Steve's head was filled with questions as he ran back home, already forgotten about the unnecessary breakfast. Running away from the chaotic scene while trying to stop the awful ringing in his ears, he poorly managed to connect some of the puzzle pieces together. One, black cars with no license plate; two, the familiar brunette; three the fact that the girl knew her. She had no british accent, so she must have been from somewhere else, probably from somewhere near America with that accent. . . She had a few wounds, some deep.

Bloody hell, how could he unsee? She was shot in the shoulder twice. There was also another bullet scratch on her left cheek, she was also drenched in sweat; god knew for how long she had ran from them. He had to hurry. He didn't have a good feeling about this. If she knew her, that stuff could be directed to him any time! What if it was the mafia again, trying to confuse him with the girl? What if it was all a trap?

He was just turning the corner of his avenue, then he felt his phone vibrate in his back pocket. When he reached to grab it, he had second thoughts.

He never placed his phone in his back pocket. He always used his hoodie. He checked his hoodie pocket and felt his phone. His eyes widened for a second, he then took a breath to remain cold blooded. Being impulsive would not help. At all. He casually walked back home. Did not run. Just a casual walk.

"Steve, you better have more than three bagel— " Roger stopped when he saw Steve with no bags but a tensingly neutral face.

"Where the hell were you?" Hwoarang asked, especially when he noticed the lack of bagels. "Did you train first and forget the bagels?"

"You could. . . Say that. I need to have a seat,"

"Roger. . . Could you get Mohammed here some water?" Hwoarang looked directly into Steve's eyes, trying to get attention out of them; an action. But Steve couldn't act more opposite even if he tried. There were simply just too many questions and almost no answers.

"I need to go to the bathroom," He left the living room in a rush, before Hwoarang could even move. "Roger. . . I think you'll have to stay longer." Hwoarang sighed.

Steve locked the bathroom door quickly and took out the phone in his back pocket. It didn't look like any brand he had seen before. Maybe it was from another country. It kept vibrating every ten minutes, it was black and there was only one button on the lower center. No camera, no headphone jack, no other button, no SIM etrance. Just that one button.

He sat on the floor, however something gave him slight pain. It was also from his back pocket. He reached slowly, and there it was.

A Mishima Zaibatsu pin. The phone. The girl. It was them!

Steve took a deep breath. He was next. She was gone! He was next. How could he let that happen? He shouldn't have let her go. She was a CLUE. Maybe she knew more than him! How could he be so stupid? He couldn't. He felt like an idiot, how could he let the adrenaline daze him like that? He was a boxer, for christ's sake. He could save her, and he didn't.

She was dead, maybe.

He sighed one more time. And then Steve pressed the button.

"Roger. You have to see this."

Pain was present. She laid, though. Perfectly still, to perfectly. Her thoughts were foggy, and her head hurt; however she was aware that she was perfectly, no less, fine. Which was the exact problem here. Did she die? No, that couldn't be it. Death would not feel like a sledgehammer on her shoulder. Or this tense, or this unknown. . .

Christie believed in heaven, furthermore in hell and in a god. Even though she was a daughter of a devout Orthadox, she was never someone you could call religious. Especially because her mentality that couldn't let her think properly, she couldn't really give it a thought. Yet death sounded like it had more than black to her. It was eternal silence for sure, however was it just blindness and nothing for eternity? She doubted that. How was bad people supposed to pay? She knew she was childish, yet couldn't care any less.

She felt in between as always, however this was also physical. Though slowly, even though it was slowly, she felt like she was regaining something. She wasn't sure if she wanted that, remembering the last couple of things before regaining internal conciousness. Lili's sudden entrance, the information, the cars, gunshots, all that chase, Steve and the agents. . . For someone who was on Risperdal, that was too much for a day. She was dragged from her head and that would be good—if it just wasn't about fucking Kazama.

Everything, everything was about Kazama. And looking back at what Jin had done so far, the twenty first century was screwed for good. She couldn't hate him any more, she couldn't hate the Zaibatsu any more, G- Corp, the Mishimas. . . All were the same. All of them gave nothing but chaos to people, to the world. She knew that the chaos only fed the corporations even more. The Tekken Force owned everything. And when Christie gave it a thought, especially about the latest events, it seemed that they owned her too.

