”
To the casual eye, it just looked like a man petting a dog.
But underneath, information was exchanged. An ancient code. A pact renewed.
As Norman stroked his fur, Luke began to talk.
Fast. Clumsy. A little off.
“My master… he good man. Very good. He wear glasses. Gold edge. Shirt white. Pants clean. Shoes shiny. Always carry box. Long time.”
Norman raised an eyebrow.
“You mean… briefcase?”
Luke nodded hard.
“Yes! Yes! Box with snap-snap sound. Maybe has meat. Maybe magic. I dunno.”
He wagged his tail fast, tongue hanging.
“He look soft. But strong. Super strong. Like mountain. Quiet mountain.”
Norman narrowed his eyes.
He already knew who it was.
“Michael.”
Luke’s tail froze mid-wag.
“You… you know? He scary, right? But not to me. He nice. Give me meat. Every time. Always meat.”
His voice softened.
“He love me. I love him too.”
Five years. That’s how long they’d been together.
Five years of loyalty. Trust. Love.
Barking at shadows.
Eating together.
Sleeping under the desk while Michael typed emails.
Luke’s world had one sun. One moon. One Michael.
Back to now.
Present time.
Michael’s fist pulled back—aimed straight at Norman’s frozen face.
It was over.
Until—
“Hurry up, Luke!!”
Norman screamed.
And from the distance, from the alley, from fate itself—
Luke came flying.
He jumped.
One clean leap through the air.
Right between Michael’s fist and Norman’s head.
The air froze.
And then—
“FOR OUR KING!!”
Luke howled.
Michael’s punch didn’t stop.
It drove forward.
Right into Luke’s little Shiba body.
The impact exploded.
Fur, blood, meat, bone.
All gone.
Just mist now.
A cloud of shredded loyalty drifting through the air.
Norman blinked. His face untouched.
But his heart—
shattered.
Luke was gone.
He died for loyalty.
And that meant everything.
Vengeance on Both Sides
Michael and Norman both froze.
Dead silence. Stiff faces.
Then, at the exact same time, they both shouted:
“No! Luke!”
But it was too late.
There was no body. No blood. No remains.
Just a faint swirl of dust and shredded tissue—mixed into the grime of the street, lost among cigarette butts and trash. The loyal Shiba Inu had been completely obliterated. Nothing was left.
Norman’s body twitched. His breath caught in his throat.
Michael’s hand, which had been gripping Norman’s shoulder, loosened just enough.
Norman broke free and stumbled backward, rejoining Dave. His face looked pale. Empty. Like something inside him had just been torn away.
Dave looked at him, confused.
“What the hell just happened?”
Norman didn’t answer right away. He stared at the fading dust cloud on the ground—where his most loyal companion had just been erased from existence.
A tear slid from the corner of his eye.
“One of my men just gave his life for me,” he whispered. “The only reason I’m still breathing.”
Michael didn’t move. He stood where he was, staring at the same patch of nothing. Something in his face cracked. Not anger. Not confusion. Something more raw.
“Why…?” he muttered. “Why would you do that, Luke?”
He clenched his fists.
“You betrayed five years of loyalty… for him? For some guy you just met?”
Michael looked at Norman.
His face went cold.
“You call yourself a king. But you let your soldier die just to protect your pride.”
He took a breath. His voice dropped.
“You’re not a leader. You’re just a scumbag.”
Then his body tensed.
Right hand curled into a blade. Left hand clenched tight.
“If I don’t kill you right here, right now,” he said through gritted teeth, “you’ll bring more death to the dogs who still believe in you.”
But Norman didn’t flinch.
He closed his eyes. Took a breath.
Then whispered—
“Luke… I’ll make sure your sacrifice wasn’t in vain.”
He clenched his jaw. Tight.
And then, without warning, Norman tilted his head to the sky and unleashed a massive howl. A roar of rage and sorrow that tore through the neighborhood—bouncing off alleyways and storefronts like an animal’s war cry.
It wasn’t just a sound. It was a declaration.
A promise of vengeance.
A king’s oath.
The Pink Rider
Just as Michael was about to launch his next attack, Norman suddenly shouted—
“Dave! On my back! Now!”
He was already down on all fours, ready to sprint.
Dave blinked in confusion.
“Huh?”
Norman didn’t have time to explain.
“Your strength, my speed. It’s our only shot! HOP ON!”
Without thinking further, Dave leapt and landed square on Norman’s back. His thick thighs clamped down like a vise, locking them together like a rider and his beast. For a second, they didn’t look like two people—but a new creature. A fusion. A monster built for war.
Norman exploded forward.
His paws tore through the pavement. His muscles bulged and stretched. His speed shot past 100 km/h in under two seconds.
Michael looked around—
“Where—?”
Too late.
WHAM!!
A punch slammed straight into the back of his skull.
Michael tumbled forward, skidding across the asphalt like a ragdoll. His body rolled several meters before grinding to a stop.
For the first time in weeks… Michael felt real pain.
He slowly stood up. Blood trickled down his lip. His vision swam slightly.
Another punch came.
This time, from the right.
But Michael was no fool. No brute.
