Disclaimer: Characters featured in the Tekken series are owned by Namco (obviously). Rated T due to some language and violence, relatively tame otherwise.
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Chapter 1
It was a fine autumn morning at the Mishima Retirement Estate. The tall birch trees surrounding the enclosure stood naked, shorn of their leaves, while the maple trees shrouded themselves in an impressive crimson blaze. Dappled sunlight caressed the crisp leaves that settled upon the promenade, a light breeze tussling them playfully. Birds went about their business and their song pervaded the trees. The gentle calm ended abruptly with the wild protestations of a wheelchair bound figure pushed along by a nurse.
"You'll pay for this! I told you and all the other incompetents here, never to disturb me when I'm in the middle of my plans!"
Scowling, the elderly man thrust his head round obstinately to face forward, his naturally dark skin now a dangerous shade of puce. His features were almost obscured by a vast network of lines that gave the appearance of a railway map etched onto his face, though this could hardly compete with the impossibly creased and food spattered, purple, satin suit he insisted on wearing.
Nurse Saunders urged the chair forward over a bump in the path and took a deep breath. "Kazuya…"
"That's Mishima-san! Worm!" exclaimed Kazuya, his face imploding into a deeper scowl while his jet black hair piece slid to an inappropriate angle.
"… Mishima-san, we didn't take this decision lightly, we know how busy you are. It's just that there's something we really feel you should see," she said evenly.
"What in OAP hell is it then!?"
"Mishima-san, I assure that it will all become clear once we reach the Heihachi Lounge."
"That name…don't say that name!" screeched Kazuya, beginning to shake violently. "Do you realise that every moment wasted on this pointless endeavour could have been better spent plotting the demise of that piece of cretinous filth!"
"Mishima-san! Please don't besmirch the name of our glorious father, were it not for him, this illustrious retirement home wouldn't even exist," she said sternly with a strange mixture rapture and melancholy. "And please calm yourself, that kind of behaviour will only exacerbate your heart condition."
Kazuya ground his teeth and set his jaw firmly, a flicker of red, like glowing embers flared in his left eye.
The two stopped once they reached the entrance of a squat building nestled amongst the trees of the enclosure.
"Everyone has been gathered here, Mishima-san. There's some important news that concerns us all. We just want all of you at the big screen, where we can supervise in case of possible…distress."
"What are you talking about?" asked Kazuya with palpable irritation.
Not stopping to explain, Nurse Saunders pushed the chair through the automatic sliding doors into the Heihachi Lounge.
"FURREEEEEECE!" Red droplets spattered across Kazuya's suit jacket.
The nurse took on an expression of dismay and resignation. "Put the sauce bottle down, Mr Wulong" she said with the calm professionalism of a police officer. Apparently noticing her presence for first time, Lei Wulong turned the lethal assault weapon in her direction, causing a dollop of tomato sauce to hit Kazuya squarely in the forehead. Kazuya saw red, and it wasn't ketchup.
Lei had worked as a detective for Hong Kong's police force well beyond retirement age, bringing his indispensable knowledge and experience to the job. He had continued to have great success in apprehending criminals, the cyborg, Bryan Fury amongst them. He worked tirelessly and put his career before everything else, even at the expense of personal relationships. But inevitably his age caught up with him, for while he was physically fit, mentally he was in decline. The situation culminated in Lei accidentally shooting a fellow officer while on duty. His younger superiors, who still greatly respected him, shielded him against possible recriminations but 'strongly advised' him to retire. Lei begrudgingly accepted the offer but was never quite the same again.
"You rulease hostage now?"
"There is no hostage, Mr Wulong. The sauce bottle please."
"Where have you put hostage?"
"My bloody suit!"
Nurse Saunders stepped out in front of Kazuya's wheelchair while Lei levelled the bottle at her blonde head. "Give me the bottle, Mr Wulong."
His bloodshot gaze drifted around in confusion for a few seconds before he decided to surrender the weapon by carefully placing it on the floor, then proceeding to lie facedown with his hands on his head.
With a sigh, the nurse began to lift Lei off the carpet and accompany him to a seat. "We really need to stop having these hostage situations, Mr Wulong," she said despairingly. Then, sitting him comfortably, "Now no more trouble from you or it's Mr Sleepy Sedative… again."
