Tekken: Kings and Queens

Stage 6

Kazuya leisurely strolled through the quiet streets of the neighborhood in the morning. For the G-Corporation's final president and CEO, in the past few weeks since he moved to this neck of the neighborhood, morning hikes became more and more of a daily ritual.

It wasn't because he needed the workout; for Kazuya, a walk down the street does as much good as a two pound weight for a bodybuilder trying to bulk up on muscle. Nor was it because of such paltry needs such as 'thinking to himself' or 'clearing his mind', though that was the initial excuse he gave the first time. At any rate, he already did all of that 'thinking' and 'clearing his mind' last night. Walking in the mornings did give him the chance to try out some of his new sneakers from his collection, at least what was left of it anyways (a year ago, Jin inadvertently destroyed the rest of his sneakers, much to his chagrin), though ultimately that wasn't the main reason.

There was a purpose to these new daily routines, especially now with the advent of the next King of Iron Fist Tournament coming up. The biggest reason: Kazuya simply needed to know. It was the sole driving force behind his actions, from the hiring of the Williams sisters to recovering his son's body, the latter still causing the elder Mishima much grief.

Again, it wasn't exactly his first choice.

As he turned on an intersection, a bright glint caught the corner of his eye. That glint came from the sunlight glancing off the body of a silver Mercedes-Benz GL rolling towards his direction. Kazuya waited as the vehicle drove past, then made a U turn and parked on the curb next to the former G-Corporation CEO. Not quite the most luxurious vehicle he had been in, he thought, as he stepped in through the passenger side and sat on its leather seat. In spite of his upbringing, however, Kazuya was never one to care about material wealth or luxury. There were really only three things he considered important: his sneaker collection, world domination, and 'her'. The last item, he would never admit to anyone, of course, not even after a thousand lashes and thrown to the pits of hell would he ever confess such a 'weakness'. At least two of the three items he knew for a fact were within his grasp. He only needed to wait another five days for the week long tournament to begin…

"Good morning, Kazuya," the driver of the SUV said. "I trust you've been well rested."

"Hmph."

Passenger door closed, the driver shifted the vehicle to gear and gently stepped on the accelerator. In mere moments, the Mercedes picked up speed and went straight for the entrance to the freeway. So begins another day of torment.

"What do you have for me this time?"

"Business as usual, huh, Kazuya?" the driver smirked, pulling off his hat and ruffling his short, blue locks. "I'll start with this one." The blue haired driver handed a shopping bag to the now curious Kazuya, who in turn pulled out a plain box and opened its lid.

"Hmm…"

"I figured it would break the ice," the driver smiled cheerfully and winked. "What do you think? Is it worthy of attention?"

Kazuya pulled the sneakers from the shoebox and gave the footwear a thorough examination. Not quite what he had expected, though he wasn't going to complain. Perhaps he might have all three things he wanted before the tournament is done. He placed the sneakers back into the box and folded his hands over the box on his lap.

"Anything else?"

"Never satisfied…"

Stepping on the accelerator, the Mercedes sped along the freeway towards the downtown core of the city, passing between cars along the way.

"Where are we heading to this time, Takeda?" Kazuya grumbled, though his expression remained as stoic as ever.

"Uh, some cheap restaurant or something," the driver named Takeda replied thoughtfully. "Truth be told, I don't exactly remember the name, though they say they serve some good eggs."

"You are wasting my time."

"Patience, my friend," the driver replied. "You say that every time you step into my vehicle."

"You constantly bore me with your attempt at conversation," Kazuya pointed out. "You constantly have me wait in some random location for the information I want."

"And, again, we still have to meet up with my partner before we can begin." Takeda wore a devilish smile the moment he mentioned the word, 'partner'. "Plus I'm hungry, and I'm sure you are as well. Besides, have I ever steered you wrong?" Takeda winked, which garnered no reaction from his passenger. The blue haired driver shrugged, and silently drove further into the city.


"Well?" Kazuya asked impatiently.

"Mmm, these eggs are even better than I thought," Takeda replied between mouthfuls.

Kazuya looked at the man with furrowed eyebrows.

"Relax, I was playing," Takeda grinned as bits of egg fell from his lips.

Kazuya was half tempted to punch him across the restaurant, then kick him in the other direction.

"Ah, look who's here," Takeda looked up from his plate and whistled. His black eyes opened even wider with obvious excitement, so much so Kazuya could swear they would drop into his plate at any moment. The blue haired man quickly wiped his lips with a napkin, straightened himself, and walked from his seat.

