The house in Bukit Timah

[Clazziquai]

SG #1 erotic storyteller

[chenzong]

I personally don't think of him as an "erotic" writer (his writings are quite tame, like mine). But I like how local his stories are!

[Divinenoodle11]

Wahhh. Looking forward to the new chapters

[ZAFT]

Less than a month before 'Home'.
I started years back reading The Beast Within. 3 days later I have re-read 3 stories.
This wait for the final story is nerve wreaking!
Well done Bro ILOCK!

[ilikeoldchangke]

Chapter 1 - It Begins

It started when the Tatmadaw (Myanmar Armed Forces) deposed the elected government in Myanmar. The resulting civil war was the catalyst that the LFO (Liberation from Oppression) needed to kick their plan into action. The LFO was founded by a Singaporean by the name of Chan. No one knew his full name, and yet everyone came to associate that name with money and power. Chan’s father was exiled from Singapore and his whole family was forced to flee to Thailand as political refugees when he was 20 years old. From there, the family lived a nomadic life. Chan learnt to thrive amidst the instability that came from the frequent relocations. It was hard for his parents to hold down jobs and he did what he could to survive.

Almost every night, his father will come back drunk. No, he did not turn violent, nor did he lose his temper. Instead, Chan’s father will sit down with his son, schooling him in politics and reminding him of how unfair their family was treated by the exile. Every conversation compounded the hate Chan had for Singapore, a place he barely remembered save for a few years of Primary school. He then attended a small village school where the teachers’ combined knowledge could not satisfy his thirst for learning. Even at a young age, Chan knew he needed money and resources if he wants to accomplish anything in life.

From petty crimes, Chan moved on to bigger things. He knew the jungles well and began moving drugs around the region. Chan moved weapons too, supplying the tools the rebels needed for their uprising. There were always countries willing to supply weapons - big powers that thrived on the instability of other regions. They just needed to find a conduit to carry out their plans without getting their hands dirty, and Chan was one such conduit. He became rich doing drug and weapon runs in between Myanmar, Thailand, and Malaysia. He knew the Kra Buri River like the back of his hand, sometimes crossing the Thai-Myanmar border several times a day without being detected. From Thailand, he just needed to grease a few palms to hop on a flight to Langkawi, where his goods could be transported by vehicle barges to Penang, before being distributed to the rest of Malaysia. The money was good and it gave Chan and his family hope that they could get back on their feet.

Chan’s enterprising dream came to a crashing halt when his parents died in a raid by the military on the small village he was residing at near Thailand’s border with Malaysia. In a joint operation between Thailand and Malaysia to root out separatists and a terrorist cell, a force of 300 men swept through the village. The news never reported what happened. No one knew how many innocent villagers were killed during that raid. While he lay hidden, Chan silently watched as a soldier threw a grenade into his house without first checking for civilians. When the raid was over, Chan climbed out from the village sewers, covered in excrement and rotting scrapes. He saw his parents’ mangled bodies but he did not shed a single tear. He buried them like a good son would, and then he disappeared into the jungles of Thailand.
From deep within the jungle, Chan plotted his revenge.

With his contacts from smuggling drugs and weapons, he started building his own personal army. He planned and executed a series of terrorist attacks, first in Thailand, then in Malaysia. However, those were merely practice targets for him. Although Chan started small, he soon got the authorities attention. From his lair in the middle of Thailand, Chan planned and executed an attack in Singapore. At the same time, he capitalised on the unrest in the southern region of Thailand and began stirring up a conflict with Malaysia.
The civil war in Myanmar came at the perfect time. As large battalions of disgruntled soldiers sought new beginnings in the middle of the pandemic, those who were not interested in the conflict, instead sought employment with Chan. At the peak of the civil war, Chan’s personal force ballooned to almost a thousand men. He kept everyone fed, equipped, and happy. Biding time while he waited for his opportunity to strike.

A year later, in 2022, when Russia decided to conduct a special military operation in Ukraine, Chan knew it was time. With the world in turmoil, and amidst political uncertainty in Malaysia due to repeated changes in administration, Chan put his plan into motion. Chan did not just want revenge for his parents’ death. He blamed Singapore for his misfortunes in life. He blamed Malaysia and Thailand for his parents’ death. It was not enough for him to take a few lives and blow up a few buildings. He wants to destabilise the entire region.

