Regardless of his many impressive aliases, Fakhrul was now getting his ass kicked by a snooty college boy officer. Sub Lieutenant Michael Stone swung hard at Fakhrul and the strike connected. Fakhrul tried to counter with his own flick of the wrist, but missed.
Fakhrul is an elite killing machine. A trained expert at close quarters battle. Forget the M4 rifle he's usually issued with - if he wanted to, he could sneak up behind someone and with his bare hands snap their neck in one swift move... or do the same to their fingers one at a time.
But he fidgeted from one foot to the other, eyes darting wildly, trying to anticipate Stone's movements. Stone, on the other hand, moved in one fluid motion, effortlessly delivering smack after smack. He admired Fakhrul's determination, but this was essentially a contest of skill.
Both men carefully watched the other for mistakes. One wrong move would be enough.
Fakhrul was beginning to wear down, his intense concentration giving way. Then, he stumbled. Without missing a beat, Stone swung with everything he had. Fakhrul leaped to counter the shot, but once again he missed - unfortunately for the last time.
"Ha! Amik kau!" Stone taunted from across the table. "21-8!"
"Fuh..." Fakhrul said, flapping the sweat out of his jersey. "Kalau main ping pong, tuan memang power."
Back in university, Stone had spent enough Saturday nights playing ping pong pissed drunk to deseve being 'power'.
"Jom," he called. "Kita pekena nescafe tarik dengan cekodok pisang."
"Beres." Fahkrul replied, gathering his paddle and plastic balls.
"Tapi sebab hang kalah hari ni," Stone got on his Modenas Kriss and kick-started the engine. "Hang la kena blanja aku."
"Errr... okeh, tuan." Fakhrul said, getting on the motorcycle. He tried not to show it, but his ego was slightly bruised.
"Esok," Stone continued, grinning. "kalau hang kalah dengan aku lagi, hang kena belanja aku chicken chop pulak."
Sitting silently behind Stone, Fakhrul wondered if snapping this cocksucker's neck would get him to shut up.