Kazuya remained motionless, though his gaze followed Takeda's path to, the former G-Corporation CEO surmised, claim a curious prize: a fiery red mane burning hotter than the morning sun, sapphire eyes as cold and piercing as diamonds, a curvaceous figure ('88cm' kept repeating in his head) threatening to burst from the seams of its enclosure in the form of a little black dress… and a nice set of legs.

Yes, a very nice set of legs…

SMACK!

Kazuya's eyebrow twitched at the sound as Takeda found himself knocked backwards almost off his feet. A red handprint flushed his left cheek, yet the grin on the blue haired man's expression looked just as excited as when he walked over to 'greet' the woman in the first place.

"My joy is boundless…" Kazuya heard him say. "She… touched me!"

"Ahhhhhh!" the red haired woman screamed…

("Without gloves this time!" Takeda proclaimed.)

…and stomped over to where Kazuya was seated.

"Minamoto," Kazuya bowed his head politely.

"Mr. Mishima," the woman greeted him in response. Angrily, she pulled up a chair and vehemently sat across from Takeda's seat, making sure to put enough distance between herself and the jovial blue haired man.

"Now that we're all here," Takeda clapped and jumped back to his seat, giving Minamoto a wink as he sat, "let us get down to business. Minamoto, will you do the honors?"

With the amount of frustration built up, one could almost believe you would drop dead from Minamoto's icy glare. Takeda, of course, found those ruthless red gems to be quite attractive, and merely swept his hand to the woman in gesture. Kazuya waited impatiently.

"These are the latest files I was able to copy from Soleil's computers," Minamoto explained as she discreetly pulled out a small data key no bigger than half an inch from her purse and handed it over to Kazuya. "The information contained within is rather complicated to be of much use. Mostly jargon and many formulas and equations and whatnot. How are you going to decipher it?"

"I will worry about that issue," Kazuya replied evenly, pulling out a hand held device from his pocket, plugged the data key to one of the ports and began uploading the files. Just as Minamoto had warned, the screen became filled with all sorts of scientific and technical explanations that would baffle even some of the most academically sound minds, along with complex graphs, diagrams, and formulas that supposedly act to back up all that gibberish. If the former Iron Fist champion was confused from the data overload, he was not showing it.

"What do you think?" Takeda asked pleasantly. "Is it worthy of attention?"

"For now," he replied, shutting the hand held device and placing it back into his pocket.

"Told you it was worth the wait," Takeda laughed. "My partner's a talent when it comes to these jobs."

"Don't call me partner."

"Amongst many other things (rawr)."

Minamoto flinched as Takeda leered at the woman. Anger boiled over as she reached over to grab a fork. Only willpower kept her from jumping off her seat and stabbing the utensil between his eyes.

"About our deal, Mr. Mishima," Minamoto changed the subject.

Kazuya leaned back and quietly crossed his legs as a man would in preparing to negotiate business. "I have not forgotten."

"I certainly hope you didn't. Considering the work we've done digging all that information for the past couple of weeks…"

"You mean what I've done," Minamoto snapped.

"Hey, I helped out, too; I drive the car, I bought the sneakers…" Takeda leaned over towards Minamoto and whispered, "and I won the bet (love the dress, by the way)…"

The red haired woman dug her fingernails into her hand, struggling mightily against the temptation to jam every piece of silverware on the table into Takeda's skull.

"As I was saying, we got you Soleil's data, something your own agents couldn't do," the blue haired man continued. "Now it's your turn." Takeda straightened himself in his chair and clasped his hands on front of his chin.

The former CEO allowed himself a devilish smile as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a white envelope. Takeda reached over to examine its contents, scrutinizing the items in his hand, and tossed said contents over to his irritated partner.

"Wow," Takeda remarked, scratching his head. "T-That was quick. How did you manage – "

"Child's play," Kazuya smiled coldly. His expression then hardened to seriousness. "Unlike you, I don't make my clients wait."


"No."

"But, Minamoto – "

"I don't want to hear it."

"Come on, it's true."

"You are a disgusting man, so no."

"Disgusting – I'm disgusting?" Takeda deadpanned, looking at the rearview mirror. Minamoto sat at the back of the SUV with her arms and legs crossed, while Kazuya lazily stared out the window on the passenger side.

"You heard me, you are a disgusting man," Minamoto repeated, placing emphasis in her statement as she spoke. "Perverted… disgusting… idiotic man…"

"Why…" Takeda looked at the woman's reflection with trembling lips. "Why… that's the kindest thing you've ever said to me…"

"What!"