From his position at the entrance, Kazuya's was afforded a full view of the lounge. He saw various familiar faces, creased and figures dilapidated, the chairs in which sat seeming to engulf them. "Oh God…" With a sigh, Kazuya pulled out a handkerchief embroidered with his initials in one corner and did the best he could to remove the sauce from his face and suit, muttering to himself the whole time. He scowled when he considered the cost of dry cleaning. Nurse Saunders was preoccupied with other residents, dispensing drinks from a tray and narrowly avoiding being pinched from behind by the fat, arthritic paw of former sumo wrestler, Ganryu. He would need to find a seat; a lengthy exercise in deciding who he would least like to sit next to and then proceeding to sit elsewhere.
Kazuya surveyed the large, semi-circular lounge, its curved wall comprised of floor to ceiling windows overlooking woodland, its flat wall dominated by what the staff of the home insisted on calling 'the big screen', as if to imbue it with the magic and excitement of a matinee. The reality being that nothing but strict Mishima Zaibatsu controlled programming was ever shown. After all, the retirement home was located on a previously uninhabited island in the Pacific, now owned by Heihachi. When he had announced his plans to build something as innocuous as a tourist resort and retirement home on the island twenty five years ago, Kazuya had become immediately suspicious and decided that it was worthy of investigation. He couldn't help but feel slightly perturbed however, by his failure to find anything shady (other than the pea soup served for lunch on Wednesdays) during the twelve years in which he had resided at the home. Nevertheless, Kazuya's resolve was undiminished, and he remained optimistic that he would unveil Heihachi's covert plans and find a way to profit from them. He scrutinized the more notable individuals, most seated in the robust armchairs clustered around the screen.
"C'mon, you aint telling me you're busy on Thursday?" asked Bruce Irvin, leaning towards Christie Gordo from his wheelchair. He apparently couldn't walk at all these days, due to difficulties with his knees.
"Oh, I can't," she said, lifting her hair above her head and letting it fall in a grey-streaked, chestnut avalanche around her. "I'm washing my hair."
"Damn girl, you always washing your hair. You can wash it faster if I help you."
Christie giggled, causing her pendulous bosom to tremble. Having put on quite a bit of weight, Christie was an enthusiastic exponent of the fuller figure. She had been married to her once mentor and lover, Eddy, and had led the sort of idyllic life few could ever hope to achieve. Under her persuasion Eddy forgot about avenging his father's death and focussed instead on launching himself into Brazilian politics. Christie meanwhile, enjoyed fame and fortune as a model and sometimes actress. A few years later, the couple were blessed with three healthy, bright children, and they became the very embodiment of family and domestic bliss. Even when scandalous photographs of Christie, allegedly entangled with a new love interest, threatened to ravage the family, they remained united. And when it was established that the photographs were mere fabrications circulated by a malicious and envious nobody, called Jennifer Lopez, they felt more unified than ever.
However, this euphoric existence simply wasn't meant to last, and it seemed the sun had finally set on the Gordo family when discontented grumblings about corruption in the Brazilian government began to spread throughout the country. As a prominent member of the government, Eddy was accused of complacency, greed and turning a blind eye to inefficiency and incompetence. Brazil was on the brink of civil chaos, and it was widely expected that the government would be overthrown in a coup. Eddy insisted that Christie flee the country with their children, which she did so with little resistance. Shortly afterwards, Eddy was assassinated. It was rumoured that he had been having an affair with one his aides for the last few years, though Christie fervently denied the claims.
"Well that only leaves Friday. You are available on Friday?" asked Bruce with slight pleading in his voice.
"I'm sorry Bruce, sweetie. The little ones are coming on Friday. I know you love kids," Bruce's jaw hardened, "but I don't think where you wanted to take me would be suitable for the grandkids."
"Shit girl. I got business to take of after Friday. How long you gonna keep stringin' me up like this?" He gave an exasperated sigh and straightened one of the cuffs of his expensive suit.
Bruce Irvin, former survival instructor and once bodyguard to Kazuya, had increasingly found himself hired by the corporate sector to improve team skills and communication between colleagues in the workplace. Seeing a lucrative opportunity, Bruce's teaching gradually altered to motivational and lifestyle classes for wealthy clients. Eventually, realising his own affluent status, Bruce decided to put something back into the deprived community of his childhood. To do this he sought King.
"Aww hell!" Bruce broke away from his conversation with Christie and spun round in his wheelchair.
