Who honors those we love for the very life we live? Who sends monsters to kill us, and at the same time sings that we will never die? Who teaches us what’s real and how to laugh at lies? Who decides why we live and what we’ll die to defend? Who chains us? And who holds the key that can set us free…
It’s you. You have all the weapons you need. Now fight.
Minho had had enough. Enough nagging from his mother, enough yelling from his father, enough comparisons against his brother. He’d had enough days of being obedient and enough nights of being a failure. He. Was. Done.
“So… How am I supposed to help?” the final year architecture student asked, already seated across his monstrously huge motorcycle, arms crossed at the front like he was judging the skinny little junior in front of him. Frankly he intimidated Minho, with his lip piercing and his bleached blonde hair and his deep voice.
“I… I want you to… Uhm…th-that is…” he tried.
“Go home, kid,” the elder said with a shake of his head and an almost attractive frown. “Come back when you’ve learnt how to speak.” The key was twisted in the ignition and the engine was brought to life.
“Help me defect,” he said in a loud, clear tone.
The other student raised a thick eyebrow at him, stalled motorcycle falling quiet. “What.”
Second page in my sketchbook, referencing off of a picture from google images which I will post once this drawing is complete. It should be fairly obvious with that devious smile, but my sketchbook cannot be without my favorite villain.