Enter: Jin Kazama

You give a left-right combo, followed by a swift kick to the shin, both strikes easily fended off by your father, Kazuya Mishima. After a few of your quick jabs, he retaliates with a 3 punch combo, the third forcing you back a few steps. Your father spits at the floor in disappointment. You run towards him, roaring, attempting an arial kick, but to no avail; a simple side step was all it took to make you kick air. You couldn't touch him.

Missing your frontal assult, your father grabs you ,mid air, and puts you in a choke hold you can't get out of. You struggle and resist, trying to pry off his large biceps, but you begin to loose consciousness, and your eyes become half lidded. Next thing you know, your flung onto the floor coughing and gasping for air. You look up at your father with grimace, as he towers over you with condescending eyes, one of which are scarred from previous battle. Your father only says a few words.

"Hmph" , he scoffs, " Tuh! Pathetic. Waste of my time..." and with that, he turned and left through the sliding wooden doors of the dojo, leaving you defeated in more ways than one.

Now on your hands and knees, you wait until you hear your father slamming the doors behind him before slamming your fists in the floor, pounding several times, giving off angered shouts of hate. You hate your father, you simply hate him with every fiber of your being.

And it isn't childish petty hate, this was a full on, young adult hating his abusive, judgmental father and you know he hates you too; the way he would sneak assault you, beating you to a bloody pulp, the way he insults your skills as a martial artist, calling you novice at best. You've been hospitalized in the past by your father. You would say you were jumped by thugs or attacked by an angry animal or some lame excuse like that. You convinced yourself ,once upon a time, that he does these things to make you stronger, to make you a better fighter. But you know better now. You really think he wants to kill you, or at least disable you, and you...don't know why. Why is he doing this to you, why you?

You can feel the tears ready to explode from your eyes sockets, but you hold them in; you've been pretty good at hiding your emotions ever since your father starting beating you worse when he saw tears in your eyes. Anything but hate was unacceptable. He beat that lesson into you. There was a time where you just hated everything. You blamed everything, and you hurt everyone. You eventually grew out of the phase though. You didn't fear him (not anymore anyway) only hate.

Still extremely angry, you sprint out the dojo, still bare foot and in your sparing cloths, your steps thudding on the wooden floor. You slide the door open furiously, and you left with out a word. As you ran towards the stone gate surrounding your dojo, you made a sharp turn to the left, bumping someone on the way. You didn't get a good look at the person, but you were pretty sure it was a girl. You didn't stop running though. You were too angry to think straight and you aren't yourself when you can't think straight. You had anger issues, and when you were upset, it was very difficult for you to calm down. You've beaten people half to death sometimes; a trait you get from your father. Maybe continuing running was for the best for the girls' sake.

Your running blindly through the streets and you hear someone call out to you, a familiar someone.

"Hey dumb ass, what are you doing?", the voice said bluntly, "You thought you could just run past my dojo and not expect to get your ass handed to you?!"

You recognize the voice and turn your head to see your friend/rival. You look at him a little wide eyed at first, but you calm down and walk into the wooden gate and go to the dojo entrance where your friend is. You give your friend and firm hand shake with a smirk.

Woah, you stink!", he says fanning the air. "what have you been doing?"

You both walk into the dojo.

"Hmph, none of your business." you say coldly. "what about you, you smell a little too clean to have been exercising."

"I was getting to it!" he roared.

You both sit on the bench on the side of the dojo and catch up on old times, you don't get to talk much because of your schedules, but you make time to see him.

This is your close friend Howarang. You've known each other since childhood, and you both grew up with martial arts in your family. His mother and father died when he was young, so he was raised by his grandfather, Baek, who taught him everything he knows about Tai Kwon Do. Ever since, he's worked part time at his dojo, teaching young children the art. His crimson red hair was short and spiked and, his head rapped in his sparring headband. His emerald green eyes piercing yet full of energy, like a young child. He wore his traditional white karate uniform, long cotton pants with an undone shirt, leaving his broad chest and abdomen exposed, nothing new there.

You look around his dojo and see young children practicing with their trainers. All of them focused on there own tasks, yelling as they hit their target.

