Hey. Some of you may know me from my Soul Calibur story, Three Alliances and the Lost Soul. I'm gonna expand a little and start this Tekken story as well. I decided to start this story off as an origin story of Dragunov because although his mysterious past makes him interesting, I also believe it makes him one-dimensional. This is my take on his persona. I only plan on making the first two chapters his origin story. After that I'll jump into the main story, a drama/action featuring Anna as well. Your reviews will be greatly appreciated.

Morning Frost

The melodic notes progressively grew in strength and speed by the second as the budding pianist keyed with more fervor. His fingers moved with a machine-like precision, not missing a single note despite the feverish pace of the music.

Sitting in the same room on a weaved sofa was a middle-aged woman who listened intently to the rushing piano music. She had soft and smooth facial features, and her flat brown hair was neatly and evenly cut just above her eyes. The aroma of her fresh brewed tea wafted in the air. She picked up her cup and took a sip, her eyes fixated on the pianist. While other pianists would move with emotion to the pace of their music, this one did not. He sat as still as tree, eyes focused on the sheet music, only occasionally glancing down at his hands.

At precisely 7:30 A.M. the music ended with three powerful notes, and the rich chords echoed into the following silence. The pianist sat silent and placed his hands on his lap. The woman on the sofa broke the silence with her clapping.

"Well done, Sergei." She got onto her feet and approached the pianist and kissed him on the temple.

"Mother, please." Sergei, embarrassed, waved his mother off.

His mother, Natalia, made a guttural sound of frustration and stood looming over him, hands on her hips, "Has my child prodigy become so conceited that he is ashamed of his mother's love?"

"No mother, but I am seventeen. I am no longer a child." Sergei left his seat and faced his mother. His eyes were the coldest blue, but Natalia could always see the underlying love in her only son's eyes. She play-slapped him and pointed down the hallway towards the front door, "Get out of here, you know you have class."

OOO

Sergei Dragunov, a prodigy at the age of seventeen. Talented musician, studying surgeon, and dabbler in psychology, he was a parent's dream child. He hailed a cab, not wanting to be even a second late to class. The cab stopped, but not without running over a puddle first, soaking Sergei. He promptly rolled down his window and apologized and offered the youth a ride, but he was sure to ask that he had the proper fare money. Sergei waved his wallet and promptly entered the cab.

Sergei gazed out the water-drenched windows of the cab. The windshield wipers were on at a constant pace to clear off the rain. While others avoided the rain at all costs, Sergei welcomed it. He saw it as a refreshing of the city. Dirt and grime would be washed away, and his home city would shine in its purity.

But perhaps "pure" was not the correct word for this city. It was well known throughout history that St. Petersburg was the crime capitol of Russia. There were petty criminals, gangsters, and even violent acts of racism against foreigners. Sergei would always hear about these issues in more detail than any other due to the fact that his father, Anton, was the Chairman of Russia's right-hand man. But Sergei never let the negativity of his city's situation damper his life. It would never affect his life as far as he was concerned. It wasn't in his plans-his plans that outlined the rest of his life.

That was how he was. Every detail of everyday would be planned. He was to become a surgeon. First he would graduate from St. Petersburg University. Then he would move to Moscow, a city of rich cultural history and the beating heart of Russia. It was there that he would make his name as a superb surgeon. He was committed to this plan, and that was the way he liked it.

The cab approached the university's immense campus. Sergei exited the vehicle and proceeded to the School of Medicine where the renowned surgeon and scientist Doctor Geppetto Bosconovitch passed on his skills to his students.

OOO

It was Sunday. The day when Sergei could rest. On that day Sergei indulged himself and slept in until 8 A.M. After waking and showering he would heat up the skillet and cook his parents a hearty breakfast of eggs, salted meat, blini, and buckwheat porridge topped with sour cream. He would also put the kettle on for his mother. At 8:15 the kettle would whistle, and shortly after his mother and father would return from their morning jog.

But today was different. Sergei looked at the front door. No signs of his parents. The kettle continued to whistle, a high pitched squeal that pierced the silence. He walked over to the kettle and lifted it off the burner. The steaming subsided and that was when he heard the clamor on the streets.

Sergei made his way down the hall toward the front window and looked out. He saw a small mob of people shaking their fists and hollering at a handful of policemen. But Sergei saw a pair of familiar faces in the group of policemen.

"What is happening?" He swung open the front door and called to his parents, but his cries were overpowered by the shouts of the mob.

"Greedy swine! There is a special place in hell for you!"

"Why should the taxpayers pay for the government's mistakes?"

The police men waved their batons and pushed against the encroaching mob.

"Back away! Go back to your homes!"

Sergei jumped down from his porch and struggled his way through the throng of bodies. In all the confusion and chaos there was one movement that caught his eye. One lone member in the mob raised his hand above the rest of the others. Sergei continued to stare as the hand flashed and a bang followed. Sergei couldn't understand what had happened at first, but after he saw the spurt of blood from his father's chest and the horrified expression on his mother's face he gasped in shock.

Anton's body fell out of sight and half of the mob screamed while half cheered. Sergei saw his mother drop out of sight to tend to her husband and that was when Sergei saw the second shot.

"Nooo!" Sergei relentlessly clawed through the crowd, eyes focused straight ahead at where his parents had fallen. Several other gunshots rang out, stopping him in his tracks. Some were shot by an officer, and Sergei specifically saw the mob shooter's head whip back. He froze in shock.

Cutting through the dispersing mob was a man in uniform who grabbed Sergei and led him away from the chaos, "Come, Mr. Dragunov. It is not safe for you here. There are others."

Sergei looked back at the violence behind him. Other mob members had pulled out their guns and shot back at the officers. The scene degenerated into slow motion in his eyes. He saw the animalistic expressions in their faces. He saw the evil intentions in their movements. It was disgusting chaos. It was a disgraceful scene.

OOO

Monday morning, 7:30 A.M. The piano sat without a player. The kettle sat on a cold burner, filled halfway with cold water. Placed atop the dining table were plates of dry meat and blini and bowls filled to the brim with a cold mass of porridge. The front door was locked tight, and a bouquet of flowers layed on the sidewalk several feet away.

OOO

The military trainer looked over his new recruits. He had seen kids like them come and go throughout the years, but he had to stop when he came across one particular youth. He smiled. He liked the look in this one's ice cold eyes. They were devoid of emotion, like a machine designed to flawlessly execute its tasks. The perfect soldier.