I just want to let everyone know I'm terribly sorry for deleting my recent fics. I feel that I need to start fresh, and getting rid of all my old fics would do me wonders. My goal is to become as good a "King ficker" as Peter!! Hopefully you like my new stuff!! My newest fic will start with about four or five OCs that me and my cousin made up over the summer.

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN TEKKEN OR ANY OF IT'S CHARACTERS. I DO NOT OWN THE PLOT OF THE ORIGINAL TEKKEN STORY.

My/ Oc's POV:

My name is Ivan Valdez. I was born and raised, by my Grandfather, in Mexico. My Grandfather, Ignacio Valdez, taught me everything I know about fighting to this very day. He taught me to defend myself because of thugs and muggers we had to reside with. You would think as being Mexican, he taught me to fight dirty like all those other thugs did. Actually, he taught me two styles of martial arts; Aikido, and Tai Chi. Back then I wasn't as strong around my upper body as I am today. So he taught me fighting styles that used your opponent's weight and power against themselves. Training was difficult for me. I didn't like fighting but, I was good at it. I never liked having to hurt anyone. The day I told him that he said to me, "You're only going to hurt them as much as they wanted to hurt you." It made sense, so I stuck with it. He learned and mastered these fighting styles in China. He was in the air force, and lived there for two years during "World War II." As he was gone, I always ran into unsuspecting fights with thugs and muggers. I never knew how to defend myself so I ran. I didn't even get away half the time. When he returned he blessed me with these amazing skills of combat. Ever since that day, I never ran from a fight.

One day I went out to get milk and some medicine for my sickly Grandfather. I came back 20 minutes later and found that my home was ransacked.

"WELLO! WHERE ARE YOU?!"I called out to him.

Later I find him in the next room lying on the floor, next to three dead men in black leather suits.

"Oh my God! Wello are you alright!?"

His voice skipped like a broken record as he tried to speak. I felt down his chest, and sure enough he had bullet wounds. All five shots directed at the heart…..

"Please! You can't leave me! You need to stay with me!!"

I held on tight to his hand. I could tell that he held on as hard as he could, but even then, his grip was slipping away; His grip on my hand, and life itself.

"Please I need you! You're the only family I have left!"

He gave me a slight smile, as the crimson blood seeped from the corner of his mouth.

"I'll be fine… I-- I 'm going to a better place now.." he softly stated.

"No! This is your home! He can't take you away from me now! PLEASE!"

I shouted out of rage, anger, hate, and sadness…

"I left you enough money to get yourself away from here.. You need to leave this place as soon as possible…. Those people know that you are s-- still alive, and they won't stop until they h-- have you as well.."

"Don't speak anymore. You're only straining yourself…" I laid his head down gently.

"Mijo.." he called out to me..

"Y-- Yes what is it?" trying to keep my composure in front of him.

"I love you… So much..", and with that he gave his last breath.

I stayed by his body for the rest of the night, clinging on to his bloody shirt and hands. I just then realized, he wasn't going to come back. Nothing I could say or do could bring my Grandfather back to me.

By this time officers had already come by, and investigated the crime. They had found no evidence whatsoever on who ordered the command of this assassination. After hours of morn I finally gained the strength to stand up and try to find him a burial.

There was a special spot that Wello would always take me. We called it "Sanctuary" because it was filled with beauty. The golden grass reflected the sun's rays, and created a beautiful aura amongst itself. We always basked in the sun's glory or the moon's mysterious radiance. But this was when he was alive. I buried him at the highest point of "Sanctuary" so his Journey to heaven wouldn't take as long. He taught me that in a way.

"Always stand up tall mijo. No matter how short or tall, you'll always reach your head into heaven."

I never believed him but, I always did it anyway too make him proud. He also told me to always listen to the grass against the wind. He said you could hear the field of angels singing. Well, I never believed that either, to be honest. But I always shot out my ear and cupped my hand to listen.

"You hear that mijo? They sound beautiful don't they?"

We would sit there all day and listen to "the angels sing", even though all I heard was the wind, and the grass rustling..

After burring him, I stayed for a while. I saw an old broken down Ford truck. The red paint was faded and peeled, and the metal beneath it was rusted. I sat on top of the hood of the truck and stared out into the field of golden grass, as I used to do with him. I brought myself to shoot out my ear and cup my hand around it.

I listened… and after all these years, I finally heard them sing.