He grew up amidst instability, and it is within that instability, did he feel most at home.
While Myanmar’s army was busy with the coup, its navy lay idle. More than 100 vessels were ripe for the taking. The admirals had no wish to engage in coups and leadership changes that the army was obsessed with, so Chan provided the admirals what they needed in terms of resources and a place to dock their ships. In one move, he had successfully acquired half of the country’s navy. Within weeks, Chan had crippled trade passing through the Andaman Sea and the Straits of Malacca. Shipping traffic was reduced by 50 percent. With Europe and America busy with Russia, no one cared about Southeast Asia and the sabre-rattling of a wannabe warlord. The indifference of the bigger nations emboldened Chan. It was time for a new beginning.

*

San Kala Khiri National Park, Thailand

Chan picked up a copy of The Straits Times. It was dated from over a week ago, which he had – through no small difficulty – delivered to his residence. He smiled when he read the headlines about the scandals that had plagued Singapore over the past couple of months. From corrupt ministers found guilty of misconduct, to secret affairs between lawmakers. One after the other, they hit the news right on schedule. He had been planning this for years, cultivating his sources and collecting information slowly. He had amassed a treasure trove of dirt on prominent businessmen and leaders - politicians and would be candidates were not spared either. In fact, the moment these persons of interest made their appearance on the political scene, he had a team of employees collecting information on them.

There was a quiet, low profiled outfit – a secret company of sorts - with a handful of staff who spent their time trawling the internet and chatroom for information. The more experienced members of staff would try and befriend key appointment holders, and even people who expressed interest in volunteering for grassroot activities, or those who attended one too many functions organised by the ruling party – Chan’s so-called, ‘persons of interest’ - to extract more information and details about their ‘interests’.

The conversations would all be taped and analysed, then sorted and stored in information dockets, all neatly arranged on a compactor shelf. In those dockets, the potential targets would be scrutinised and every aspect of their live documented, until the day that information could be used as leverage.
Chan laughed as he read through the article about the minister arrested for corruption. It appeared that the investigators had barely scratched the surface of what that bugger did. All that would slowly be revealed of course - his team would drip feed regular leaks to the media.

This was but a taste of what the country was about to experience. First, he would shake the confidence of the people in the country with scandal after scandal, eroding the country’s trust in her rulers. Then, he would expose the politicians for who they really were.

Politics has always been a dirty game. It’s success lies purely in how the public perceive it to be.

Stepping out of his residence located deep in the jungle of Thailand, Chan looked down towards the village located at the foot of the hill. About 50 men were hard at work, training in combat drills and gaining proficiency in various small arms.

Some of them were as young as 13, but soldiers are soldiers. A weapon in the hands of a 13-year-old was as deadly as it was when held by a 30-year-old. Walking barefoot along the jungle path, Chan ventured deeper into the mountains where several makeshift huts stood in the middle of a clearing. It used to be a village school, but had since been abandoned. He heard the snapping of a twig behind him and immediately spun around and parried the strike from a wooden knife.

Chan: Too slow, Clement… How do you expect to be a teacher in the future?

Clement bowed his head in embarrassment but never said a word. Even if he spoke, his speech would be barely comprehensible. He lacked the implement that made clear speech possible.

Chan: If you want revenge on the people who removed your tongue, you need to work harder.

His gaze hardened as Clement nodded and disappeared back into the jungle to continue his training. Chan carried on along the jungle path and towards the village. He walked into the abandoned classroom and looked at the chalkboard.

On it were the names of his school’s principal and its eight teachers, each of them ‘helmed’ a subject. English, Math, Physics, Chemistry, Biology, Mother Tongue, History, and Literature. However, those were not your usual educators. They were his spear tips. The subjects merely serving as their callsign. Each of his teachers had several classes of students, all of them compartmentalised like terrorist cells.

In time to come, they are the ones who would penetrate deep into Singapore’s heart. He was aware of how Singapore operated when it came to black ops. The politicians didn’t want to get their hands dirty. They had for them a special group of men and women - people who received no medals or recognition for the duties they performed - who handled the dirty laundry that lay under the country’s immaculate surface. Chan’s alliance with the deposed Myanmar army would be enough to take care of the Singapore Armed Forces when he made his move on the small island nation. His Teachers and their Students, would be the ones taking on those who operated under the radar.

There are no rules in a war, and even if there were, Chan was not prepared to follow any of them. His Teachers had free reign on how they wanted to deploy their Students and resources, as long as their objectives were met.
Continuing his inspection, Chan walked to the edge of a cliff that overlooked the valley where he trained his men. He could see a group of them running up a jungle trail while another group was training in unarmed combat. He turned around at the sound of hurried footsteps coming from behind him. It was a child, no more than 10 years old.

The child bowed to Chan before gesturing in the direction of the camp.

Chan: They are here?

The boy nodded.

Chan: Then it shall begin.

