Disclaimer: I do not own any character related to Tekken, they are property of Namco respectively. - unfortunately though. The other characters are OC's, and I therefore own them. Author's notes: I based the main character Jaime roughly on myself, ofcourse with implemented exaggeration to spice up the story. I have no idea how long I'll make this fic, since it started off as a quick drabble to numb boredom. Furthermore there will be some topics mentioned that might be considered 'racist', please realize I'm in no way racist, it is part of the story. If this offends you in any way, I'd advize you to read another fic that you will be comfortable with.
Rating: This fic is rated T for the 'discrimination' issue previously mentioned, alcohol (ab)use, mentioning of drug use, (addiction in general), depression, constant swearing (trust me, there will be a lot of that), violence, and romantic relationships between some of the characters.
Genre: I could say that it could classify as a yaoi fiction, yet I do not intend to include strong sexual content. There will be romance and love-making, but nothing too explicit.
Main pairing: Miguel x Jaime. With some side-pairings with other Tekken - related characters.
Extra notes: English is not my first language, so I'm sure I will make typo's, spelling errors, and probably the sentence structure will sometimes seem a little .. odd. But I will do my very best. Also, if you guy want me to write about a certain topic or want me to include a certain pairing, please do let me know and I'll consider it for the following chapters.

This is a raw version of the first chapter. I you'd like to read a more serious version, skip to version 2. (chapter 2)

Now, without further ado, let's get on with the actual story. I hope you guys will enjoy. Please, read and review, I'd really like to know what you think and what I might need to improve on.

What is love? A question I've asked myself numerous times. It remained out of my reach. It seemed that everytime I'd meet someone who gave me the idea that we might've had something in common, I ended up hurt. History would repeat itself, as I would simply get rejected, or my weakness got the best of me and forced me to walk through a sea of fire, - sort of speech - and to top it of, I never found a single person to return the favor. Then again, I've never been the social type - not because I couldn't care less about humanity - but due to my severe case of insecurity. Making friends never came as an easy task, and the ones that I did manage to make, ended up either stabbing me in the back the first chance they got, or taking advantage of my gullible nature. I was pointed to myself, but I soon realized I couldn't even rely on myself. I'd been hurt so many times, - I even lost count - that I eventually just stopped trying all together. I kept telling myself that I'd rather be alone, than to make to make the same damn mistakes over, and over again. Sure it was a lonely existence, and it was only accounted for, for me to slip into a deep depression shortly after. I made efforts to stay as far away from any form of pain as possible, but avoiding humans in general hurt just as bad. I was left clueless. Nothing seemed to work in my favor, no matter what I did, I would end up alone and hurt. I became a heap of trash, a collection of negative experiences, to such an extend, that even the slighest annoyance would tick me off and made me go all Godzilla over the place. I became sensitive to certain noises, and I had my neighbors to thank for that.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me at least introduce myself before I start rampaging about shit you probably don't give two fucks about. My name is Jaime Smit, 22 years old, unemployed and currently living in my own personal hell. Oh, and I should presumably inform you that I'm bitter as fuck... Yeah, that should be about as accurate as it can get. Now, let me tell you a bit more about the hell hole I live in. It's basically a discount ghetto. All foreigners without the slighest bit of respect for their fellow man. Don't get me wrong, I've got no problems with foreigners, I just have major problems with the ones living next to me. I live in a cheap apartment, owned by Mr. Petersson, a land lord who'd sell just about anyone an apartment, if only the right amount of money was shown. Result : an entire building inhabited by street trash, young punks - who discard close to every rule I can think of by the heart, and see the hallways as their canvas to show off their 'amazing' grafitti skills - , a couple of drugdealers, old people on the verge of death, single fathers trying to prove their exes they were capable of living without them, families with low incomes that got a 'friendly' visit from a bailiff pretty much every month, and those families where you never see either the man or wife leave for work, but still managed to survive, - and in the back of your mind you just know the father is doing illegal stuff to feed his kids. Those brat kids that cause such amounts of noise during the day, that you'd seriously consider ringing their door bell and stabbing 'em all in the face. Oh, and ofcourse there is also the fair share of depressed nobodies, like myself. This is a recipe for disaster if you ask me, and several fights and police reports prove my point. God, you gotta love it...

