Oof! These Pathetic Pests Clinging to My BUS – Unforgivable!
"Oof! These insignificant fools clinging to my 'BUS'. I can't tolerate this!"
I wasn't patient enough to overlook the outrageous antics of the road traffic cops plastered to the side or roof of the rattling bus. I immediately yanked a chunky gemstone, like a hefty rock, from the leather pouch hanging by the steering wheel. Then I rolled down the driver's side window and hurled it at the black entity stuck to the bus's flank.
Thwack! The thing—distinguished by wings that looked primed to spread COVID—took the gem straight to what I assumed was its face and tumbled off. The bus was barreling south anyway, so there was no need to grip the wheel. I just grabbed the leather pouch and flung whatever came to hand.
"Meso Explosion!!!!!!!!"
The gold coins, launched like shuriken by my flashy handiwork, slammed into the traffic cops and went boom! with a series of blasts. One bastard tried to escape my sight by scrambling onto the roof, then pounded the ceiling with its bare fists, trying to smash right through.
I don't forgive anyone who lays a hand on my dream ride. I slipped out the driver's window and skittered up to the roof like a spider, locking eyes with the ones hammering away.
"Paper, please."
"■■■■■■■■■■■"
"Free rider. Time to execute."
I scattered the cash and bills from the pouch into the air, blinding them instantly. The headwind accelerated the flurry, sending them scattering like flower petals in a dazzling display. Right after, I equipped my blinding golden knuckle duster on my right hand and charged the one brushing bills off its face.
"No one! Spreads! COVID! On my bus!"
Thud! Crunch! Crack! Wrecking my dream ride justified self-defense, so the knuckles hit like a truck. Maybe its corn kernels were flying too freely—it got dizzy and flapped its wings wildly, soaring back into the sky.
I wasn't about to let it go. I grabbed its leg and clambered onto its squishy body. Just like the bus driver, this thing was soft and jiggly. Did they all evolve from jelly?
I plastered myself to its back as it screeched some incomprehensible wail, wrapping my arm around its neck. Squeezing until it choked would drop it back down, but I knew a more effective trick.
"I'm not stopping until you fly low."
"■■■■■■"
"Let's start with Namsan Tower."
What was Namsan Tower? Back when I was in elementary school, it was one of the teachers' tacitly accepted "legal" punishments: grabbing a boy's temple hair and yanking it sky-high. The higher you pulled, the more it felt like you could see Namsan Tower—that's how it got the name.
"No hair on you, so I'll make do with your ears. Fly lower, and it hurts less!"
Streeeeetch!
"■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■"
Its ears stretched upward, but the cognitive dissonance of needing to fly low made its altitude wobble. Rookie flyer for a traffic cop—poor control. Naturally, my Namsan Tower technique shone brighter with every dip.
"Lower-lower-lower-lower-lower!!"
To ease the agony of those ears yanked higher and higher, it had to learn to fly low on its own. The world was that cruel. Finally, it skimmed the water's surface in a shaky low flight. I patted its head and grabbed the wing joints on its back like reins.
"Let's go, Nimbus 2000! We gotta keep 'em off my bus!"
If it didn't head where I wanted, I'd pinch the thinnest, most sensitive flesh inside those wing joints. Ever had the meat right under your groin, inner thigh, pinched? Even if I were a die-hard independence fighter, I'd spill every ally base and name list from the pain.
I swung the empty leather pouch like a flail, nudging Nimbus 2000 diagonally. Then I smashed the back of the head of one clinging to a bus window, trying to drag out passengers.
Wham! The bastard, dangling precariously, couldn't take the heavy bag and plummeted into the river. It sputtered a bit before a school of leaping fish tore it to shreds underwater. Since when did piranhas live in the Han River?
"Ten points to the Supernatural Phenomena Resolution Office!"
If my crew were here, it'd be perfect. Seeing the boss's heroics, they'd all beg to work for passion pay, clinging to my pant leg. This job's eating days anyway—once they're recovered, they'll be back soon. But first, gotta hit Gwanak-gu where the clients wait.
Land was visible in the distance, so I freed Nimbus 2000 and hopped back on the bus. It bore scratches and dents from the storm, but who cares? A real man drives cool even with the front bumper dangling.
"Aah, mic test, chk chk! Passengers, check the land ahead. We'll arrive at the destination soon, so stay seated—no standing, no call bells. Anyone touching a bell goes in the river."
That damn bell was too loud anyway. Mercifully, no unfair tickets—we crunched onto the dock, smashing it as the bus leaped ashore.
The disembarking crowd flowed in a long line one way, like they'd rehearsed. Some rode flower palanquins borne by black figures; others dragged in ropes like criminals. Most walked free, but barefoot ones dominated. Sharp gravel littered the ground, yet the blacks strutted in suits and shoes.
This absurdity! Class system! Rich get richer, poor poorer! Inherited innocence, poverty guilty! Unbearable.
"You were right, Lenin."
The patriotic flames of revolution surged from my inner commie depths, just like when I spilled Grandpa's rice cake soup as a kid.
"Commie mode ON."
I floored it into the thickest crowd, slammed the brakes, ripped out the mic and speakers, and hung them on the bus front. Had to free as many as possible from the 'oppressors.' That's revolution.
"Get on this bus!!!!!!!!"
My voice boomed through the speakers like a red-flag-waving revolutionary.
"If you're not voluntarily into SM play, shake off those ropes! Hate walking barefoot on this shitty ground? Board proudly! Destination: Gwanak-gu! I said, Gwanak-gu!!"
The masses turned to me en masse. The roped ones shuddered, then kicked their black-suited captors and bolted my way. That was the signal for mass escape.
The orderly line dissolved into chaos, escapees multiplying. Blacks drew swords, fans, batons in desperation, but numbers favored the runners.
"Bus fare? Nah! That's a brutal capitalist system from the Yankee puppets! You all have the right to ride free!"
Seats didn't matter—the bus swallowed endless crowds. I took everyone flocking. Thunder cracked from the blood-red sky, earth quaking. I flipped off the heavens and shoved in more.
Then lightning struck a sword at my feet with the bolt. Unlucky strays charred black, rolling on the ground. One Yankee puppet caused real trouble.
"Look at that bastard! He struck our revolutionary comrades with lightning! You'll end up like this if you go like lambs to slaughter!"
The charred victim sold my propaganda hard. Hesitant ones joined the exodus in terror. I crammed in as many as possible, yanked the grounded sword. Lightning raced up my arm, scorching it—but fuck it.
"Leave this to me—board the bus, comrades!"
I charged boldly into the swarm of blacks. They all needed Jesus-heaven, not some wrong place.
"Time to see the Volcanic Sect's Lava Sword Technique."
It burned red and hot, like waves of revolution.