*


Chan stood on a dock made out of bamboo raft and waited for the men to disembark from the small canoe. The three men were friends, young and ambitious at the tender age of 18.

Chan: Are you ready for your great adventure?

Sahar: Yes, we are… We are excited to go to Singapore…

Ah Fu: I have seen pictures of the country. It’s beautiful.

Sahar: Beautiful but corrupt. Pretty on the outside, but rotten in its core.

Chan nodded when he detected the hint of anger in Sahar’s voice. He was satisfied that the decade of teaching the boys in his jungle school had not gone to waste.

Ah Fu: Yes. Their women are materialistic and their men are weak; so much so that their own government needs to import foreigners to replace their own people.

Menghui: I will not lie with their women even if they offer themselves to me…
Chan: Why not? Hahaha…

Menghui: They disgust me. I have seen enough videos of them gyrating their hips and parading their bodies on the internet. They are hungry for attention. Such actions can only come from a morally corrupt country…

Chan: You are right. The country is corrupt to the core. Their soldiers cannot even pass the most basic of fitness tests.

The boys laughed, remembering the video Chan showed them of overweight men attending extra lessons just to run a simple 2.4 kilometres around a track.

Menghui: They rather spend their time queuing up for watches and Hello Kitty soft toys.

Ah Fu: I shudder at the thought of them carrying handbags for their girlfriends.

Sahar: They have redefined the definition of ‘weak men’ in my dictionary.

Chan smiled as he handed a bag to each of the boys. They might be 18, but to Chan, they were merely boys.

Chan: Do you know what you have to do?

Menghui: Yes… we do.

Chan: I hope you enjoy your trip to the Lion City then.

Chan gave each of the three boys a hug and then sent them on their way.


*


Sahar, Ah Fu and Menghui crossed the land border into Singapore via different means. Sahar took the train, Menghui entered in a private car, while Ah Fu crossed as a passenger on public transport. Their bags were checked and cleared. They carried nothing illegal; their belongings resembled what everyone else had with them when they crossed the border either for work or for a holiday.

The three men checked into different hotels and waited in their rooms. At 10:30 p.m., a courier sent a package to each of the three men. Each package contained three units of ‘SFG 87’, a locally made hand-grenade. It was near impossible to procure firearms and explosives in Singapore, unless like Chan, you had corrupted your way deep into the military and factories that supplied the army with their munitions.

Sahar removed the grenades from their protective casings and checked the safety pins to make sure they were secure. He then put the three grenades into the pockets of his windbreaker. He ripped the box into pieces and burnt it in the metal can by the hotel’s balcony. The plastic canisters the grenades came in were filled with water and flung into the river below the hotel’s balcony. Chan had taught them the methods of covering their tracks and how to dispose anything they had touched.

Sahar returned to the room and mentally walked through everything he had touched so far. With time on his hands, he took out a cloth and a bottle of bleach, and then started to clean. He wiped down every surface he had touched. He removed the prints he left on the sink, the counter top, the door handles, and even the kettle.

After he was done, he lay down in the middle of the bed. The soft pocketed-spring mattress felt comfortable, the sheets were cool to the touch, yet Sahar was unhappy with the expensive hotel bed and pillows that could be selected from a pillow menu. Material goods like these were what made this country weak. He wanted to leave the room and see the country, but Chan told him to stay indoors for he had the most important mission amongst the three of them. He should not take any unnecessary risks. Menghui and Ah Fu would venture out instead.

Sahar did not think too much of it, his brothers would tell him what this country was like when they next meet.

*

Menghui sat down by the water in front of the beach resort. If anyone was watching him, all they would see was a man enjoying the evening at the private beach with a beer in hand. Menghui dug a hole in the sand while he kept his eyes out for busybodies. When it was deep enough, he tossed the empty grenade canisters into the hole and buried them. He saw a couple walking past him; initially he thought they were an item, but upon closer examination, he knew they were just friends. It was obvious that the guy was interested in the girl, but that attraction was evidently one-sided. Then Menghui noticed something disturbing.

The guy slowed down his pace and secretly used his phone to take a picture of the girl’s buttocks and legs before he quickly hid the phone. Menghui wanted to laugh, but he held it back. This was why the country was weak. Their university graduates were getting called out for taking upskirts, stealing panties and lingerie from the hostels. He wondered why such a perverse country could be so successful.

Menghui walked away from the beach and back into the beach resort. He was barefooted and his footsteps were light and near silent. It was a habit of his. He had been walking barefooted in the jungle for a long time, and stealth had always been one of his strong points. He appeared silently behind a man as they proceeded up the escalator.