In a blink of an eye, the thing the was running away from came. Her vision hit her harshly, the lights in the room hurting her eyes a little. She could tell she was at a hospital ward. The room was small and quite square. She could spot a nurse in the corner, one with the darkest black hair and killer green eyes. If she didn't have an outfit on, Christie would think that she was one of the soldiers. However unlike them, she was firm and certain, starting her set of words after a second.

"Stop me if I talk too fast," She walked towards Christie.

She tried to move. She was restrained, of course. It gave her the coldest chills, yet she was calm. It had surprised the nurse, though she was still colder than ice. Her flats echoed in the room as she walked, placing her hand on Christie's wrist firmly as she increased the medicine connected to her.

"Don't you think you have played around enough, dear? After all, the soldiers had a hard time stopping you. You're no easy bait, I'll give you that. But that's no excuse to make my job harder. Sit still." The nurse took out a syringe.

Christie obeyed, knowing that her preferences would only make things worse. Instead, she decided to take the unexpected path towards the nurse. She had to be perfectly calm, even though her anxiety was probably showing.

"What are you injecting me?"

"Severely mutated antibiotics. Have to get the guests in good shape." She muttered under her breath.

"What is the time?"

"Oh, it's been seven hours ever since the 'accident'. If that's what you actually wanted to ask instead of a stupid question."

"What is your name?" Christie tried going casual. This had to get her guards down, she was probably used to people being fearful around her. It was the first rule of master manipulation; denying emotions, the second was casualness. Her mother was a nice example.

When the nurse was actually taken aback, Christie was surprised, yet she was the one who was determined to not change her attitude this time.

"Mari. Why?"

"I don't know." Christie replied with a pint of foolishness, looking at the ceiling. "What is all of this?" She then asked, sensing a little looseness in her voice. "Why am I not dead?"

And suddenly, the truck had crashed.

"Do you know what is amazing about these M- Biotics? They make you the most honest person you can be. That you can ever be." Mari smiled.

"Now, stop trying to get into my head and listen, pole head. You know stuff, I don't know what they are, yet you do. That must be the reason why you were brought so suddenly. Although, you were sent the invitation too, so that was two birds with a single stone. We will transfer you to the medical ward until you are healthy. And I mean, perfectly healthy. Until you are taken out of there, which I think will take a few days; if I see you talking to any familiar faces, their death rate jumps up and you spend a couple of extra hours on the M- Biotics, yes?"

Christie nodded. Her guards were slowly and painfully falling, her actual emotions slowly facing the surface once again, the uncertainness, the insecurity, the fear. . . All came back and in a blink of an eye, Christie was once again what she was afraid of becoming; a space wasting damsel.

"In your state, I wouldn't try anything. You eat your food," Mari took out a second syringe, just when Christie started to feel an intense pain.

"You drink your drinks, you take your medicine and you do as told. Yes?"

"Yes. I promise. Yes."

And one more time, Christie Monteiro was desperate.

"Good night, my dear." She felt a heaviness inside her head, then a kiss. Seconds went further, then the darkness hit her eyes.

" Steve, did you finally copy the papers?" Roger asked, checking his contacts.

"Yes, we have all the info copied and Hwoarang is talking to Julia about some of the fighters. Can you find him?"

"No. . . But this phone, it's just that I swear I have seen it somewhere else. No brand, no usual button, no operating system . . . It's not a normal phone. But I know I have seen it and only one person can validate. Now, try again, the girl. We are a hundred percent sure that this and the pin can lead us to the conclusion that this is their work."

"Yes. And I know that the phone denies all attempted accesses but maybe that was intentional. . . I mean she knew me. Which is another problem all by itself," Steve let out a deep breath, massaging his temples. "Roger, at this point it's only messier. The deeper we dig, the worse it's getting. And I-""

"Oh my god." Steve muttered.

"What?" Roger switched his glance to him.

