You are...not Tai Lung however much you wish you were.

You are, on the other hand, bleeding, tired, and standing before a group of men who wish to kill you and everyone in the city. Especially the group of people trapped in rubble behind you. You flourish your katana for a moment before flicking it clean of blood and sheathing it. Every fiber of your being screamed to simply move forward and cut down those before you. You already took several lives today, what did it matter if you took more? It seemed like no matter how hard you tried you were always going to be a killer. Now was high time that you stop pretending to be something you're not. Still, you somehow could not bring yourself to do so. You just can't help but thinking about what Tai Lung would think of you. The mixture of frustration and confusion at your inner conflict causes you to smile at the irony at it all. It seems like in the end, you were simply a failure in all aspects. A killer who couldn't bring himself to kill. A broken, failure of an assassin that was burdened by feelings. You couldn't help but scoff and laugh at it all as more invaders arrive while you draw a line in the ground. If you were to die a failure then at the very least you hoped it'd look like you died a good man.

You crack your knuckles and push the pain lancing all throughout your body. A real hero would give a speech right now. Something that inspired hope in the weak and drove fear into those who wished to do wrong just like Tai Lung would. But you were not Tai Lung and you weren't a hero. You were just someone who was too tired to think up false platitudes for the people around him. You hold out your hands and ready yourself before shouting to the heavens, "You have one choice! Flee now or I'll line the streets with your broken bodies!"