Menghui caught the man putting his phone under the skirt of a girl a few steps in front of him to take a video of her underwear. When the man turned around and realised Menghui saw what he did, he quickly kept the phone in his pocket and ran away. Menghui shook his head in silent disgust. According to Chan, weak men infested this country. He was sceptical at first, until he saw it with his own eyes. It was true. Singapore was indeed filled with the weak and the sick. Yes, there would still be strong and determined men who were willing to fight, but those were few and far between.


As instructed by Chan, Menghui walked around the resort to get a feel of how the people spoke and how they behaved. He needed to blend into the population if he wanted to be successful in his mission. And the more he saw and the more he listened, the more his revulsion grew.

*

[ilikeoldchangke]

Ah Fu walked to a coffeeshop near his hotel to make a specific order from a specific stall. It was a way of communicating to Chan that they had arrived safely. And to doubly ensure that the communication channels were secure, only Ah Fu would be doing the reporting.

Ah Fu: One fried rice. Please also pack three BBQ chicken wings in separate bags, give extra sambal. I want to bring this for my father. He loves the fried rice…

The Indian man who took his order, acknowledged him with a slow deliberate nod before he looked away. It was done. Chan would know they were safe and in position.

While he waited for his food, Ah Fu strolled through the busy coffeeshop where dozens of patrons were having their supper. He saw the dirty tables stacked with plates and leftovers. He stared at a man who spat scraps of food onto the table. At another table, a man held a lit cigarette in one hand while his greasy lips chewed on fried chicken. He looked like he was 20 kilograms overweight and yet he was still stuffing himself silly with food. As Ah Fu passed by a food stall, he heard a young man asking for his chicken to be deboned before it was served to him.

A saying immediately came to his mind, ‘good times make weak men.’ At that point, the saying could not be more true. In front of him was a grown man asking for bones to be removed from a chicken drumstick; how useless that man must be to make such a request.

He came to a table with a whining child, a child who refused to eat the food on her plate because there were vegetables on it. Instead of educating the child, the parents decided to push to blame to each other. The mother blamed the father for making the wrong order, while the father snapped back and told his wife that she should make the order the next time. Ah Fu could not believe his eyes when the father trashed the whole plate of uneaten rice, grumbling that he would go get a new one to pacify the spoilt child. Chan was right about the wasteful ways of this country.

Ah Fu walked to the garbage bin and dropped a plastic bag that held the empty grenade canisters into the black trash bag filled with food scraps. He took a tray of white Styrofoam plates filled with leftover food scraps and was about to empty it into the bin to cover up his disposal when someone approached him.

“Brother, thanks ah…!”

A young punk with his hair dyed blond, tossed a tray that held a bowl of thick gravy on top of the one Ah Fu was holding. The gravy splashed over the tray and spilled onto Ah Fu’s shoes. Ah Fu was so shocked that he simply did not know how to react. The man turned away and went back to his friends without a word of apology. While Ah Fu cleared the trash given to him, he was surprised when more trays were sent his way. Then it dawned upon him that his dark green top and black pants were in a similar colour scheme as that of the table cleaners.

A pretty babe in a short skirt handed him her tray while another older female dressed in sports bra and skin-hugging tights, threw a bunch of used napkins on top of said tray. Their dressing shocked Ah Fu more than their actions. What kinds of girls would dress this way public? They were literally naked; the tights on the older woman showed off her womanly curves right down to her folded halves from where babies came from. Everywhere Ah Fu looked, he saw girls dressed skimpily while they hung out late at night with a bunch of guys. Had they no decency at all? Chan warned him and his brothers about the abomination of a city they would be coming to, but nothing could have prepared him for this.

Ah Fu threw the whole tray into the bin and walked away. His blood was boiling with anger at how disgusting this Lion City was. He went back to his hotel room and lay down on the bed. In just a few hours, it would begin. They would finally give this sick country the medicine it needed to heal itself.

*

A group of young men and women were gathered at a warehouse in the middle of town. They lined up in a single file to receive payment for their work that evening. One hundred dollars just for simply doing what they would usually do in their daily lives. The people in line chuckled at the easy money and signed off on the payment vouchers.

Aung, the video producer from Myanmar, thanked the young people for their performance as he handed out their payment. Among them, were the couples taking upskirt pictures in from of Menghui. They were told it was a show to see how people would react if they saw someone taking upskirts, and if they will call them out.

“When will the documentary show?”

Aung handed the man two 50-dollar bills before he replied.

Aung: Probably in the next few months.