Your dojo isn't like his, it's not for other people, it's mostly for you and your father, or whoever you or he brings to spar with. You rarely bring people to spar with, since you don't want people to meet him. You do know a lot of people in the fighting business. It kind of saddens you though that you can't bring any of your friends to your dojo. Because of him.

You look to the ground half lidded in depression. Your friend must have seen this because he sighs.

"Whats wrong Jin", he says sternly.

You say nothing, probably making your situation more apparent. He could always tell what was wrong with you when you did certain things. He know your actions speak louder than your words, and since you never talked much, that's all he could go by. He gives off an elongated sigh.

"...It's him, isn't it."

You turn your head away, giving him his answer.

He gives off a "Tsk" noise and gets off the bench you both sat on. He then steps in front of you, your head still lowered. He grabs your wrists tugging your arms out.

"Come on," he says lowly, "we're fighting."

You look up to him with sky blue eyes. Contemplating whether or not to go with him. He makes the decision for you with a forceful pull, dragging you off the seat. You grab on to your friends wrists a little longer than necessary and look into his eyes with seriousness. Seemingly flustered, he flings your hands off of him.

"Ahuugh, don't make me regret this!" he yells, creating the attention of others.

Now having an audience, the two of you get into your preferred stances smirking. You then proceed to giving the audience one of the greatest sparring match of there lives, one of which that most didn't get to fully watch considering the strife began from the afternoon till the late nights. Now both panting deeply, you both fall to the floor bruised and aching moon light shining from the windows.

You look over to him, still panting, and notice the sweat falling from his chest into the crevice os his abs. You notice his features of his face, the clean cut shave, leaving him looking younger then he actually is. You notice his mouth, open and panting; his pink lips. Now the only ones in the dark, moonlit dojo, You scoot closer to him on the floor.

"Hey what are yo-"

your eyes half lidded, you slide your hand lightly on his clean pale skin, feeling the heat and sweat of his previous battle. He slightly flinches making you smile a bit.

You inch closer to his face, your hand now on his thigh, trying to kiss him on the lips. He leans away from you, now looking at the floor. You stop.

Now both blushing, a pause between the both of you.

He gives a sigh and stands wearily.

I'm sorry...I...You know why...why I...I'm sorry.

You know what he's referring to. His boyfriend.

You haven't seen him too many times, only glimpses. You think you remember his name being stean Fox or Steve Fox, you don't remember, but he keeps your friend at a distance from you now, so you don't really like him all that much.

Before him, nothing really kept you two from getting as close as you wanted, from slapping butts after sparring, to affectionate kisses, but you two never really dated. More like friends with benefits. No one knew you both had attractions to each other, but some friends knew you two were bisexual.

You sigh and get up from the ground, a bit disappointed by the lack of locked lips. You grab your neck stretching and give off a groan.

"I think I'll head back now." you say, your back turned.

"Yeah, I think I'll head in too." Your friend says shyly, also back turned. "You sure you can walk home, it's pretty dark. Don't want to get mugged or something."

In the silence, you begin your walk towards the dojo exit, your hands behind your neck. "I think I'll manage." You smirk.

And with that, you were on your way home. On the walk home, you thought of your relationship with the red headed Teen, what you wanted it to be. You sigh looking down, your hands in your pockets.

You turn your head to the other side of the street to see a familiar woman wearing glasses with low pig tail braids going down her back, a close friend actually. She seemed distracted by some book she was reading. 'Probably some environmental shit' you thought to yourself.

You were going to yell out her name, but you realized someone was following her. A man with ragged unbuttoned red hawaiian shirt and black jeans was obviously following her, probably a mugger or something. You see her turn into a dark ally not noticing the man following her, at least, thats what you think anyways. It was always hard to read this girl. The man follows her into the dark ally and they disappear from your vision.

You shake your head slowly smiling.

"Forgive this poor soul spirits, he knows not what he does", you say to the air, trying to copy your double braided friends way of saying things.

You chuckle to yourself knowing what the mugger was in for. You would usually murder the hell out of people who would mess with your friends, but she was a special case. She could handle herself.

You spend the rest of the time walking, thinking about what your going to make to eat.

You get home and you open your door. Your father was in the living room Reading some book. The light was on him as he read, his left leg over his right knee. You pass him without a word. He lowers his book and glares daggers at you. You simply don't look.