Yes...Sage Pagan has returned. Finally. So this is my first Nina story. It seems as if nobody writes about her nowadays, and I'm bringing her back to the front to remind you that, yes, she still kicks ass, even if she doesn't love Jin Kazama and wear pink. Nina is one of my two favorite female Tekken characters (Julia being the other) and I've decided to delve deeper into her mind and her story, for Nina is way too interesting to be ignored. This story is much darker than my previous fics, and it is the only one that will not contain any romance; to me Nina Williams is a loner. Nobody fits her, and that's how she likes it. Anyways, enjoy.
1: Persephone
Prologue: Death Whispered a Lullaby
Ring around the rosy…Around and around again she went, like a child, flashes of light, intoxicating, peony cotton candy, greasy fingertips and caramel teeth, white horse and pink pigtails dancing, strawberry sweet laughter and cherry blossom smile, tender kisses and tall lemonades. Innocence swinging, precarious, fragile leaf on the weeping willow as the panther waited and watched bellow.
Ling Xiaoyu loved vanilla ice cream. She liked a drizzle of strawberry sauce, a dollop of whipped cream, cookie crumbs along the edges, and of course, the liberal dose of rainbow-spattered sprinkles on top. She liked long walks in the neighborhood, holding hands with Jin Kazama, and wasting long, countless hours in the amusement park riding the Ferris wheel and carousel.
Approximately one hundred and five pounds, twenty-one years old, five foot two, more or less, talented martial artist, one panda, one job (waitress at Peking Pagoda, hadn't received a raise in six months), one man, one friend, one annoying little laugh. She woke up at 8:00 sharp, went for a walk every morning, maybe caught a movie with Miharu in the afternoon, perhaps went out to dinner with Jin at the local café, then came back for some relaxation in her cramped little dorm. Biology and business management—an A student. Was recovering from the cold, allergic to coconut, liked crappy, cheesy romance flicks, and was fluent in English, Cantonese, and Mandarin.
Nina Williams knew all of this within three days. She didn't want to, but she did.
They showed her a picture, gave her the location, and she did the rest. They hadn't given her a reason as to why Xiaoyu should be destroyed, but it was unimportant to the blonde. She was paid well to do her job, and this particular assignment came with another bonus: Jin Kazama would be there. Jin Kazama, born from the family who had ruined Nina's life, loved Ling Xiaoyu. The Chinese woman should have been dead by now. All of this "stalking nonsense" was going to be a waste of time anyway, seeing how Ling would be six feet under in approximately three hours or less. But Nina had her eyes on the Kazama boy, and Ling could wait.
The blade-thin cell phone vibrated against her thigh.
"Williams," she mumbled into the phone, sipping her milk tea as Ling Xiaoyu crossed the street. She wore a white dress today, a pale shroud.
"It has been six days, Nina—no, now seven, counting today. What the hell are you doing? The Chinese woman should have been dead at least three days ago!"
"Relax, Rodrigo," she purred, "the job will get done soon enough. I've never failed, remember?"
"Bullshit. It shouldn't be taking this long."
Nina ignored her boss's anger. "'Rigo, I have never someone so stupid in my life. Why do people go to amusement parks anyway?"
"What?"
"She's consumed about eleven packages of those mini donuts."
"What the hell are you talking about."
"The subject."
"The subject should be dead. What are you doing profiling her for?"
"I'm not. It's not like I wanted to know everything about her; I just do. After only three days of watching this woman—"
Rodrigo snarled, "You are an assassin, Nina, a killer who does her job quickly and as soon as possible. You don't waste time observing worthless information. Maybe I should have found someone else."
"Careful, Rodrigo," she murmured, "remember, I'm the best you've ever had. And I need to have my fun too once in awhile."
"Just get the job done, Williams. If not, you'll get half of what you asked for."
"Threats don't work on me, remember? Just make sure the money's ready by tomorrow afternoon," the blonde woman replied, then hung up.
