Disclaimer: I do not own any character related to Tekken, they are property of Namco respectively. - unfortunately though. The other characters are OC's, and I therefore own them. Author's notes: I based the main character Jaime roughly on myself, ofcourse with implemented exaggeration to spice up the story. I have no idea how long I'll make this fic, since it started off as a quick drabble to numb boredom. Furthermore there will be some topics mentioned that might be considered 'racist', please realize I'm in no way racist, it is part of the story. If this offends you in any way, I'd advize you to read another fic that you will be comfortable with.
Rating: This fic is rated T for the 'discrimination' issue previously mentioned, alcohol (ab)use, mentioning of drug use, (addiction in general), depression, constant swearing (trust me, there will be a lot of that), violence, and romantic relationships between some of the characters.
Genre: I could say that it could classify as a yaoi fiction, yet I do not intend to include strong sexual content. There will be romance and love-making, but nothing too explicit.
Main pairing: Miguel x Jaime. With some side-pairings with other Tekken - related characters.
Extra notes: English is not my first language, so I'm sure I will make typo's, spelling errors, and probably the sentence structure will sometimes seem a little .. odd. But I will do my very best. Also, if you guys want me to write about a certain topic or want me to include a certain pairing, please do let me know and I'll consider it for the following chapters.

Now, wituout further ado, let's get on with the actual story. I hope you guys will enjoy. Please, read and review, I'd really like to know what you think and what I might need to improve on.

If you are wondering why I uploaded the first chapter twice, it's not like that. This is a re-written version of the original. In this version, Jaime isn't as 'bitter' and doesn't swear as much. I wanted to know whether you prefer Jaime as an asshole (like in the original) or more like he is in this chapter.

My name is Jaime Smit. Not that you probably care. And I don't blame you at all, I wouldn't be the least impressed if I were to meet myself. I am what you could refer to as a shadow of a young man who once enjoyed life. A young man who would later on discover that life is one big ordeal.. An ordeal at which I failed, and was still able to taste the bitter aftertaste from in the present. I am one of those people you often see walking the streets in sollitude. The kind of people that wish to seclude themselves from the world, and hope their suffering will soon meet its end. On the occasions I'd go to town, people would follow me with their eyes. The inhabitants of the city I had lived in since birth, knew me all too well. They had seen me grow up, change .. turn into the mess I have to show for now. They would smile in an almost apologetic manner when they saw me walk past them. I wanted believe that they cared for my well-being, but deep down it was mere obvious it had nothing to do with compassion, this was mere pitty. They pitied me. I wasn't sure to feel insulted, dishonored or be thankful for the little amount of consideration. The townspeople had good intentions, and this was their way of supporting - even if I wanted to deny rather than acknowledge it.

I live in a small apartment in the outskirts of town. I was practically forced to get a job - since I had no income - when my mother had kicked me out of the house at 16 years old. After the sudden death of my sister, and shortly there after the passing of my stephfather due to cancer, my mother underwent an internal change. She became bitter, fell ill and lost her jobs due to budget shortcuts. The financial issue came between us. Both my mother and me knew she was no longer capable to maintain me. It was the first time I had experienced such a severe depression. And for years in a row I'd locked myself in my room. Slowly but surely I lost all contact with the outside world. I I never had any actual friends, and to be honest, I could've really used a friend back then. Because I had no friends, I felt like I had no obligations to society. My mother and I underwent the daily hassle of having constant arguments. Shad often threatened to kick me out of the house, but it never happened, so I thought nothing of it. Until at one point my mother took legal steps and had me thrown out. Luckily not so long after that, a lot of conversations with instancies willling to reach out a helping hand took place, - and also a lot of paperwork - I got an apartment assigned to me. Ofcourse I was furious with my mother. I loathed the woman and promised myself to never forgive her for abandoning me when I needed her the most. Don't get me wrong, I love my mother, and I understand her motives, but I felt betrayed. As if she chose the easy way out, above having a genteel conversation with her son. I lived on my own now, literally. And the situation didn't do my depression any virtue. And in spite of the hassles, I found peace in the knowledge that she was close/near me. Even though I had spent a big part of my life in my room when I still lived with her, I knew she was in the same house, and I needed that reassurance that I wasn't really alone.