Even without turning his head, he felt the wind shift. The muscle pressure. The tremor in the air.
In one smooth, natural motion—he twisted his hips and launched a counter-kick backwards—
BOOM!
His heel smashed into Dave’s side.
The impact sent both Dave and Norman flying—rider and beast—like a cannonball launched from the wrong end.
They hit the ground hard. Rolled. But somehow… still stuck together.
Dave’s thighs never let go.
Even mid-air, even after the crash, his death grip on Norman’s torso stayed locked in.
The pink rider remained mounted.
Michael cracked his neck. Slowly rotated his shoulders. Let out a slow, annoyed breath.
Then stretched like someone about to hit the gym.
“Alright then…”
“Looks like I’ll have to take this fight seriously.”
Tag Team of Desperation
Norman and Dave, fused together like a mutant war-beast, launched themselves again.
They looked like a centaur from some busted-up myth book. Man and beast. Flesh and fury.
And Michael? He didn’t dodge. He ran straight toward them.
The three of them collided mid-charge—like trains on a suicide schedule.
Punches. Kicks. Claws. Teeth. A blur of limbs, torsos, and impact sounds that could scare off thunder.
Norman adjusted his footwork—zigzagging, skipping beats like a drunk ballerina. Michael tried to read the rhythm… and failed.
Dave threw a wild haymaker. Michael ducked. Norman lunged with a bite. Michael blocked with a knee.
The fight raged on—brutal and clumsy, elegant and savage.
Ten minutes passed. Maybe twenty. Even the air got tired.
Then they all broke apart—staggering back, gasping.
Michael’s shirt was ripped to shreds. Blood dripped from his lips. His torso was covered in bite marks, scratches, and deep bruises. But his golden-rimmed glasses still sat perfectly on his face—untouched. Unshaken. Almost smug.
Norman’s face was puffed up like a balloon. One eye swollen shut. His breath came in short, rabid bursts. But his limbs still worked. He could still run.
Dave looked worse. His jaw was crooked. His nose was gone. His face—unrecognizable. Blood streamed down his chest, and he kept coughing more out, painting the asphalt.
And yet… he was still riding Norman like a rodeo champion.
All three knew the truth:
This was no stalemate. Michael still held the edge. Barely—but clearly.
If this went on for another few hundred exchanges… the pink rider would fall.
Michael cracked his knuckles and stepped forward.
“You guys are impressive,” he said, voice calm but sharp.
“But this isn’t gonna end the way you want.”
Norman growled through swollen lips.
“Something… better show up fast…”
Right then…
A sound.
Footsteps.
Behind Michael.
Heavy. Calm. Familiar.
Norman and Dave turned their heads—eyes wide.
Michael didn’t move.
Finally Showed Up
A hand touched Michael’s shoulder.
Calm. Heavy. Familiar.
A voice followed—
“Looks like even our Captain Lam’s in a pinch. Clothes all torn up and everything.”
Michael didn’t turn. He already knew who it was.
Raymond.
The new member of the Humble Organization.
Michael slowly stepped aside and found a flipped-over plastic bucket nearby. He sat down on it like a tired uncle at a barbecue.
“You wanna take over? I figure five minutes. Tops. They’ll both be dead before I finish my soda.”
Raymond cracked his knuckles.
“Sure. I’d be happy to help… totally destroy them.”
His smile was sharp. Relaxed.
Across the street, Dave and Norman both froze.
Their legs—completely numb.
Even if the two of them together could barely stand against Michael…
Now another monster just like him had arrived?
It was a death sentence.
Dave’s fists slowly dropped.
He had given up.
He looked like a man waiting for fate to pull the plug.
But just then—
Norman smiled.
Not a big smile. Just a small, crooked smirk.
And then…
From every alley. Every crack. Every corner—
Dogs came.
One after another. Small ones. Big ones. Fast ones. Slow ones.
Over two hundred of them.
Pouring into the street from all directions. Surrounding Michael and Raymond.
Fur. Claws. Eyes gleaming under streetlights.
The noise was deafening.
Dave’s eyes widened.
“How?!”
He was still on Norman’s back—had never come down.
Norman kept his posture low, ready to dash.
“You remember… that scream I made earlier?”
“That was a call.”
“A summon.”
“Any dog within a few blocks who heard it—came.”
“My boys. They showed up.”
Dave blinked hard.
Then clenched his fists again.
“Then let’s kill them. Let’s end this. Right now.”
But Norman shook his head.
“No. Even with these two hundred, we can’t win.”
“Not against them.”
“But… we can run.”
Before Dave could argue—
Norman was already gone.
He blasted off like a bullet, with Dave still mounted on his back.
Their speed? Over 100 km/h.
They vanished into the night.
Ten minutes passed.
Michael and Raymond stood there—chafed, heaving, surrounded by bodies.
Dog corpses stacked in piles. Blood smeared across the pavement. Fur caught in the wind.
Not one dog survived.
Their clothes were torn. Scratches covered their arms. Their breathing—rough and steady, like engines cooling down after a storm.
Even monsters need a moment to breathe.
But the job was done.
The street was quiet now.
Their enemies had fled.
And the dogs… had fulfilled their mission.
They saved their king.