He pushed himself from the ground and looked around.
Where was he.
He didn't recognise this place, it didn't look like anywhere he would know, but at that time, his hands didn't look like his own.
He stood.
"I am..." And he paused, clueless. Digging his hand into his jeans pocket, he pulled out his wallet.
"Hey Hey! I have my ID. Matthew Moe Hunter. Damn, Moe?" He muttered to himself. "Moe doesn't sound cool."
"So what's with this place, some final test, huh? Sitting in a field!? What have ya got for me!?" He shouted towards the sky, and almost like some amazing coincidence, a flyer for the King of Iron Fist Tournament 7 hit him square in the face.
"Hey, what the hell!?" He screamed, ripping it away from his face. "Did someone throw this at me!?"
Nobody was there. So he got on with his reading.
"Blah blah blah Jin Kazama, blah blah Misheema Zaybatzu? blah blah blah. What? Why do I care if he's dead, blah blah blah blah Jinray, Whorang? Ha! WHORang... Bayek Doo San and, hey I can say this one, Eddy Gordo!" And then he looked up, and realised, there was still no one there.
"Who am I talking to?"
And with that he finished reading the flyer in silence.
"So this is the challenge? Sweet, I'll kick some ass, and win some money while I'm at it! Yeah!"
And with that, the stranger ran away, looking for a pen with which to sign the dotted line, and enter, the King of Iron Fist Tournament 7.
