Chapter Thirty-Three: The Agile Leader, Williams

That night, as dusk fell, Wang Ling and Blackie stealthily made their way to the underground plaza where the “Bad Kids Disco” was located.

Their appearance had changed completely. Wang Ling wore jeans and a black tank top, his golden hair spiked up, and a switchblade tucked at his waist. Blackie sported blue overalls, a tight shirt beneath a blue vest, and fingerless gloves on his fists. Before coming here, they had deliberately taken down a mophead and a thug, stolen their clothes, and disguised themselves further at a beauty salon. Under the threat of a machete, the salon owner dutifully made Wang Ling resemble a mophead and Blackie a thug. Of course, their build and features were still somewhat different, but under the dim lighting of the night, the burly doorman at the disco failed to notice anything amiss and waved them inside without hesitation.

Inside the Bad Kids Disco, deafening music blared. A hulking Black thug, his voice hoarse, screamed out rap verses as a hippie DJ spun records, producing shrill, piercing sounds. In the dance pit, dozens of bodies writhed wildly. Many scantily clad young women clung to hippies, mopheads, or thugs, kissing and caressing each other. Some girls had even lost their clothes, exposing swathes of pale skin—the scene was nothing short of explosive.

Bars and discos were, after all, symbols of America’s openness.

Blackie’s eyes lit up at the sight of these wild girls and he leaned close to Wang Ling, whispering, “Female hooligans.” Wang Ling nodded silently, scanning the disco. He counted nearly a hundred people in the dance pit, many shaking their heads so violently it was clear they were high. At the tables, groups huddled together, drinking strong spirits or snorting powder. Mopheads, thugs, hippies, female hooligans—the four types of underworld fighters required for the main mission were all present. With the blaring sound system and flashing colored lights, this place was a hell of vice!

“Most people here are high, their vigilance is low, and there are enough of them for us to complete Main Mission One. We’ll start in the dance pit, eliminate some, and once they sense something’s wrong, you create chaos and lure the mophead leader Williams down from the second floor. Then we’ll take him out together. Once the leader dies, their morale will collapse—no matter how many are left, they’re no threat.”

From the mouth of a captured underworld fighter, Wang Ling had learned that this disco was ruled by the elite leader Williams, who usually stayed on the second floor, his favorite pastime being bedding several frenzied female hooligans high on drugs.

Wang Ling had considered capturing a mophead and using him to guide them upstairs for a sneak attack on Williams. But the risk was too great—if Williams caught wind, with so many underworld fighters below, they could be trapped and slaughtered. Poison was also unrealistic; all drinks were sealed bottles and cans—how could they poison them?

Their strategy decided, Wang Ling and Blackie slipped into the dance pit. Wang Ling’s switchblade was already quietly in his right hand. A blonde female hooligan, her top pulled up to her waist, spotted Wang Ling—smaller and handsomer than the typical mophead—and her eyes sparkled. She strutted over, chest thrust forward, giving him a flirtatious smile.

Wang Ling felt a wave of disgust at her blood-red lips and dark blue eye shadow, but he kept a smile, letting her pull him into her arms. As her lips approached his, her body suddenly convulsed and a low moan escaped her throat.

Wang Ling, in the moment she embraced him, had slipped his switchblade forward and silently slit her throat. His lips pressed against hers, muffling the sound, which was lost amidst the deafening music.

Having killed her, Wang Ling shoved her corpse toward a hippie whose lips and ears were pierced with metal rings. The hippie, arms raised, danced ecstatically, and when he felt a voluptuous body in his arms, he beamed, hugging her tightly. Wang Ling gave a sudden shove, sending them both tumbling to the floor. The hippie cried out as they fell—the nearby dancers cursed, not seeing that behind the female hooligan, the hippie had a switchblade buried in his heart. That cry wasn’t from falling, but from dying.

Wang Ling knew such ambushes wouldn’t last; soon they’d be discovered. He targeted hippies and female hooligans, rare enemies outside this place. After finishing off two, he drew another switchblade, embraced a wild-haired, frantic girl, and while kissing her, gently stabbed her heart. Meanwhile, chaos erupted on the other side of the dance pit.

Blackie’s method was far less subtle. He wielded a steel rod over a foot long, thrusting and withdrawing rapidly, killing four people in quick succession. When he attacked the fifth, he was finally spotted. The short man lunged, silencing the screaming victim, then pulled two bottles from his spatial pouch and smashed them on the floor.

With a sharp crack, glass and liquid sprayed everywhere! Blackie flicked a lit lighter from his waist onto the floor—instantly, crimson flames burst forth, engulfing the area. He smashed two more bottles of spirits, spreading the flames even wider; the center of the dance pit became a sea of fire.

Seeing Blackie create chaos, Wang Ling pulled out his steel battle axe. As everyone’s attention turned to the flames and disorder, he chopped off a female hooligan’s head beside him, grabbed her hair, and hurled the head onto the stage where the Black thug was singing.

The thug instinctively caught it, only to find himself holding a woman’s head with wide-open eyes and blood-red lips—the severed neck still gushing blood. He screamed in terror, his voice amplified by the microphone and flashing lights, instantly drawing every eye to him and the severed head in his hands.

The disco exploded. The sea of flames and the thug with the head pushed the chaos to its limits, screams and curses blending with the blazing red fire of the dance pit. Some underworld fighters drew their switchblades or steel pipes, but none knew who the enemy was.

After all, Wang Ling and Blackie were disguised as mopheads and thugs.

Seizing the confusion, Blackie threw a smoke grenade—a reward from a previous main mission. Smoke mingled with the fire, filling the disco, as the spinning colored lights illuminated the haze, heightening the terror.

Amidst the chaos, Wang Ling and Blackie kept swinging axe, machete, and steel rod, killing underworld fighters one after another. Wang Ling, especially, after each decapitation, would hurl the head into the crowd—each impact prompted shrieks, and some, panic-stricken, lashed out blindly with their weapons, triggering furious retaliation.

When Williams, the mophead leader overseeing the disco, sensed trouble, he hastily dressed and rushed down from the second floor, confronted by utter mayhem.

Williams was a short young man, barely over five feet tall, but anyone who underestimated him was doomed.

Though he appeared unremarkable, Williams was a mutant, enhanced by underworld fighter technology. In the world of Double Dragon, following nuclear war, underworld-controlled scientists used radiation-affected humans and animals as test subjects to develop three types of enhancement drugs.

The first type: strength enhancement.
The second: agility enhancement.
The third: endurance enhancement.
These corresponded to humanity’s three basic attributes. In fact, the scientists had developed a fourth—intelligence enhancement—but it caused the brain to expand and explode, with no solution found.

Strength, agility, and endurance drugs all had severe side effects: strength caused grotesque muscular growth; agility shrunk and lightened the body; endurance produced massive fat, turning users into giants.

Because the drugs were so intense, the death rate exceeded 90% during enhancement. Williams, having survived an agility drug, was left short in stature, but his speed and punching power drove his opponents to despair.

Surviving enhancement, Williams had become an elite leader among underworld fighters. He had been enjoying himself upstairs, as usual, never expecting chaos of this magnitude below.