I worked several jobs in order to get the bills paid, but I managed to get my life back on tracks, yet this realisation brought me no satisfaction. I was still alone in this world, had no one to share all of this with. My abyss only grew in size. Every night I returned to an empty apartment.

Again I awoke to the sound of children yelling. Most likely the neighbors. This had been the case for 4 years now, yet my land lord, Mr. Petersson - a middle aged man with a strange fascination with hawaiian shirts - never hid the fact that he had little to no interest for my complaints. And so, each morning, at exactly 10 am, those kids woke up and would run through the aparment like a bunch of mad bulls. And the fact that the walls were paper thin, only weighed down on me even more. I was 4 years into it, I was gradually losing my patience. I opened the door to the corridor, with the intention to get my mail, when I heard the raw voice of Mr. Petersson. My first thought was that he was making small talk with Brenda - the blonde who lived at the end of the corrider. She was a nice lady, pressumingly in her 30's, pleasant to chat with, but unfortunately a complete alcoholic. She had sunk so far into her addiction, that her head got permanently fogged up. The things that woman would blurt out, scared me from time to time. But I appreciated that she attempted to drag me out of my isolation.

As I locked my door behind me, the sound of the metal chain hitting the doorframe, caught the attention of some residents, who were about to leave for work, and ofcourse.. Mr. Petersson. The man's eyes lit up, as he cleared his throat, searching for the right words to greet me with. I knew the man couldn't stand it, and it was the least of my concerns.

"Mr. Smit. Goodmorning. How are you?"

"I was doing fine 'til I was woken up by my damn neighbors again. This has been going on for 4 years now and despite the amount of complaints, I have yet to see you step up and do a goddamn thing about it,"

"Mr. Smit, I assure you that I take your complaints to heart, but there isn't much I can do about the situation. These are children we're talking about .. and they tend to be noisy,"

Again this lame-ass exuse. I'm gettin sick of this man's laid back attitude. I was about to make a remark, but forgot whatever clever line I came up with, when a tall figure emerged from the emergency staircase. I smirked at the sight, for as long as I've lived here, the elevator had been out of order. Guess the old man didn't see the need for fixing it as a necessity. I mean, what is that 'safety hazard' of which you speak? The faded blue color of the door got a whole lot more vibrant compared to the pale-collored clothing the person was wearing. A face covered with dark brown curls, dark eyes, this man wasn't American. Interesting. He dragged a black Addidas bag behind him, his towering 2m tall frame wiping off some of the sweat beads that formed on his brow - probably related to the stairs. I mean, he did climb 3 floors. Taking a better look at his height, I felt even shorter than I was, and I was short. I meassured a frail 155cm.

He looked in the direction where Mr. Petersson and I were standing, and placed a hand on his hip. "Am I interrupting something?"

I looked at the guy and it now struck me that was probably carrying that bag for a reason. I was about to open my mouth, when Mr. Petersson walked up to the stranger and happily shook his hand.

"Ah! Mr. Caballero, welcome! Excuse me for the interruption, I was discussing a small matter with one of my residents,"

I squeezed my eyes to little slits. A small matter? I should've ripped his nuts off as we speak. Insensitive prick.

The new face shot me a glance, accompanied by a smirk adorning his lips.

"I assume everthing's sorted out? Then again, judging by the look on that kid's face, you must have serious issues with his parents,"

Kid? Did he just really referred to me as ' kid ' ? Okay .. I think I might not get allong with this guy, pointing out the obvious and all ..

My land lord breathed a nervous chuckle. "Mr. Caballero, this is Mr. Smit. He won't be much of a bother to you, I am sure. Now .. "

Mr. Petersson handed the giant a set of keys.

"These are the keys to your apartment. I'll let you get settled in, in private. If you have any complaints, don't hesitate to contact me,"

Haha! What a joke. I then realised that the oldtimer had left me alone with a stranger, I got a little grumpy. Even more than I already was. I don't like strangers and I certainly don't like helping them. Turning around to retreat into my lair, I heard the guy speak.

"Hey kid, no hard feelings, right?"

I rolled my eyes back, pushing my door back into its lock, wanting nothing more than to get back to sleep. Still I heard his voice yell a final word, before I his door fall shut. I knew all to well what he said ...