A group of children, roughly kindergarten age, were gathering excitedly around King's chair, their teacher slowly raising a camera in preparation for a photo. Bruce wheeled himself at high speed and obscured the view of the camera as the flash went off. How he hated these periodic school trips to the home.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Bruce bawled at the petite lady with the camera.
"Sir, the children. Language please."
Bruce stared at her intensely, his jowls quivering, "What, are you doing?"
"The children wanted to have their photograph taken with King, that's all. They've had their little hearts set on it for months. Is now not a convenient time?"
"Do you know how busy this man is?" he said pointing at King, who sat perfectly still, his head drooping to one side, a faint gargling noise emanating from under the jaguar mask.
King was unfortunately suffering from the late stages of Alzheimer's disease, and Bruce, King's self appointed accountant and agent of the last few years, clung to him like a leech in hopes of making a little more cash. The two had met while King was still pouring his efforts into providing the necessary funds to run his orphanage. With the offer of financial support, Bruce requested King's assistance in the formation of a scheme to help disadvantaged youths. King agreed to this, and the result was a charity organization that Bruce christened, King's Trust, in his honour. The inception of the trust made King something of a celebrity, and it wasn't long before Bruce, smelling profits, started the production of merchandise themed on the Mexican wrestler. Most of the proceeds rarely went back to the Trust, but mysteriously found their way to Bruce's bank account instead.
"It is $20," Bruce explained, "per child, for a photograph with Mr King."
The teacher gasped in horror, "That's ludicrous!"
"Mr King is very busy," said Bruce as King slumped even further to one side. "If you are not prepared to pay the fee, then I would suggest you speak to a member of the trust to purchase a reasonably priced, signed or unsigned picture of Mr King. On behalf of King's Trust, thank you."
She hesitated for a moment before hastily sliding the cover over the lens of her camera with a loud snap. "Children, we're leaving," she commanded, marching out and giving Bruce a look of distain. The children straggled after her, whining in disappointment. In another seat adjacent to King, Craig Marduk sat and stared after them, shaking his head.
Defeated once again at King's hands during the fifth King of Iron Fist tournament, Craig finally came to the realisation that he was fighting for all the wrong reasons. King took Craig under his wing, and for a period they became an unbeatable tag duo in wrestling. However, it wasn't long before charges were brought against Craig in relation to an incident involving one of the female contestants during the last Tekken tournament. He was convicted shortly afterwards, spending three years in prison. During this time he studied literature, philosophy and psychology, and he emerged from prison a changed man. With his somewhat unique experience, the reformed Craig trained to become therapist, young offenders forming the majority of his patients. Years later, to protect an old friend from the avaricious tendencies of an unscrupulous businessman, Craig joined King at the retirement home to become his biographer.
Kazuya smirked to himself, he was thankful there weren't any vacant chairs near that particular group. The coarse American may have been a competent bodyguard but his conversation was abrasive at best. Kazuya winced at the thought of the Brazilian woman bombarding him with more news about exciting deals at the local Mishimarket, how the handbags were 'to die for'. And he certainly couldn't be bothered with the intellectual musings of the Australian, though he had to admit that conversation with the Mexican, or lack there of, was always good.
In a chair close by sat former Sumo wrestler, Ganryu. He paid meticulous attention to the nurses that moved about the room industriously, particularly the younger ones, Kazuya noted. Ganryu's mind had not been correctly focussed during the fifth tournament; as a result he was defeated by an opponent well below his calibre, a boxer, in one of the lower brackets. However, thanks to the help of a mysterious French girl, he was able to steal large quantities of scientific data from a Mishima Zaibatsu research facility. With it he hoped to win the respect and adoration of the sagely Julia Chang. But upon meeting her, all thoughts of romance were swiftly banished as it transpired that he had collected the wrong data entirely. Though it had been a terrible set back, Ganryu persisted with his courtship of Julia despite the fact it was endangering his position as a Rikishi. Unfortunately he was forced to give up on this pursuit after being served with a restraining order.
Depressed and unable to concentrate on his responsibilities at the Sumo stable, Ganryu was demoted a number of ranks. He had almost given up on love until a filmmaker friend of his suggested they hold auditions for a part in a fictitious film. Ganryu would be present while various women auditioned for the 'role', and if any of them interested him he could contact them. Thinking the idea ingenious, Ganryu heartily agreed to go along with it, and within hours he was looking upon the girl of his dreams, Asami. Sadly, the beautiful, introspective girl was incensed when she discovered that the role she had auditioned for didn't exist. It in fact turned out that she was more than a little mentally unbalanced. She bound Ganryu and subjected him to hours of torture, the injuries from which forced him to retire from Sumo Wrestling.