Another guy made a comment about not seeing the camera crew and how the standard of reality TV these days was just too good. Someone in the queue made a joke about an assassination being masqueraded as a reality show in Malaysia a few years ago. Aung just smiled and remained silent. He continued handing out money and his smile widened when he put the money into the hands of the young child who earlier threw a tantrum at the coffeeshop because of vegetables in her food.

Aung: She is really good at acting.

Her father apologised for her going a bit overboard. She really was throwing a tantrum because of the vegetables.

After Aung paid everyone, he ripped off the banner for the fake ‘Event & Media’ company he registered. He packed up the makeshift table and then disposed of the banner and signed payment vouchers in a metal bin. He squeezed lighter fluid into the bin and set the contents ablaze. He took a step back, lit a cigarette and enjoyed a smoke while he watched everything burn. When he was satisfied that there was nothing but ashes in the bin, he left the warehouse.

Ah Fu, Sahar and Menghui would never know that everything they saw was staged. Since young, they were conditioned and trained never to question Chan’s teachings.

All Aung needed to do was stage a few scenarios to convince them that everything Chan spoke about was the truth. Getting a few actors and stationing a few of his men to direct and control what the three men saw was a walk in the park.

Their mission was simple. Ah Fu, Sahar and Menghui were to deliver their packages, and then go back home. If they succeeded on their first mission, it would give them the confidence to carry out more complex tasks. Aung had his own men following the trio and giving him timely reports on what they were up to and where they went.

If anything went wrong, or if there was a risk of them screwing up, his men would end their lives right there and then. No man was indispensable, not even kids raised by Chan himself.

*
Redhill Community Centre
8:00 a.m.

Sahar walked casually into the community centre and made his way to the café. Folk music played in the background while the retirees swung their colourful fans in a coordinated manner. He ordered a coffee and sat facing the basketball court where a group of elderlies were doing their morning exercise. Sahar’s interest was in the police station which was located within the community centre itself. He sipped his coffee and glanced at his watch. Thirty more minutes to go.

*

Menghui found a perfect target when he entered a market close to the CBD. A homeless old man sat beside his belongings and a bottle of beer. The man was trying to sell packets of tissue paper to passers-by. As he approached the man, he was offered three packets of napkins for a dollar. Menghui lowered himself to eye level and gave the man 10 dollars for the napkins.
Hockhua could not believe his luck. It was not every day that he met with a generous customer.

Hockhua: Thank you sir… Thank you so much sir…

Menghui: Here is something else for you.

Menghui reached into his pocket and pulled out a grenade. He folded Hockhua’s hands over the grenade before removing the safety pin. Hockhua was caught off guard. He was still digesting the shock from the 10-dollar purchase, and the next thing he knew, he was holding a live grenade in his hands.

Menghui: It’s okay… just don’t let go of your hand… and have a good fucking day…

Menghui got up and walked away in search of his next target.

Hockhua started trembling when he looked at the device in his hand. It had been years since he saw one of those. He was still a young man back then and serving in the army. Now, he was just a homeless divorcee. It might have been decades since he last held a grenade, but Hockhua had no doubts what would happen if he let go of the lever, especially with the peak morning crowd walking all around him.

*

It was 15 minutes to 8:30 a.m. Ah Fu watched as two toddlers played at a playground. Their mother sat on a bench a distance away, totally engrossed in her phone. He walked over to the brothers who were pretending to be soldiers and shooting at each other with a toy gun.

Ah Fu: Hi… can I play?

The boys looked up at Ah Fu and warily took a step back. They were puzzled that such an old guy would want to play such a childish game with them. They looked towards their mother, but she sat there still transfixed to her phone and oblivious to their predicament. The brothers turned to each other and then one of them shrugged.

Clarence: Can. We are soldiers. The trees are bad guys. Use this gun to shoot them. Bang bang bang…

Ah Fu smiled and he told the boys that he had a gift for them. He produced a grenade and handed it to Clarence, the older of the two.

Clarence: Is this a bomb? I have one too!

Clarence showed Ah Fu a bright blue toy grenade that was half the size and a fraction of the weight of the one he held in his hand.

Ah Fu: Yes… it’s a toy… but this is a real one.

Ah Fu told Clarence that all he had to do was to remove the pin and he would be able to play with it.

Clarence: I throw it?

Ah Fu: It’s up to you. Throw it, hold it. It’s your decision.

Clarence: Can my brother have one too?

Ah Fu saw the four-year-old staring at him with eager eyes and he smiled. He pulled out another grenade from his pocket and handed it to Clarence’s brother.

Ah Fu: Enjoy your play, okay?

Clarence: Aren’t you playing with us?