I normally wouldn't set foot outside of my apartment, aside from buying microwave meals, and tabacco and filters, to support my nicotine intake with... Or .. maybe also to collect my mail, I suppose. Yet I heard the hoarse voice of Mr. Petersson - a tiny, middle-aged man with one hell of a belly - as he emerged from the hall way on the third floor (the one I lived on). At first I thought he was making small talk with Brenda - the blonde from the last room on the floor - she was a friendly woman, pressumingly in her 30's, nice to talk to, as I tollerate her pressence near me on the few occasions we smoked a cigarette together on the roof. A nice lady indeed, but a complete alcoholic. She had sunk so far into her addiction, that her head got permanently fogged up. The things that woman would blurt out, scared me from time to time, but what can ya' do about it? At least a person wanted to talk to me, even if I most likely wouldn't want to be near her if it wasn't for the fact that she knew when to shut up. As I opened my front door, I saw two faces turn to the sudden sound of the chain on the door's lock being unlocked. Mr. Petersson's face lit up in surprise to see me in the bewildered state I was in - since I was awakened by the sound of four little feet running around in the apartment next to mine - Those goddamn kids.. My eyes spit pure venom, and I knew the old man was still eagerly awaiting the day I would spit fire. Meh, I couldn't blame him, the man had never witnessed a smile on my face, and only heard me bark loads of insults at him regarding my neighbors. It was almost as if the old fart feared me. Like I care..

He cleared his throat, in an attempt to find the right words to greet me. I didn't care, his words will enter one ear, and exit the other. But the fact that those fucking monsters woke me up - again - was something I was not willing to let slide. I approached him, pointing my index finger at his sweaty frame.

"You! Listen to me, and listen to me good! This has been going on for four years now and despite the amount of complaints, I have yet to see you step up and do a goddamn thing about it!"

The man swallowed, straighting the folds in his shirt. There wasn't a chance he would brush me off this time.

"Mr. Smit, I assure you that I take your complaints to heart, but there isn't much I can do about the situation. These are children we're talking about .. and they tend to be noisy,"

Hah. Like I haven't heard that one before. It was the same lame-ass excuse as ever. A fucking waste of oxygen. I was about to make a remark, but forgot whatever clever line I came up with, when a tall figure emerged from the emergency staircase. I smirked at the sight. I've lived here ever since my mother kicked me out of the house at the age of sixteen yeard old, and for as long as I've lived here, the elevator had been out of order. Guess the old man didn't see the need for fixing it as a necessity. I mean, what is that 'safety hazard' of which you speak?

The person dragged a black bag along with him, wiping off some sweat that had formed on his brow, and straightened his back. Damn, that guy was tall, - and I say that about nearly everyone - since I'm only 155cm tall, which is rather short for a 22 year old guy - So pretty much most of mankind was taller than me - but this guy must've been 2m at least .. if not taller. I hate tall people. Standing so strong, towering over people, casting their shadow over anything and anyone shorter. I know it makes no sense.. get off my back already!

He looked in the direction where Mr. Petersson and I were standing, and placed a hand on his hip. "Am I interrupting something?"

I cursed under my breath. This guy's accent was as thick as jizz on a mondaymorning. Another foreign guy. I wondered how it was possible for me to still be speaking English, when in all those years, I could've easily picked up at least 5 languages. I looked at the guy and it now struck me that he was probably carrying that bag for a reason. I was about to open my mouth, when Mr. Petersson walked up to the stranger and happily shook his hand.

"Ah! Mr. Caballero, welcome! Excuse me for the interruption, I was discussing a small matter with one of my residents,"

I squeezed my eyes to little slits. A small matter? I should've ripped his nuts off as we speak. Insensitive prick.
The new face shot me a glance, accompanied by a smirk adorning his lips.

"I assume everthing's sorted out? Then again, judging by the look on that kid's face, you must have serious issues with his parents,"

Damn him to hell! The nerve on that guy! He doesn't even live here yet, and yet he already sees himself as the king of the manor. Fucking fucker!

My land lord breathed a nervous chuckle. "Mr. Caballero, this is Mr. Smit. He won't be much of a bother to you, I am sure. Now .. "

Mr. Petersson handed the giant a set of keys.

"These are the keys to your apartment. I'll let you get settled in, in private. If you have any complaints, please don't hesitate to contact me,"

Haha! What a joke. Upon realizing that the oldtimer had left me and the stranger alone, I got a little grumpy. Even more than I already was. I don't like strangers and I certainly don't like helping them. Turning around to retreat into my lair, I heard the guy speak.

"Hey kid, no hard feelings, right?"

I rolled my eyes back, pushing my door back into its lock, wanting nothing more than to get back to sleep. Still I heard his voice yell a final word, before I his door fall shut. I knew all to well what he said ...