Prologue: Memories are specs of dust
Ling Xiaoyu turned the corner of the building. School ended a while ago and she decided to walk home. It took her a good 30-minute walk but finally, she made it. She skipped past the gate-operating booth and headed to the house. About ½ way down her path, she noticed the garage was open. The limo was parked a few meters away; two men were putting the last coat of wax on it. She snuck into the north side of the garage and looked at the valley of cars. American and German cars span through the building. She hadn't been in here for a long, long while. She had never learned how to drive and she wasn't planning on it anytime soon.
She walked down the long pathways, looking at the license plates of the cars. On the sides of the walls were parts for each car. In this parking garage alone, there were about 30 cars. The rest were on the other side of the property.
Ling spotted a familiar car in the last parking spot. It was an ebony black Porsche, which no one used. She ran her fingers over the hood as she stared at the chrome rims. She opened the car door and slipped in the driver's seat. A pair of leather gloves with finger hole cutouts sat on the armrest. She carefully slipped them on; it was a loose fit because the original owner's hands were larger than hers. She placed her hands on the steering wheel and eyed the leather interior. On the dashboard was a pair of silver framed Raybans. She slipped them over her eyes, pulled the rearview mirror so she could see her reflection and smiled. She looked pretty good. Then, she turned and on the passenger's seat sat a red and white-checkered blanket. It had been sitting there, at rest, for a good 24 months. Ling took in a deep breath; her forehead creased and quickly exited the car. She turned away from the Porsche. When she looked up, she froze.
In the very corner, a large object slept. A dirty brown sheet covered it. The object protruded out of its cover at certain points and she knew exactly what it was. She headed to the orange glowing button on the wall and pressed it. The south side garage door slowly opened its mouth, showing Japan's sunlight. Ling placed the sunglasses on top of her head. She grasped the ends of the sheet and yanked it, revealing the treasure underneath. Dust flew towards the open air, escaping from the coldness of the garage.
Kawa-chan. The black and silver motorcycle stood majestically as it did all those many times before. Two years had barely done anything to it but added specs of dust. She slowly went down on her knees and ran her hand over the body of it. She noticed a small defect; there was a very, very, oh-so tiny small chip where the seat and the rest of the body met.
"Xiaoyu!" a male's voice boomed through the Mishima yard. She meekly approached the garage where the scream came from. The master of the bike stood beside it, his arms crossed, his right foot tapping on the ground. He pointed his finger to a spot on his Kawasaki motorcycle. "What is this?!"
Ling shrugged. "Black paint?"
"There's a chip there."
"I don't see anything."
"Well I do."
"My eye you do!" Ling stomped up to it, her eye close to the supposed spot. "Well, big deal. No one can see it."
"I can! Were you playing on it again?" he noticed her playful look.
She jumped on its seat. "Maybe." She gave him an innocent grin.
He swatted one of her pigtails. "Get off."
She swatted his spiky hair.
He stepped back. "Hey, hey! Watch the hair!"
She rolled her eyes. "Men are such babies. Why can't I get a bike for my birthday too?"
"Cuz Gramps probably doesn't know your birthday. In any case, since when can you ride?"
"I can ride a bicycle. Same thing, right?" Ling slipped off the seat.
He smiled evilly at her. That look sent chills down her spine because she knew he was up to no good. He sat on it, and turned on the engine. He threw her on the seat and sped off. He made a couple of rounds around the property, going 35 km/h but that was enough for her to scream out of fear of falling off. She clung onto him for safety, praying to the gods that she wouldn't die of terror right then and there. When he re-parked in the garage, Ling fell off, her pigtails crooked and her clothes wrinkled. "Like a bicycle, huh?" he asked. When she tried to speak on how evil and maniacal that was, the sounds were hoarse and incoherent; her throat was too dry to say anything. "What was that?" he asked, hand cupping the side of his ear. "5 more times around the property? Sure!" he pulled her on his lap and zoomed away.
A sad expression appeared on Ling's face. That was the first time she had ridden on a motorcycle before. It was a fond memory; but painful at the same time. She untied the purple ribbon of her school uniform and pulled it off. She gently used it to wipe the dust off Kawa-chan.
From the house, a pair of eyes watched his ward. She was in the garage, dusting off the motorcycle he bought for his grandson years ago. His eyebrows creased towards each other. That little bastard grandson...
A limo pulled up near the property. The back window rolled down slightly and a pair of eyes peered through the newly made opening. From the limo, the man saw a young woman caring to a motorcycle. He looked up and saw someone peering down from a high window. The man of the house was old, dressed in furry robes. His left eye burned a red light as he stared at that old baggage. He rolled his window up and told the driver to leave.
The master of Kawa-chan lived here once. However, she hadn't seen him in a good 2 years. Her friend, close, her best even...She sighed; this bike's life was just a part of her distant memories that connected with him. And that's all he was too: just a memory. She swatted the ribbon against her hand, trying to clean it, but dust clung onto it.
(Note: Ok, that's a nice start, isn't it. This is the beginning of the sequel to Lies Within My Truth. I'm gonna milk this story for all it's worth w/o butchering it. Bye! Oh yah Tekken doesn't belong to me.)