Author's notes: This is not the actual beginning of Chapter 03, but the middle. If you want to read the beginning (warning for major sexual content), go to my livejournal (link on my profile page) and check out the "tekken" tag.


Lei lay exhausted and ashamed on the bed, somehow unable to believe that this had happened, that this room was connected to the world outside. Blood and semen stained the sheets under his hips. 'Don't look at me. Let me fade away and never know this shame again. Never know anything again…'

The two Americans were getting dressed and consulting in low voices on how to leave their captive. Apparently, Bryan wasn't satisfied with the damage they had caused him. "What kind of a threat is this? 'Stop the investigation or we'll fuck you gently?'" He stopped buckling his belt to gesture to the bed.

Bruce shook his head while pulling up his pants, "Dude, you're just looking for an excuse to rough him up again. It's not like he's gonna be able to do much standing and walking, much less working for the next week."

Bryan's eyes narrowed and his lips twisted in a sneer, "Fuck, you're weak. Can't stand to see that pretty face in pain, can you?"

The African American groaned and rolled his eyes skyward, "Fine, whatever man, but try to leave him conscious at least." He turned away and began to button up his shirt.

The cyborg smirked and finished zipping up his boots, pulling from one of them the knife that Lei had stabbed him with and coming up alongside the bed. "Turn over, pretty girl. Gonna make sure you don't forget." He made Lei roll onto his stomach. The Chinese was limp like a ragdoll. "Stay still. Don't want my hand to slip." He ran careful fingertips over the clammy skin, before making his decision. Lei pulled in a sharp breath and tensed at the first touch of the cold metal against his back.

The knife was sharp as a razor and not very big. It sliced into its target easily, but not deeply. A thin stream of blood ran over the smooth skin and the American's eyes lit up. He bent down and ran his tongue over the cut. Lei shuddered.

The Chinese clutched the pillow with white knuckles when the second cut came, connected to the first. This one was shorter and curved. Another cut and Lei's face was turning white. He tried to stay silent, but soon he began to emit small cries of pain to accompany the careful and precise strokes of the knife. When Bryan was done, the Chinese had his tearstained face pressed into the pillow, and there were growing patches of red all over the bed sheets. Bryan bent over him and pulled strands of hair away from his eyes, "That's a good girl."

Bruce shrugged on his jacket and came over to help Lei sit up, and while Bryan got his shirt on, the African American delivered his lecture, "You're a smart guy, Wulong, you know what this was about, and I trust there won't need to be a next time."

Lei didn't look up. They left him there, to his thoughts and to the silence.


The apartment was dark, but he didn't turn the lights on. Cast a quick glance at the phone to find the message button blinking red. Proceeded to the bedroom, limping, and holding on to his trousers to prevent them from falling down, ripped as they were. Slowly, he took his soiled and ruined clothes off, careful not to come in contact with skin. His ribs, shoulder and legs were badly bruised, his jaw ached, and blood had soaked the back of his shirt and pants. Refusing to look in the mirror, he limped into the bathroom and turned on the cold water tap in the shower. If only the water could carry away the shame like it did the blood. For an hour he scrubbed imaginary stains off his body, moving carefully for the sake of his back, but when he finally turned the water off he felt no cleaner.

The eyes staring back at him from the mirror were dull and lifeless. Lei leaned on the sink and let his head fall forward. 'Am I broken now?' He swallowed and inhaled deeply before turning around. He loosened the white bathrobe and let it fall down to his elbows; he needed to examine his back. Two identical, overlapping letters were written in red scars low between his shoulder blades. His jaw fell slack as he realised that he'd been branded with the initials of the two Americans. Weak and light-headed he sank to the floor and leaned his forehead against the cold tiles. The darkness behind his eyelids was merciful. If only it could claim his memories.


Kazuya held up the tall, narrow glass and toasted with his lover before taking a sip of the red wine, in which all the lamps in the room was reflected. Darkness had fallen and far below them Tokyo was putting on an impressive light show.

Lee grinned devilishly and made himself comfortable on the big bed, taking a drag of his cigarette and releasing the smoke slowly from between swollen lips, "I knew you'd have your way in the end."

Kazuya inclined his head slightly, "Always."