Ah Fu: I just remembered I have something to do…

As Ah Fu walked away from the playground, he immediately caught sight of his next potential target - an old man on a personal mobility vehicle (PMV). With the attached basket filled with groceries, the man was taking a short break under the void deck of a nearby HDB flat. He was trying to sort through his haul from the nearby wet market. Ah Fu casually walked by, and when the old man who happened to be hard of hearing was digging into a bag of potatoes, he removed the safety pin from the last grenade he had and wedged it in between the battery and its supporting metal bar. The strike lever remained in place for now, but when the power-assisted bike moved, the vibrations would eventually force it out of place.

The old man suddenly realised that Ah Fu was behind him and he wheeled around in shock.

Ah Fu: Hi uncle, nice bike… I want to get one for my grandfather…

Ah Fu gave a wave before he calmly walked away. He had just arrived at the bus stop when the distant boom of a grenade going off put a smile on his face. He wondered if it came from the boys or from the old man.

*

Siew Hock put his PMV into forward mode and resumed his journey after he sorted out his purchase. That cheap vegetable stall owner had short-changed him again on the potatoes and carrots.

They were definitely less than a kilogram in weight! He saw his block just further up. His wife was visiting their kids who had long since flown the coop. Siew Hock thought about what he would cook with the fresh ingredients as he pointed his PMV at the ramp that headed towards his flat.

His neighbour’s kids were at the playground, and the two boys waved at him as he went past. He smiled and returned their wave. Seeing Clarence and his brother reminded him of the time when his own kids were their age. Now they were all grown up and had families of their own. If he was lucky, in another year or so, he would be a grandfather.

As he rattled up a ramp, Siew Hock heard a metallic snap before something dropped out from the back of his PMV. He turned around and saw a round object on the ground. He was slowly rolling backwards, having stopped his PMV but forgetting to put on the brakes. Just as well, he thought, at least he would be able to see what fell out. At that distance, his failing eyesight could not discern what it was. When Siew Hock’s PMV rolled backwards to the grenade, the fuse ignited, and an explosion rocked the quiet residential neighbourhood.

*


Redhill Community Centre
8:30 a.m.

Sahar finished his coffee and then left the café. When he reached into both pockets of his windbreaker, his eyes were fixed on the neighbourhood police post. He had already loosened the safety pins on the two grenades. All he needed was a light tug with his thumb for them to come loose. He pushed open the glass door to the police post with his right elbow and the young police officer within immediately looked up at him. Sahar made eye contact with him before he revealed what he held in his hands.

He smiled as the safety pins dropped to the ground, and his smile widened when he allowed the strike levers to ignite the fuses of the grenades. He immediately flung both grenades behind the counter before he turned and ran.

The force from the explosion blew out the glass panels of the small police post, sending shards of glass and shrapnel out into the basketball court where the elderlies were wrapping up their dance. The force from the shockwave sent a few of them to the ground. Some of them had stopped breathing altogether. The shock from the attack caused a slight delay in the reaction and expression of emotions of the injured. But just seconds into the attack, the survivors started wailing in pain and crying for help.

Sahar stood at the upper level of the community centre and pretended to be curious as to what had just happened. In the distance, the wail of sirens from emergency vehicles could be heard.

*

Menghui still had two grenades in his pocket. He took his time to look for a crowded spot in the centre of the central business district. He saw the statue of Stamford Raffles, the prick who got all the glory when it was William Farquhar that did most of the work for Singapore. Yes, during his time in the jungle, Chan had schooled him in Singapore’s history. He needed to know the enemy in order to defeat it.

The gleaming lobbies of the bank towers looked really attractive to Menghui. However, he was momentarily distracted by the numerous pretty office ladies around him.

Some of them wore dresses so tight and heels so high that he wondered if they worked in an office or a pub. His eyes took in everything - the women, their dressing, their beautiful long legs.

What he did not realise was that he was being followed by a limping homeless man.

An emergency broadcast suddenly flashed onto the large screens that usually displayed financial information and news in the middle of the central business district.

There had been another attack in Singapore. A smile broke out on Menghui’s face. He knew his brothers had succeeded. Soon, he too would reap the fruits of his labour. He carried on walking until he came to some stone benches by the river. He took a seat while he dreamed about what was to come. He was snapped out from his daze by the alluring smell of a woman in her twenties as she walked past him.

She spoke in a bitching tone, complaining about how her bestie just got together with her ex-boyfriend.

Qiuyee sat on the bench beside Menghui and crossed her legs, revealing her creamy white thighs and flawless legs that disappeared into a pair of black pumps.

Qiuyee: That bitch… Can you believe this? My best friend and my ex… unbelievable.

Menghui saw her unattended open bag and he reached for the grenade in his pocket.