Ling was returning from her walk, and, to Nina's amusement, Jin accompanied her. They were alone, just the three of them at the children's playground, the swings swaying gently from the twilight breeze. Xiaoyu took a seat on one of them, soft laughter ringing and white dress billowing about her legs.
Setting her tea down, Nina removed her jacket; she wore black.
And as the leaves fell from the weeping tree, the panther leaped…
Rising and falling, the swing soared high as Ling jumped, pale gown, like a funeral shroud. Catching her in the air, Nina lunged, the flying sidekick colliding into Xiaoyu's belly. Caught off guard, she landed with a moan onto the concrete, clutching her side.
Pockets full of posy…
Blocking a jab from Jin, Nina then ducked down low, shifted swiftly, and seized one of the Japanese man's legs. Desperate, he lashed out with his free foot, but the assassin was much too fast and twisted, a small smile warping her mouth as she heard the satisfying crunch. Knowing that Jin ("that tenacious bastard") would continue to fight even with his broken ankle, Nina quickly leaped away from his reach. Breathing heavily, Ling rose from the ground, and in a rage lunged towards her assailant. Clouded by her fear and anger, her movements were sloppy, random, and the assassin used this to her advantage. Calm and calculating, the blonde bided her time, allowing Xiaoyu to attack, knowing that in a few moments the adrenaline would evaporate and her life would be hers to take. It was almost beautiful, this dance of death, lovely and graceful, elegance, white against black, whirling, bending and twisting on autumn's breath, the smell of spilled blood fresh on the wind.
Ashes…
Dodging a palm strike, Nina swung around, pale hair flying, and sent a flurry of ruthless jabs to Ling's back and neck. Grunting in pain, she quickly recovered, though shakily, and faced Nina once more, blood oozing out of her nose and mouth.
"Who are you? What do you want!" she cried as she blocked Nina's uppercut.
Not bothering to answer, the blonde merely smiled, unsheathing the thin sliver blade from inside her boot; the assassin could almost taste Xiao's fear as the woman caught sight of the knife. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Jin staggering towards them, and the blonde wasted no more time. She would cause him the same pain his family had caused her years before when they'd taken away her mind and her life…and now it was time to avenge those losses.
…ashes…
Before Xiao could react, Nina was behind her, the blade pressed firmly up against her throat, the icy metal sending shivers of fear through her skin.
"Jin…" Xiao sighed, as the hot tears branded her cheeks.
"Noooooooo!"
Nina made sure he was watching…
We all fall down.
Scarlet warmth stained Nina's hands, stained the front of Ling's vanilla dress, stained the blade and the little white pebbles beneath their feet, fallen innocence and another mission complete.
Sirens wailing, in the distance. Someone must have seen. Sheathing the knife, Nina abandoned the dead woman and her mourning lover, sped down an alley and disappeared into the gray. She could hear the thunder of Jin's pursuit behind her, and then only the gasping breaths of failure as all he found was darkness. He wept, and Nina felt only the cold shadows drawing her close. She'd done this countless times before, and would continue to feel nothing.
Wiping the blood from her skin, Nina took the cell phone into her hands.
"Rodrigo. It is done."
Caged Predator
Persephone with her sunshine-kissed hair and bluebell laughter tasted the pomegranate seed on her tongue and fled the Underworld. She escaped to the world of life above, into her mother, Demeter's, arms and waited for the light to come. But Hades, Lord of Death, knew she would have to return to the Underworld, for naïve Persephone had, unknowingly, tasted the food of the dead. And so he waited for her, for the frost that would bring her to him, bride of Hades and lost soul of light, mistress of the darkness and the dead.
Forced to remain within the sweet confines of this darkness and emptiness, I wonder if my spring will ever come. For Persephone is only allowed to taste the light during spring…
And the blood, the blood is the only thing that tastes real. Bittersweet, deceiving, fatal pomegranate juice. It is the one definite thing I can remember; it taints my hands and has woven a curse about my heart. I know too much. I have seen too much.