"A woman after my heart!" Takeda held one hand to his chest while steering the wheel of the SUV.

"That was not a compliment!"

"You truly know how to make me feel like a million dollars!"

"Ugh…"

"But, seriously…" Takeda shifted his black, mischievous eyes towards the passenger side. "Kazuya, you understand, don't you?"

"Do not involve him in your twisted discussion!"

"No, really, as a man of upstanding culture and taste," Takeda complimented, "don't you find body paint on a woman to be hot?"

Kazuya's eyes widened at the question. His initial response was to dismiss the question outright. However, being a man who lived a lavish lifestyle of rich culture and taste, as Takeda so elegantly put it… The elder Mishima shifted in his seat and, resting his elbow on the door, rubbed his chin in thought. Minamoto watched quietly in disbelief.

"Well?"

"I don't share your enthusiasm," Kazuya pondered. "But if the paint was a dark color, perhaps purple…"

"See? See!" Takeda snapped his fingers and waved his index finger in the air excitedly. "He understands. He – totally – understands! I mean, personally, there's something to be said about the brighter colors like orange or red, but I'm telling you it's an art… an art on the hottest canvas ever made!" Takeda excitedly grasped Kazuya by the shoulder. "Really, though, why purple?"

"Do not touch me."

"Oh yeah," Takeda hastily released his grip, though completely unfazed by Kazuya's angry stare. "Sorry about that. Forgot you're not into the whole male bonding thing. Or any kind of bonding for that matter." The blue haired man slumped his head forward and let out a loud exhale. "Listen, though you still have money, and I mean you still have lots of money, you're not the big pimp you were even a year ago. I like women as much as the next man, lesbian, or pervert, but you have to learn to be more sociable with other people (and bedding them or ordering people around does not count). You simply can't stick with Miss 'Sleazy Sister in a Trashy Hotel 2017, Psycho Slut Edition' – "

"I beg your pardon?" Kazuya nearly did a double take.

"Look it up on the Interwebs, not very difficult to find in search engines, plus it's only five bucks per month – "

"Excuse me?" Minamoto cut in.

"Hey, I'm not making this up, it's really out there. At any rate, uh… you simply can't stick with… you know, her all the time, or mope around your room waiting for innocent little J – "

"That's enough, Takeda," Minamoto warned.

"Fine, fine…" Takeda shook his head. "As I was saying, it's all about the three b's: booze, broads, body paint. It's the perfect trinity. Here's your stop." The SUV signaled and drove next to the curb before braking to a complete stop. "Five days till the big tournament… aren't you excited?" Takeda maintained his grin in spite of Kazuya's stone cold glare. "I take it as a yes."

Without uttering a sound, Kazuya opened the passenger door, stepped out of the vehicle with the box of sneakers in hand, and, shutting the door behind him, walked away from the GL without turning back.

Takeda watched dumbfounded while Minamoto shifted in her seat with her head turned away from the driver. The blue haired man rolled down the passenger window and cried, "Thank you! You're welcome!"

The two partners sat in the vehicle in a brief moment of silence.

"That went quite well, wouldn't you say?" Takeda asked with a shrug.

"Hmph!" Minamoto huffed.


Kazuya walked back into the house, cradling the sneakers in his hand.

Stepping through the door, the former G-Corporation CEO kicked away some of the junk strewn on the ground, silently cursing under his breath for the messiness of the house. Removing his jacket and tossing it to a chair, he walked through the small living room past a passed out, partially bandaged Anna on the couch, and went straight to his room.

Carefully removing the sneakers from the box, the former G-Corporation CEO and avid sneaker collector examined the footwear in his hands with a critical eye, then, satisfied with its quality, carefully placed the shoes on a handmade platform along with the rest of his collection. Admiring his ever growing shrine of shoes, Kazuya took a few moments to glaze over each sneaker one by one, carefully inspecting them as any collector would. Next to the daily walks and the constant meetings with that annoyance named Takeda and his more tolerable yet whiney 'partner', Minamoto, Kazuya had also found more time to tend to his sneaker collection than when he was a president and CEO waging war against his bloodline.

