The Crouching Tiger

BO WORTA! shrieked Crouching Tiger.

The air was still. The echoes of those words resonated through the auditorium.
No one moved a muscle. And I aimlessly sat in the crowd, stunned by those very
words. Many of the spectators looked at each other in confusion, and then
glanced back at Crouching Tiger. What had just happened? Why Bo Worta?
Incessantly, Crouching Tiger had a stern, patronizing glare in his eyes. And
finally, Higgo spoke up, in a slow, monotonous and cold tone, now, uh,
Crouching One you, uh, provide some legitimate points, but I will vehemently
argue against this case.
Suddenly, shouts of disapproval and frustration filled the room. Audience
members stood up, out of their seats, waving their arms in anger. Many were
even mouthing sledges against Crouching Tiger, siding with Higgo.
No Higgo, let me explain, in a stereotypically fob accent, give me a
moment
TO BE CONTINUED