I let the taste of it linger for a moment, dancing and playing across my taste buds before swallowing. They are a crimson mess, my fingernails, with bits of dangling skin dotting the edges and the nails bitten down to the quick, the blood pooling and crusting in little droplets. It looks almost pretty, the scarlet rose petals against my pale skin, like Anna's red jacket against the blinding snow.
Shutting my eyes, my mind immediately rejects the memory. I don't want to remember her right now, for I only feel rage when my mind recalls my sister. Yet it is this crimson rage that helps to keep her face intact, or else I would have already forgotten her.
Hate is a beautiful thing, isn't it?
A gentle tapping comes from the door, and my mind is thrown into the present, into the white walled cage they've shoved me into. Opening my eyes, I let my shocked irises readjust to the vicious glare of the lights.
Here at the Osiris Institution we are all simply "crazies" stuck in the same loony bin. Nobody really listens and nobody really cares, that's the truth of it. After all, we're insane; cold isolation and bleached walls and a couple dozen pills will always do the trick. This is the place where society discards their refuse, their unwanted memories and their incurable wounds, because it's easier to ignore what you can't understand. The doctors, they come and they go, with their fancy white lab coats and little wooden clipboards, with their poisoned words of promise and barbed wire smiles.
I enjoy seeing them every time.
After another knock, slightly harder this time, the doctor comes in. I have two doctors, one male, one female (and about a million nurses), but for some reason my mind does not mind the male doctor. There has always been something about him that my mind seems to like, whereas the female doctor is simply hopeless. The woman psychiatrist, based on our previous conversations, seemed as if she had already given up on me. Not like it matters. After all, nobody has ever been able to put the puzzle pieces of my mind together, and she was just another failure to add to the long list.
"Hello, Ms. Williams. How are we doing today?" came the routine question. He's asked me that same question everyday for the last three months until my mind actually remembered it. Pretty big accomplishment on his part, seeing how I can't remember anything of importance for more than a few days or so. I used to be better at remembering. In the past, I couldn't remember anything before my awakening from the cryo-sleep, but recalling events afterwards were easy. Now, things are beginning to change: the present is slowly slipping away from me as well as the past. Something happened—but I can't remember what. What did they do to me while I'd been "sleeping"?
Not bothering to answer the doctor, I recline back onto the sterile little bed, penetrating his eyes with mine in a way I know will make him squirm in discomfort. And, as predicted, the doctor shifts several times in his seat, clearing his throat and looking everywhere but into my face. The corner of my mouth curls slightly in the beginnings of a half smile. Who's the patient now, Doctor? It's quite amusing actually. I enjoy the fear I instill into the people here, especially the doctors, those good for nothing wannabe saviors and intellectuals who think they know everything about my mind. Several have come to me in an attempt to "cure" my "illness" and "solve" my problems, and all have consistently failed miserably. In the end only two tenacious (and pretty damn stupid) doctors remain, and both of them were no more than twenty-three or twenty-five, fresh young shoots sprung from the earth ready to see what happy little life had to offer after college—in an insane asylum of all places. Yes, very amusing indeed.
He wasn't bad looking, this male doctor. Blonde hair tops his head, with indigo eyes surprisingly friendly—and annoyingly curious—and a wide mouth that at times curves back into a nice enough smile…and I hate him. He is a fake, just like everyone else here. To him I am just another statistic to put into the textbooks. Not like I actually want someone to care; it's just the part where they all think they can save me is what's bothersome. No one has been able to cure me; nobody understands—and that's how I like it. I can handle my own problems, thanks, but they don't seem to agree. Everybody wants to be a hero nowadays, especially when it comes to the most difficult case they'd ever faced: me. And who ever solved the case got a big fat gaudy medal, or else some other kind of lame recognition that would be passed down in the classroom volumes, only to be forgotten on the long road.
"Nina."
I yawn and reluctantly turn my head towards him.
Clearing his throat, the doctor tries again. "Ms. Williams…do you remember me?"
There's a small window near the ceiling of my white cell, and a little sliver of light escapes into the room. Too bad I can't climb that high. The walls are too smooth. Is it still winter outside?