Ganryu was obviously heavily preoccupied with more important matters, Kazuya decided, and he himself was not in the mood to reminisce about the delectable Changs. He spotted a rather wretched looking figure wearing ragged and scuffed biking leathers that were far too big for his shrunken frame, his straggly, white hair thrust upwards in irregular plumes. It took all of Kazuya's restraint not to walk over and begin taunting the arrogant fool that had once insisted upon calling himself his rival. But he knew there was no need, the washed up alcoholic was doing an admirable job by himself.
"Not so tough now are we, my flat friend?" Paul seemed to bellow at the floor. Upon closer inspection, an onlooker would notice that his attention was in fact focussed upon a rather threadbare, brown bearskin rug adorning the floor, complete with gnarled head and glass eyes. Kuma's death was entirely due to old age, though Paul insisted it was the consequence of an epic battle on a mountainside. "What? You think I don't have the balls!" Paul shrieked at the rug, as if in answer to a challenge that no one else could hear. With this, he threw himself onto the floor and began to wrestle mercilessly with the rug.
Fate had continued its cruel entertainments with Paul Phoenix, tantalising him with victory after victory at successive King of Iron Fist tournaments, only to snatch it away inches from his grasp. The torturous failures made Paul angry and suspicious, and this suspicion developed into full blown paranoia, while his anger became focussed on the one thing that could explain his misfortune. Extraterrestrials! He began a campaign to fight back and extinguish the malign influence of these abominable creatures, but to Paul's despair the public's reaction was less hospitable than he had anticipated. He spent many years afterwards in seclusion, unable to trust a society too blind to see its own inevitable plight at the hands of these aliens with calamitous intent.
After some moments of intense combat, a few handfuls of brown fur cascading through the air, Paul seemed to emerge victorious. Placing a booted foot on the head of his utterly defeated adversary, he proudly announced, "Don't mess with the Phoenix unless you wanna be next!" A few heads turned, but most of the nurses and residents alike had seen this particular bout a number of times, so continued about their business. Kazuya suppressed a snigger; it was so tempting to walk over and get the American worked up. Instead he decided to let him savour his victory. After all, it was the only kind of victory he was going to get these days.
Next to a vacant chair sat another of Kazuya's once bodyguards, Anna Williams. Onlookers were wise not to be fooled by her appearance, for despite her penchant for skirts and high heels, she was vicious in the ring. These days however, she was preoccupied with other battles. For one, her ongoing divorce from Kazuya's adoptive brother and multimillionaire, Lee Chaolan. They had both entered a series of short lived and ill fated marriages with an array of different individuals while sating their predatory, sexual appetites. During those years, a courtship, like that of two entwined and highly venomous snakes, simmered between them, eventually culminating in their engagement and subsequent wedding.
The ceremony, which was cripplingly exorbitant and extravagant beyond all good tastes, attracted a lot of media attention, though not as much as the turbulent marriage that followed. The couple filed for a divorce after six months. They then spent the proceeding years, in court, gluttonously appropriating as much of each other's wealth as possible, Anna from Lee's lucrative sales of robots for 'leisure activities', and Lee from Anna's successful fashion chain. While it certainly couldn't be said that they were a showcase for the resilience and longevity of marriage, their divorce was now nearing its thirtieth anniversary, an auspicious occasion.
Noticing Kazuya's glance, Anna looked in his direction and waved her hand in a rather regal gesture of invitation. There was worse company to be had, Kazuya decided, provided he steered well clear of one particular topic. Anyway, Anna's monumental flirtations usually drove away any man unable to fill the rather large boots that she kindly laid out and expected them to fill. And her noxious attitude towards the same sex usually resulted in a one hundred metre blast radius of hostility. So at least Kazuya wouldn't be forced to mingle with too many of these simpletons. He lifted himself slowly out of his wheelchair and began tread over to her position.
"Kazuya, such a rare pleasure to see you," cooed Anna, all purring Irish vowels.