*

Hockhua walked forward with a bad limp, but he forced himself to push on. He was only 30 metres away from Menghui.

A few days ago, his leg was injured in a car accident. The pain from his fractured toes stabbed into his body with each step he took. He considered himself a failure in life. He had failed in his business and subsequently gambled away the family savings.

He even stole money from his own parents, which resulted in him ending up on the streets. Even his wife and his two kids had left him. Hockhua thought that life was unfair to him. Everything he did resulted in failure. He had failed in life and he had failed as a parent.

Even when he tried to sell tissues for a living, he had to be targeted by a prick like Menghui. That was the last straw; he would not be insulted like this by this fucker who wanted to turn his life into another example of failure. He would not be remembered as the homeless man who let go of a grenade in the middle of the central business district.

Menghui was about to slip the grenade into the girl’s bag when Hockhua shouted at him.

Hockhua: HEY!

Menghui looked up and was surprised to see the homeless man in front of him.

Hockhua: AHRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGG!

Hockhua shouted at the top of his voice, and despite the shooting pain in his leg, he charged at Menghui. Their bodies connected and Hockhua shoved the man right towards the edge of the Singapore River. Both of them fell down the steps and landed in knee-deep water.

Menghui was caught off guard, and before he could retaliate, Hockhua clasped their bodies together and released the strike trigger of the grenade. Menghui’s eyes widened as the realisation dawned upon him. Hockhua hugged tighter onto him with a smile. If there was one thing he could do as a failed father and husband, it was this. It was to take an asshole off the face of the earth with him.

Hockhua: It’s a fucking good day for me…

Hockhua forced Menghui down into the murky water just as the grenade went off. The reverberation echoed across the buildings that lined the banks of Singapore River. Screams soon erupted and everyone started running for cover.

All that remained of the two men was a splatter of red and white over the embankments.

*

[ilikeoldchangke]

When the paramedics and first responders arrived at the community centre, Sahar removed the pin from the last grenade and dropped it down from four levels above.


Sahar: THE LFO SENDS THEIR REGARDS! AHHHHHHHHHHHH!

His shout got everyone’s attention. The grenade hit the surface of the basketball court and bounced an inch off the floor before it exploded in the midst of stretchers and medics tending to the injured. Sahar paused as he took in the aftermath, then he gave a chuckle and began to make his way down the stairs and towards his rendezvous point.

*

A taxi pulled up to the drop-off point in front of Changi Jetty. A sole figure got out and looked around. Ah Fu was the first to arrive at the rendezvous point. He checked his phone, but his brothers had not left him any messages. He took a seat and began to wait. Twenty minutes later, Sahar arrived. They gave each other a hug, but said nothing. Their eyes remained fixed on the vehicle drop-off point while they waited for Menghui’s arrival. It was 30 minutes before their boat left. There was still time.

As the clock ticked closer to departure, Sahar and Ah Fu knew what they had to do. Their instructions were clear; if any of them did not arrive in time for the boat, the others were to leave without him. They entered the small terminal to clear immigrations and then boarded a bumboat. When the boat finally departed, Sahar sat back with a smile and stretched out his arms and legs. Ah Fu lit up a cigarette and took a deep drag before he looked at Sahar and returned his smile. In a few minutes they would be out of Singapore waters and on their way to Malaysia. From there, it would just be a long boring ride home where they would wait for their next mission.


Their bumboat sailed out of the narrow channel and on to open waters. Just ahead of them was Pulau Ubin, and beyond that, it would not be long before they crossed into Malaysian waters. Sahar sat up straight and tried to keep himself calm when their bumboat went past a coastguard patrol craft. When another patrol craft appeared to their right, Ah Fu stood up and put out his cigarette. He eyed it warily, his eyes tracking the two vessels that were now travelling parallel to their boat. The coxswain waved to the coastguard vessels and they returned a wave. It was just a friendly ritual for boats that passed by each other daily. Ah Fu breathed a little easier when their bumboat pulled on ahead and left the patrol crafts in their wake.


Just before they reached Malaysian waters, a leisure craft steered into their path. It was a luxury yacht where a couple of girls in bikinis and men holding champagne glasses lounged on the deck. The coxswain sounded the horn, but the men and women on the craft did not seem to care. Ah Fu was disgusted by what he saw - this was indeed a country of rich assholes. Their bumboat slowed down and was forced to make a turn to avoid the larger craft. That was the rule for navigating the seas. A smaller craft always had to give way to larger ones. What Ah Fu did not expect to see was another leisure craft, a smaller one this time, approaching from their left. The craft pulled up to their side and attempted to force the bumboat to come to a stop. The gleaming white hull of the leisure craft bumped against their side and the coxswain cursed at the leisure seekers obstructing his route.