"Ms. Williams?"
Knowing that he wouldn't stop with the stupid questions, I decided to end this game of mine.
"Yes. You're Stanley Wolf, the man who thinks he can help me."
Flashing me the artificial smile, Dr. Wolf nods, jotting down a few quick notes onto his clipboard. I roll my eyes, then stare up at the ceiling. What does he want this time?
"Your memory's getting a lot better. Last week you didn't even recognize me," he comments.
"Sure, sure," I mutter, peeling at the skin on my fingertips, "Stanley Wolf…it's also on your nametag."
He laughs, loud and hard, and I'm taken aback slightly, almost afraid: I haven't heard the sound of laughter in many months.
"It's not that funny. Besides, the name doesn't fit you," I growled in an attempt to shut him up.
Laughter abating, the doctor hesitates, unsure of how to respond, then smiles slightly. "Well, that's my name. Thank my parents."
"Whatever."
"Why do you say that if you don't mind my asking?" he asks, genuinely curious, as he flashes me another half-hearted grin. The pen is in his hands, poised like a music box ballerina dancer, above the clipboard. Anna used to have a music box like that…fuck. Anna again.
"Stop that," I snarl, biting at my nails again, and all thoughts of his name disappear.
"Stop what, Ms. Williams?"
"Smiling. And it's Nina."
Dr. Wolf clears his throat and doesn't do so again, to my relief. He continues to write on his clipboard, and proceeds to ask me a few more aimless questions.
"Do you know why you're in here, Nina?"
"Yes," I answer with a cold smile, and the doctor looks away again.
"Can you tell me?"
My smile widens, and I raise myself off the bed. "Because I kill for a living, Doc. And because I'm too 'crazy' for a normal prison cell."
Before I was arrested and forced into this sterile, four-walled cage, I used to be one of the most skilled assassins in the world. If you gave me enough money, I'd kill anyone for you, whether it was a lowly gang leader or an all-powerful drug lord. I've never failed, except for a couple times, when I'd failed to destroy Jin Kazama and his family, and also when attempting to take the life of boxing champion Steve Fox.
Steve Fox…that name triggers something…
"Do you remember your last victim?" came Dr. Wolf's voice.
"Yes, I remember. She was so young, barely twenty-two I believe. She loved Jin Kazama," I reply, staring up into the ceiling.
"Why did you kill her, Nina?" the doctor asks softly, blue eyes narrowed.
"Why not? They hired me to do it, and if it would break Jin's heart, then that was even better. Besides, she was way too happy and stupid; I hate people like that. They're just ignorant."
"You murdered a woman named Ling Xiaoyu, Nina. She was one of the world's most talented martial artists."
I smile. "Well then that's good. It just means that I'm better."
The doctor looks seriously disturbed now and he fails to disguise it as he glances quickly over the contents of his papers.
"Would you like to know how she died?" I whispered, forcing his eyes to mine, "would you like to know the sound of her voice as she bled? Or the color of her dress?"
As predicted, Dr. Wolf leaps out of his chair and pockets his ballpoint pen.
"No, we'll save that for next time. I think that will be all for now, Ms. Williams," he says hastily, then flees through the door.
Satisfied, I lean back against the bed and think about that woman I'd killed a few months back. I have already forgotten her name—but she doesn't need a name. All I remember now is the blinking, iridescent lights of the carousel and that pretty white dress, the front of it all stained with red, like a clumsy spill of fruit punch. I remember her warmth ebbing away beneath my hands as the silver blade carved a smiley face across her throat, like a Halloween jack-o-lantern, or a pretty choker of rubies.
Maybe she'd had a life. Maybe she hadn't deserved to die. Some of my victims did deserve death, or worse, but maybe this woman in the white dress hadn't.
And for an instant, I almost regret what I did. I almost feel sympathy for the tears on Jin Kazama's face and for that innocence I obliterated that day…
Almost.
Disturbing and macabre, I know. But tell me what you think anyway.