Her face maintained its indifferent expression of surprise, the painted eyebrows venturing a little too high on the taut skin of her forehead, an encounter with an all too eager beauty therapist and a syringe full of botulinum toxin no doubt being the cause. For even more fierce than Anna's legal encounters, was her war against the ageing process, where her face was the battlefield and the surgeon's scalpel her holy sword of justice, whose steel, no vile wrinkle could hope to stand against.
"Miss Williams," replied Kazuya with a nod, as he shuffled painfully on stiff legs. Anna, head tilted, regarded him with faded blue eyes as he collapsed into the chair.
"So, any idea what all this…" she gestured with a thin arm at the room filled with sitting figures, "is all about?"
"Your guess is as good as mine, though the nurse seems to think we'll become quite 'distressed'. And I must say just looking around this room is having that exact effect."
"Oh for love of… If it's just another one of our fellow inmates popping their clogs then why hell don't they just say so?" exclaimed Anna, rolling her eyes. "Half the people here refuse to die themselves, so I should think they're experts at dealing with bereavement, the other half is so senile that when someone does die they bring wedding gifts to the funeral. Perhaps they're about to replace the curtains in the dining hall again; that never fails to cause me no small amount of distress. I swear, if they put up any more floral prints I'll get Jacobs to smear his greasy, brown faeces over them again, then they'll have to take the hideous things down. Even if they don't it'll be an improvement either way; I'd rather look at another one of Jacobs' tactile masterpieces than those flowery travesties."
"A bereavement would seem more likely."
"Oh, speaking of bereavements, you probably haven't heard. Beak… Bek…?" Anna pursed her lips in thought, an expression that one would usually expect to be accompanied by a furrowed brow. "Ah, yes. Baek Doo San!" she said triumphantly. "He died three days ago, permanently this time though. Natural causes apparently, not giant, green monster related. I'm sure you remember Baek?"
"Hmm, the Taekwondo master?" said Kazuya, folding his arms. "I was under the impression that he was dead all these years, I forgot how many of those old faces eerily resurfaced during the fifth tournament. Anyway, pretty pitiful pugilist I recollect. But I suppose if he's dead we're obliged to say facetious things like; 'what a terrible loss'."
"Oh, but it is!" exclaimed Anna. "He had a nice ass…" She rolled her eyes skyward, wistfully, "Well, twenty years ago anyway."
Anna's reverie was interrupted when a flustered Marshall Law was thrust into the lounge by strong hands through a door to the left of the screen. "Mr Law, I'm sorry to use force but I'm just doing my job. I was told that all able residents were to be gathered in the main lounge area, and that includes you, Mr Law."
Marshall turned on the flushed kitchen staff member, a demonic glare on his face. "And how many of the residents are in the middle of making a soufflé?" he demanded.
"Mr Law, there's really nothing I can do about it; they were quite specific." The young man held up his hands, looking rather defeated. "If you want to complain about it, I suggest you speak to the head of staff."
Marshall usually contented himself by assisting in the kitchens of the retirement home on a voluntary basis. It was a passion that had never faded, unlike his passion for martial arts. That had withered away long ago from years working as a hired goon for a loan shark. He had approached the loan shark to try and combat seemingly insurmountable debts. After receiving the agreed amount, Marshall was then saddled with the burden of repaying his new debts. He had assaulted too many of his customers to even contemplate going back to running a restaurant, so he decided to become a health inspector, thinking there might be a little more money to be had there anyway. Things didn't go well, and it wasn't long before Marshall found himself pursued by his lenders.
Two months passed while he was under constant threat, barely able to get one night's sleep, though he still managed rebuff his pursuers. Realising the futility of the situation, the loan shark's men approached Marshall with the offer of joining their ranks, apparently so impressed with the efficiency he had displayed at dealing with them. Despite his reservations about working with such people, Marshall jumped at the chance, realising it was the best way to pay off his debts. Though he didn't initially plan to work with the thugs any longer than was required, those thoughts quickly evaporated when it became apparent that his wife would not relinquish her tenacious grip on his healthily inflated wallet.
"Fine!" exclaimed Marshall petulantly. "But God damn it, if that soufflé falls…" his voice was barely above a whisper with a menacing edge to it, his long, silver moustache quivering with his rage, "then on your head be it." He furiously tore off his stained apron and threw it at the man in the doorway. The staff member flinched and withdrew without another word, a worried expression on his face. Anna flashed a mischievous grin at Marshall as he stalked past towards Paul.