"Rog, I'm so stupid. How could I? Shit," Steve walked towards him, taking out his laptop. "You can connect to street cams, yes?"

Steve was an idiot. He was a blind moron. How could he just not think of the cameras?

"I can. . . But I will have to walk over to my place to get my USB driver, I need some codes. However yes, it's not like hacking the CIA. . . Again." Roger looked down, then grabbed his car keys from the kitchen counter. "I'll head back tomorrow noon."

"Rog, can't you stay for the night? I need the records, I know it's a lot but—"

"Steve, I have clients. I'm sorry and I wish I could, but I'll be here at lunchtime. Why don't you guys eliminate some fighters with the information you already have? Let's hope that Hwoarang won't throw another mug at the wall. Notify me in case of an emergency," Roger added, then left the apartment.

Steve sighed, Roger was still the same old Roger, escaping from sacrifices to avoid emotional ties. It wasn't like he could blame him, after all they weren't so different. However, was it nerve wrecking? Of course. Steve poured himself some black tea and found his reading glasses after getting a cardigan. He took out some highlighters and notebooks, then started to separate some of the fighters in categories first.

He liked to be organized, for starters. Unlike Hwoarang, Steve even enjoyed keeping things clean and in shape; which annoyed his friend a lot ever since he had arrived. It wasn't that Steve didn't enjoy him, it was that he didn't enjoy it when things were not how they were supposed to be. He didn't like to leave his comfort zone at times, when it came to his life standarts or even the simplest things. It just made things a lot easier.

So the first two categories were based on biological gender, then their occupation, jobs. Then the age group, then crime rate, then affiliation with the Tekken Force. Or with anyone working for them. He thought about having a whole other category for winners, which he had already marked with a green post- it.

The first fighter his eyes had caught was Miharu. Chinese high schooler, only one tournament of participation. He threw her information into the trash bin. Next was Katarina Alves, who was a portuguese woman who had joined to get information on her father and there were no criminal charges against her, so Steve eliminated her too. Then he heard harsh footsteps coming towards him, speaking before the red head who walked towards him.

"Grab a highlighter and dig in."

Hwoarang grabbed a green highlighter pen and threw it on the wall, causing it to leak some ink. "Fuck that!"

Steve bit his lip, remaining cold blooded unlike his friends who had the impulses of the devil. "Fuck what?"

"We're losing time with all of this, can't you see? I was on the phone with Julia and shit, now more American fighters have it and three fighters were off radar just yesterday, Steve! It's only a matter of time, can't you see?" Hwoarang was about to tore himself apart from all the anger and the worry inside him.

For mere seconds, Steve remained still. "Was that all she said? Did she give you more names?" His head went back on the papers, ignoring the neon green ink on the wall whicj did drive him crazy somewhere in his mind.

"How are you even calm right now you bast—" Hwoarang was about to snap, however Steve was quicker.

"You have the names or not, Hwoarang. And believe me, I am not calm. I am simply not an impulsive idiot."

Hwoarang breathed in angrily, his muscles tense. "I do have the names. It's Lili Rochefort, Stefan Queen and Christie Monteiro."

Steve dug in the female category, finding Lili first. "Here, tape this next to the others. And for christ's sake, put a rag on that ink. Who was the second girl again?"

"Christie Monteiro."

Steve then paused as he was going back to the letter 'C' completely ignoring Hwoarang's rants as he went on and on and on about being a father, Julia and how tired he was.

"Oh lord, no. No, no. . ." Steve muttered, making Hwoarang stop for a second.

"What?"

"It's her. It's the girl I told you about. The car. The pin. The phone thing- The Notebook."

"What? So she was with you hours ago?"

Steve grabbed his jacket and started to walk towards the door, without an explanation but only with one sentence; leaving his friend confused. "It was her."

hello! thank you so much for reading and for the reviews, i have been feeling really stressed these months and i really appreciate it. anyway, i take all kinds of criticism and i hope this isn't going too fast or too slow? i don't know, but if you are enjoying it i'm really glad that you are and please let me know! love, juillet.