A few men leapt over the side and onto the bumboat. The men had on only boardshorts and their half-naked bodies were adorned with gang affiliated tattoos. They carried guns but they did not look like they were from the police or the coastguard. Sahar stared at then with a frown. They were pirates, they had to be pirates. This country was more corrupted than it seemed. Pirates were operating openly in their waters and from leisure crafts no less. The ‘pirates’ immediately singled out Sahar and Ah Fu.

Hong: Everyone else, get on the other boat, now… You will be boarding another ride for the rest of your journey.

Hong gestured to Sahar and Ah Fu, asking them to sit the fuck down and wait. He pushed them onto the seat roughly.

It appeared to Sahar that the coxswain did not know the men who boarded them. He would not have cursed at the leisure crafts if he knew his employer was on board. He merely asked the passengers to comply and move to the other boat. When Sahar stood up in an aggressive manner to demonstrate his displeasure at being singled out, Hong did not hesitate to put a bullet in his knee. The loud report from the gunshot echoed across the open sea and it was followed shortly after by Sahar’s screams.

Sahar: Arnghhhhhhhh!

When Sahar woke up that morning, he definitely did not expect to get shot in his kneecap just for standing up when told not to. Ah Fu, who had also stood up, froze immediately as he stared at the crimson red blood pooling around his friend’s body.

Sahar turned towards the coastguard vessels in the distance as if they were going to help him. Singapore was strict with her gun laws, surely, they would have heard the shot. However, if they did so, it didn’t appear like they were going to do anything about it. Ah Fu looked at his brother, and then at Hong, who was munching on a curry puff with one hand while his other hand held the still smoking gun.

Hong: Sit down unless you want to end up like your friend there.

Ah Fu immediately sat back down. After a short delay, the smaller craft pulled away with the rest of the passengers. The larger craft pulled up to the bumboat and a man jumped onto the wooden deck, a man who was scrolling through his phone with a cigar in hand.

Jackson glanced down at Sahar who was crying in pain while he sat in a pool of his blood. He gave a dismissive snort when he saw that Ah Fu’s face had turned as white as ash. Jackson sighed as he casually he took a seat beside Hong.

Jackson: If there is one thing I hate, it’s being disturbed on my day off.

.........

[LeeChengWah]

Originally Posted by ZAFT

Less than a month before 'Home'.
I started years back reading The Beast Within. 3 days later I have re-read 3 stories.
This wait for the final story is nerve wreaking!
Well done Bro ILOCK!

The theme song is sang by Kit Chan?

[jtan4400]

I’m surprised that there are no comments for the new chapter so far, perhaps the readers might be unaware since it’s continuing off an older thread.

Anyways, I’ve been looking forward to this penultimate chapter for the longest time! And from what I’ve read so far, it’s set to be another masterpiece! Kudos to ILOCK for keeping this accessible to the forum readers, looking forward to the next update!

[jtan4400]

I’m surprised that there are no comments for the new chapter so far, perhaps the readers might be unaware since it’s continuing off an older thread.

Anyways, I’ve been looking forward to this penultimate chapter for the longest time! And from what I’ve read so far, it’s set to be another masterpiece! Kudos to ILOCK for keeping this accessible to the forum readers, looking forward to the next update!

[ZAFT]

Bro ILock, do u wanna consider writing it as a new thread titled Home instead ?
I've been searching for it on main page.
Didn't know u continued here.

Likely ur fans all didn't know.

[ironmushroom]

Welcome back with a new story, Bro ILOCK! Can’t wait for the rest of the chapters!

[ilikeoldchangke]

Originally Posted by ZAFT

Bro ILock, do u wanna consider writing it as a new thread titled Home instead ?
I've been searching for it on main page.
Didn't know u continued here.

Likely ur fans all didn't know.

was thinking it will be easier for readers to pick up off part 3 since it's been a while since The house in bukit timah was released.

I'll start a new thread with a recap of the 1st 3 titles when i upload the next update.

[ZAFT]

Originally Posted by ilikeoldchangke

was thinking it will be easier for readers to pick up off part 3 since it's been a while since The house in bukit timah was released.

I'll start a new thread with a recap of the 1st 3 titles when i upload the next update.

Awesome story as always!

[silk_magic]

Is Change of Heart renamed Home?

Originally Posted by ilikeoldchangke

was thinking it will be easier for readers to pick up off part 3 since it's been a while since The house in bukit timah was released.

I'll start a new thread with a recap of the 1st 3 titles when i upload the next update.