"Have you seen my wife, Paul?" Paul looked up at his friend of many decades with the vaguest hint of recognition. Marshall sat himself down in a chair beside him, Paul eyeing him very suspiciously. "Where the hell is that woman?"
Nurse Saunders swept past, clipboard in hand and clutching a pen, apparently performing a headcount. "So, anyone else in the obituaries I should know about?" asked Kazuya, picking up where he and Anna had left off.
Anna pursed her lips again. "Hmm, no one of consequence. Of course, they're all dropping like flies these days," she said with a self-satisfied air, crossing a well preserved leg. She seemed about to say something else when her breath came short and she became very still, staring at the space in front of her as if some painful and repressed memory had just resurfaced and re-enacted itself there. "Well there's one person whose name I've been praying would turn up in the obituaries for years now." She turned slowly towards Kazuya, a cold and fierce light behind her glazed eyes. He swallowed nervously, hoping the conversation wasn't about to turn to a certain sibling of Anna's. He had enough problems with his own dysfunctional family without hearing about the rifts in hers.
Suddenly and without warning, Anna shot out a well manicured hand and grasped Kazuya's knee almost painfully. "Do you know what that bitch did?" she hissed with a maniacal glare. Not even giving him a chance to venture a guess, she proceeded to answer her own question. "Prada! Fucking Prada! She asked me if I would donate something for one her stupid bible bashing fundraisers. Now I'm not an unreasonable person, and I didn't want to refuse and make her look good, but I was on my way to the spar. So I made possibly the most stupid decision in my life and said she could go to my apartment and pick up any pair of shoes, as long as they weren't Prada."
Kazuya felt it was time to be going, but when he tried to lift himself out of the chair, Anna's hand remained firmly clamped to his knee. Certain he could feel the painted, red nails piercing his skin, he sat back down.
"So I get back from the spar, and I'm one pair of shoes down - one pair of Prada shoes. I was almost out the door to go and immolate the bitch where she stood, but then I see her sitting there in my bloody kitchen. She said the fundraiser was a success and that the shoes auctioned for a high price. She wanted to 'thank' me apparently. I was furious; 'where the fuck are my fucking Prada stilettos bitch?' And she just sat there, all innocent, trying to look shocked; 'Oh no. Those were the Prada ones? I'm so sorry, I couldn't tell the difference.' Can you actually believe her? I mean as if she didn't actually know? I'm going to have to replace my entire kitchen because of that incident."
With great difficulty Kazuya attempted a sympathetic face, hoping it might calm her down. He should have known Anna was due to have another one of these episodes.
Nurse Saunders came striding towards them again with her clipboard. She stopped in front of them. "And how are we today, Miss Williams?" Anna didn't respond, apparently still reeling from the memory of the despicable larceny of her shoes. "Anna?" nurse Saunders enquired, her smile replaced with a look of concern.
Anna looked up, her eyes no longer glazed. She loosened her grip on Kazuya's knee slightly as a sigh of relief escaped him. "Oh I'm fine thanks," she said blithely. "How can I help you?"
"Well, everyone seems to be here except Mr Law's wife and your sister. You wouldn't happen to know where she is, would you?" Had most of the muscles not been paralysed there would have been a very unpleasant expression on the Irishwoman's face at that moment.
Anna tensed up, causing Kazuya to gasp as she squeezed his knee brutally. "And just why exactly would I know the location of that bitch?"
The nurse flushed. "Oh, that was a little presumptuous of me. I guess you two still aren't getting along?"
Anna's laughter was shrill, verging on hysterical. "You could say that. I'll tell you what though; if I see her, I'll let you know. Then you'll be able to find her in the operating theatre at the hospital," Kazuya swore he could feel ligaments tearing, "having another hip replacement!"
Nurse Saunders attempted a smile but found only a grimace materialising before she turned to Kazuya, who wore an equally pained expression. She unexpectedly laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Mishima-san, I just want you to know that after the announcement I'll be here if you need someone to talk to." With that, the nurse turned and walked off before he could even begin to fathom what she was talking about.
Not giving it another thought, Kazuya turned his attention to Anna, hoping he might persuade her to disengage her claws. "Do you think you could possibly…?"
"Oh, Kazuya I'm terribly…" she broke off mid-sentence, the absent look appearing once again in her eyes as quickly as it had dissipated. Anna thought she felt a shiver run through her very soul. "She's coming," she hissed, fully reapplying the pressure and sending rivulets of pain up Kazuya's tortured leg.
