“Bwang, Fwank Booow…Buttubuttu, Bang Fwank, Bow.”

A huge figure loomed over the crowd that rush around him, lost in his own rhythm.

“…..Rhythm, bowdy, bowdy, bwank boww…..The Rhythm….baboom”

Deejay swapped his huge step to the beat, feeling the rhythm flow through him, around him, completely inattentive to the staring faces as he strode down the crowded streets of Hong Kong. He was one his way to another audition, having spent the morning in the Gym. It was blisteringly hot, and though Deejay wore no shirt, he was sweating, his huge body worked up from hours of practice with weights and heavy bags in the hotel’s gym. The crowds were thick and Deejay didn’t seem to notice he way becoming a bit of a spectacle. Although the people of Hong Kong were more that used to foreigners, this dark-skinned man seemed completely out of place.
Wearing a long pair of kick-boxing trousers, no shirt, a somewhat interesting hairstyle with long braids, and banging his head to loud hip hop music through a pair of abnormally large earphones on his ears.

But Deejay didn’t care. The rhythm is everything he knew, it was all he needed.

And then BANG, someone was crashing into him, sending a stall of magazines on the footpath flying. A young man, dressed in baggy clothing had just knocked a shopkeeper into Deejay’s arms, unconscious from a hit on the head. The man was wielding a heavy ornament, which he had just used to knock the shop keeper out.

“Serves you right, trying to rip me off!!!” Deejay heard the kid say through his limited understanding of the Cantonese language. Deejay had had to learn quite a lot over the last few months, his jobs in Hong Kong becoming more and more reliant on him to adjust their rhythm to his beat.
And now he had lost it. Some punkass kid had made him lose his rhythm, something some of the best fighters couldn’t do. The kid grabbed a handful of money out of the till and dashed out of the shop’s doorway, right in Deejay’s path. He kept running until he was abruptly stopped and thrown in the other direction by a huge leg, crashing onto the ground in front of the passerby’s who were trying to desperately get out of the way of the fight.
“Hey…,” the kid screamed at Deejay, instantly on his feet, yet bent over due to the wind that had been knocked out of him from Deejay’s kick, ‘who the @#%$ are you!”
“You can’t fuckin’ do that to me you bastard.”
“I can do what I want,” deejay grinned a wide grin. “And you made me loose my rhythm…it serves you right.”
“Huh? … Rhythm? I…I don’t know what you’re talking about but you’re gonna be sorry you did that, bastard.”
The thief flicked out a knife from his pocket and ran at Deejay. Deejay swayed casually to avoid the first swipe, grabbed the second swipe and promptly backhanded the young man in the face, sending him cart wheeling away, straight into a sidewalk seat. This time he rose up groggily, his face a mess after hitting the side of the seat, blood pouring out of his nose.
He was smart enough to back away, his eyes filled with rage and a little bit of fear.
“You don’t know who you’re messing with! My uncle is gonna @#%$ you up, he’s someone you never wanna get to know. Your dead!’ He screamed, backing off and sprinting away.

Deejay, smiled absently and turned to go, the rhythm beginning to swam his senses again. A man stepped in front of his and called him away form the crowd who were all beginning to continue their travels down the foot path, a little excited, but none too surprised. These things were not much out of the common in these streets.

The man spoke softly, his eyes boring into Deejay’s.
“That kid’s uncle is a triad boss. You should leave here, my friend, if you don’t want death.”
“Thanks for that hint, friend,” Deejay grinned as he turned to continue towards his destination.
“I’ll remember that when I clean my teeth tonight.”