This book will have gore, violence, a strong but not invincible main character, and lots of action, as well as some swearing; also a bit of a trigger warning, the main character suffers from PTSD and depression

A pair of boots stepped out of the car, the unconscious biker, their gruff voice reassuring the citizens and bystanders, pushing them aside with a cigarette in their mouth. The boots clacked on the pavement as they walked through the stopped cars,

"Everyone step back from the man now!"

Their trenchcoat swayed slightly in the wind as they approached the unconscious biker, a huge dent in the side of the car, as the man was almost embedded into the parked car. The biker's helmet visor had partially broken away, and the helmet was missing a large chunk from the side; blood poured down the helmet, dripping onto the concrete, and the man's arm hung at an odd angle. His head hung unmoving,

"Damn, you flew at least 8 meters."

Flicking the cigarette away, the boots crossed the intersection, the shattered glass crunching beneath the boots.

Glancing at the duffle bags on the ground a few meters away from the unconscious motorcyclist, they had not broken open during the crash, fortunately.

Hound still had a hand tightly pressing down on his stomach, but now a white bandage covered the wound, though it was still bleeding somewhat despite the emergency staples he'd given himself.

Reaching from within his trenchcoat, a large knife was produced; smiling, he stopped directly in front of the unmoving biker.

"Van Gogh, you awake?"

With no answer, he squatted down directly in front of him, pressing the tip of the blade into the man's shoulder. To his surprise, it didn't pierce through.

"Guess not...well, I said I'd kill you;* chuckle*... but you've got some nice shit. Its quality must be pretty nice to hold up after a crash like that."

Grabbing Van Gogh's helmet, he pushed it up, stabbing at the man's now-exposed neck.

The tip of the knife stopped just as it drew blood on Van Gogh's neck; a gloved hand shook as it held onto the blade.

Through the semi-broken visor, a single violet eye looked at him with extreme hatred, "You mother fucker, you're really dead now." The voice emanated anger; though it was in Korean instead of Cantonese, Hound still understood the meaning. It was less like a human voice and more like a low growl.

"Fuck!" Hound jumped back, narrowly dodging a kick, and took a few steps back. "You bastard! Still alive, huh?!"

As Van Gogh stood up, forcing his way out of the contorted car frame that his body was embedded in, standing up, his legs trembling. One of his arms hung limply as his visible eye locked onto him; it was bloodshot, and blood poured through from within his helmet.

He removed the plate carrier on his chest using one arm, dropping it to the ground. The metal clanged as it fell onto the street. Taking off the jacket exposed the broken arm as a piece of bone pierced out at the elbow. Dropping the helmet to the ground, there seemed to be a large cut at the top of his head as blood poured down his face; his black hair had a slight red tint that seemed to shine under the streetlights.

Taking off his trenchcoat himself, Hound tossed the knife aside, "You're a pretty one, ain't ya?"

A shout came from amongst the bystanders who watched from a distance away, "You need to go to the hospital!"

Van Gogh was smiling; it was an inhuman-looking smile; there was no happiness emanating from it, only rage. He was panting; he took up no stance. Van Gogh instead leaned forward, bouncing on his feet like an animal about to charge.

Charging forward with a scream and a flurry of strikes, even with only one arm he found gaps, putting Hound immediately on the back foot, nearly having his legs buckle underneath him as a punch landed on his chin.

Grabbing Hound by the collar of his shirt, Van Gogh slammed his head into Hound's, nearly knocking him out, punching Van Gogh in the face as he used his other hand to try and break Van Gogh's grip.

Kicking Van Gogh back, Hound breathed heavily, trying to recover his bearings; his legs felt like jello, and the world seemed like it was spinning.

Roaring Van Gogh didn't relent; flying forward with a knee, Hound managed to dodge the brunt of it as it slammed into the window of a car. Hound stumbled briefly as Van Gogh kicked his leg; in his momentary loss of balance, he was grabbed and thrown onto the hood of a car. Groaning as his head hung off the hood, he saw a screaming Van Gogh jump in the air.

He had just enough time to dodge a downward elbow that would have broken his neck; rolling off the hood, he ended up taking a hard kick from Van Gogh to the head, barely managing to get his hand in between Van Gogh's shin and his head protecting him from immediately being knocked out.

Swinging wildly with punches as he stumbled backward, Hound tried to get some space between Van Gogh. A feral scream erupted as Van Gogh charged through the punches, his hand stabbed forward like a blade into the recently stapled knife wound that he'd given him earlier.

"Was it here?! You fucking trash?!" That inhuman smile was still on his face as it plunged even deeper into his side, his entire hand inside Hound's abdomen.

Hound screamed in pain as pain incomparable to anything he had ever felt in his life consumed his body. Gone was the arrogance, the anger, and the need for revenge; all that was left was a desperate desire for survival.

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Author's note: Read the first two chapters then skip to 'A Visit From A Monster Arc'; everything in between is trash