As if having waited precisely for this prophetic announcement, the retired assassin, Nina Williams, strolled in through the automatic doors that Kazuya had passed through a short time ago. Her head held high and her gaunt features arranged in an expression of superiority, she halted at the entrance. Within seconds of her icy gaze scanning the room, she spotted her sister, who returned a venomous glower that could have thwarted a basilisk.
"Shit!" hissed Anna, whipping her head away from the sight of her nemesis approaching, as if doing so could will her out of existence. "It's always the same with that bitch. Just can't leave things alone; always has to pour just a little more salt in the wound."
Kazuya decided it would be only prudent if he were somewhere else when Anna's sister arrived. After all, the Mishimas and Nina Williams got along like a gang of arsonists in a fireworks factory. She had at one point or another attempted to assassinate three generations of his family. In particular his mind drifted back to an incident in which he found himself being sniped at in the comfort of his own bath - something that didn't help to endear her to him any further. And to the Mishimas, Nina owed twenty two years worth of long term memory loss from which she was yet to fully recover, and an unwanted son created from her genetic material without her consent.
Anna was far too preoccupied with her own thoughts to even notice as Kazuya attempted to release his knee from her iron grip with his own arthritic fingers. He struggled with little success, becoming more desperate when he looked up to see Nina stepping ever closer. If she and Anna came into contact with one another before he could release her hold, he doubted he would ever walk again.
"Kazuya," the older sister greeted him coolly. Too late. She swept a few errant wisps of grey hair away from her eyes and glanced sideways, towards Anna, who had suddenly become intensely interested in the carpet. "Anna, surely you're not still upset with me over that. How many times can I apologise before you'll forgive me?" Kazuya clenched his jaw, feeling the pressure build. He swept his gaze towards Nina, and squinted as a ray of sunlight caught on the heavy, silver crucifix that adorned her neck.
That cross was a talisman that the Irishwoman was never to be seen without these days. After decades spent as an assassin, the great epiphany that awakened her latent Christian sensibilities came in the form of a priest that spoke with the same voice and beheld Nina with the same gaze as her long dead father. As she levelled the mussel of her gun with its silencer at his head, this man that was, but could not be her father, spoke. He told her it was time to let go of the malignant blade that spilled the blood of her victims. Time to heal the wounds of her neglected past, and that putting her faith in God's hands would help her do so. At the time, Nina was stunned; he did look remarkably like her father, and even made an interesting point. But he was also a paedophile, and her contracted target, so she shot him. However, that was the last person, she swore, would ever die by her hand before devoting herself to God.
A peal of laughter tore through the air with a serrated edge. "Forgive you?" Anna blurted incredulously. "God might forgive you, but then he doesn't have enough sense to wear Prada does he? He just wears those hideous fucking sandals."
"Anna, it was a simple mistake. Why can't you accept that? It's not like they didn't go to a good cause."
"Oh no! Don't even think about giving me this bloody 'good cause' and 'I am light' crap, you born again piece of trash. You could be doing all three of the holy trinity at the same time for all I care, it doesn't mean you can't read a label in a fucking shoe!"
Just at the point that Kazuya thought he might have to consider leg amputation, Nurse Saunders interrupted the exchange. "Nina Williams," she marked the sheet on her clipboard robotically. "Mrs Law can't make it… so that's everyone. You're a little late, Nina, but no harm done. How are you today?" she asked in a way that was more a pre-emptive strike against potential problems than polite conversation.
Nina turned to the nurse, effectively ignoring Anna, who growled and finally tore her hand away from Kazuya's likely crippled limb. "I'm feeling invigorated. It's yet another wonderful day for which we must be thankful to the Lord," said Nina, almost solemnly as she proceeded to automatically genuflect. Anna looked ready to vomit at that gesture. She'd never believed her sister's new found faith was anything more than a pious façade from the moment she had been baptised the second time.
"And I must thank you for your generous donation," Nina said calmly, laying a hand on one of Nurse Saunders' slender arms.
"Oh, I'm just happy to help. I'm so glad it all went well." The nurse's disposition was sunny but with an air of reticence about it. "Anyway, you'd better find a seat, Nina. We're ready to start, do excuse me." She headed off to the front of the room where the other nurses had already conglomerated.
Nina glanced towards Anna again. "We should talk later."
"Yeah, about how you're going to repay me for a pair of Prada shoes, a kitchen and a lifetime of grief," she spat, glaring. Nina simply sidled off to a seat nearby, while Anna looked about indecisively before getting up and storming after her.
Finally alone, Kazuya felt as though he had weathered a severe storm. He took a deep, energizing breath, and winced at the pain in his knee as he flexed it. He hated gatherings like these, considered them an exercise in tedium, and Nurse Saunders' behaviour was perplexing at best. Make the damn announcement and I'll be on my way.
"Excuse me, may I have your attention please," Nurse Saunders' crisp and sober voice swept across the lounge. The murmuring in the room began to cease and was replaced by expectant silence. "Thank you all for coming."
"Like we had a choice," grumbled Marshall.
"Terrible news reached our manager, Mr Kobayashi early this morning," she intoned gravely. "As per his request, you will have noticed that TV and internet services to your apartments have been temporarily suspended. Mr Kobayashi is currently attending business in relation to the matter at hand, so cannot be here to address you himself, for which I must apologise on his behalf." Another nurse slid what appeared to be a remote control into Nurse Saunders' hand. "Brace yourselves," she said before hitting a button on the control with a flick of her wrist.
The big screen suddenly illuminated with the image of half a man's torso, a news reader who was apparently mute, though within a few seconds an accompanying voice began to filter through the sound system. "… leaving a potentially volatile economic climate."
Kazuya quirked a thick brow as the torso was replaced by a reporter standing next to a familiar figure. "I'm joined by the former Executive Director of the United Nations Environment Programme and now the newly appointed High Commissioner for Human Rights at the UN, Julia Fox-Chang."
"Brad," greeted Julia, warmly.
"So what is the sentiment at the UN in light of recent events?"
Julia opened her mouth to reply, only to be drowned out by the clamour of an over enthused Ganryu. "JUULIAAA!" He dashed with terrifying speed towards the screen with the intention of smothering it. Several arms entwined his expansive chest however before he was given an opportunity to show his adoration.
"Get this man sedated," demanded one of nurses struggling to restrain Ganryu. "We'll have to keep him under for at least a week."
"The corporation's track record on human rights has been criticized as being well below international standards," stated the reporter. "How do think this situation will affect your job now?"
"I'm optimistic. I see this as an opportunity to extend the influence of the United Nations, which is desperately needed to combat these human rights abuses. Up until now we have been too heavily impeded to take definitive action."
So what the hell is this 'terrible news' then? Human rights abuses are under threat? What? Kazuya attempted to read the scrolling text at the bottom of the screen to try and get a gist of what exactly he was supposed to be so concerned about. But alas, his eyes weren't what they used to be, and he'd been bustled out of his apartment too quickly to pick up his glasses.
"Thank you," said the reporter, with a polite nod towards Julia. "I'll be speaking to the high commissioner again in a few minutes. But for now, back to you Douglas."
Douglas, the news reading torso, appeared once again. "Thanks Brad. Breaking News; Leader of the Mishima Financial Empire, Heihachi Mishima, was pronounced dead this morning. A coroner's report indicates heart failure as…"
Bruce looked about in disbelief and asked no one in particular, "Heihachi Mishima… is dead?"
Nina genuflected and mouthed a wordless blessing, while Anna appeared to be surprised but most likely wasn't.
Why hadn't Kazuya seen this coming? It should have been obvious from every expression on Nurse Saunders' face, that woman who had some kind of bizarre and twisted adoration for his bigot of a father. And why hadn't she told him sooner?
Materialising a few steps from Kazuya's chair, Nurse Saunders suddenly approached, threw her arms around him and began to sob uncontrollably. "Mishima-san, I'm so sorry. Mr Kobayashi asked me to inform you this morning. But I just…I just…couldn't," was all she could stammer before she began to sob once again in that uncharacteristic, not to mention, uncouth fashion.
So that was it. Kazuya put an arm around the trembling nurse while smiling blissfully, not really caring if onlookers mistook his actions for sympathy or affection. For now his thoughts were preoccupied with the wonderful news he'd just received. He wouldn't be truly satisfied that the bastard was dead, until he was looking upon the stiff and festering corpse, having met with too many past disappointments to accept this so lightly. But at the moment, he would content himself with the possibility that it might be true. Maybe he even left me something in the will? Kazuya snickered to himself.