Relaxed, Kazuya diverted his attention away from his collection and focused his attention on the newly acquired data from Minamoto and Takeda. Flicking the portable device on, he thumbed through the data on the unit's touch screen, examining the information in hopes of making heads or tails out of the mountains and mountains of terminologies. Minamoto referred to the data as being complicated; that had to be the biggest understatement he had ever heard. While he was able to make some sense of what he read, most of the information simply flew over his head. For all he cared, he could be reading a secret recipe for making chocolate rather than data on Soleil's next great breakthrough in genetics; it was too much for him to comprehend in one sitting.

Frowning at the screen, he flicked the device off and tossed it to the table. He could feel a migraine start to form. Rubbing the back of his neck, he pulled up a wooden chair to sit and stared blankly at the wall.

"Having a bad day?"

Kazuya glanced at the doorway from his peripheral as Anna stood outside with arms folded over her ample chest.

"Hm…"

"I'll take that as a yes," Anna purred. Playfully, the brunette stepped into the room and wrapped her arms around Kazuya's shoulders seductively.

Several seconds had passed, and Kazuya remained absolutely still while Anna kept her arms locked around her employer.

"You really are having a bad day," Anna broke the silence. "Normally you'd at least give me that mean look when I do that, or do something rough…"

Without a word, Kazuya grabbed Anna firmly by the wrist, inciting a yelp from the brunette.

"Hey!" she squealed. "That was mean!" Anna rubbed gingerly at her bruised wrist. "That hurt. That really hurt. That stupid robot already bruised it, then Nina made it worse… You didn't have to pinch me that hard you know!"

The elder Mishima turned his head to the brunette and gave her the coldest, iciest glare he could give. Anna felt a chill down her spine and completely got the drift.

"Fine, you're not in the mood," she raised her arms in the air and muttered. "You're never in the mood."

"Just remember your place," Kazuya uttered in a low tone.

"You don't need to remind me," Anna sighed. As much as she enjoyed teasing her employer from time to time (and most men in general), when it comes to Kazuya, she quickly learned in the past when to draw the line. This would be one of those times.

Brushing back a lock of her hair, the younger Williams sauntered to the door. With one foot passed the doorway, the Irish woman suddenly stopped.

"What is it?" Kazuya asked.

Anna chuckled quietly to herself, pondering the question asked, and more importantly, why she suddenly felt the urge to say something to that tyrant of a man. She could especially feel the gaze from his crimson left eye burn through her as she quickly tried to think of a reply.

"Well?"

"What you're trying to do," she finally spoke out. "Just…"

Kazuya folded his arms across his chest.

"Just…" Anna exhaled quietly. "Don't get yourself killed."

The former G Corporation CEO raised a bushy eyebrow.

"I'm simply doing my job as your bodyguard, that's all," Anna added, and walked out. "Don't get yourself killed…" Anna grumbled to herself as she left. "Of all things to say, why did it have to be that?"


In a hotel room, Takeda examined the contents of the envelope in his hand for the tenth time while waiting for Minamoto to change.

"And I was getting used to the dress," Takeda pouted.

"If you like it so much, you wear it," Minamoto grunted from the bathroom, struggling to remove the black garment as she spoke.

"I would, but it's a couple of sizes too small for me," Takeda replied, lazily flipping the pages on the bed sheets. "Trust me, I would look hot in that dress, and you know it."

Minamoto had a number of things to say to that, including how this dress was already a couple of sizes too small for her, and other harsh and obscene comments. She chose the higher ground and left the topic alone.

"And you didn't have to act so humiliating in front of Mr. Mishima," the red haired woman added.

Takeda could only smile at her remark. "Come on, you know you loved it," he teased. "Watching the man squirm in his seat, especially that whole topic on the three b's – "

"Stupid… skirt…"

"Pardon me?"

"Do not make me come and hurt you."

Takeda's smile turned into a full-fledged grin. "Is that a promise?"

BAM!

The blue haired man looked up from the bed to see a visibly frustrated Minamoto slamming open the bathroom door with fists balled and hanging at her sides. The accursed black dress she was forced to wear hung lifelessly within her clenched right hand. The normally cold crimson eyes burned in anger as an ill-tempered Minamoto locked her sights at the more carefree Takeda.

"Let me remind you," Minamoto began as she took a couple of threatening steps towards the bed. "The only reason why I tolerate your juvenile behavior is for the sake of the clan. I would have preferred anyone else over you except that the rest of our family is either dead or missing."

Takeda's dark eyes sparkled with mischief. "Nice pants," he said, admiring the way her trousers hugged around her hips and perfectly toned legs. Yes, he thought, long, sexy, perfectly toned…

Minamoto tossed the dress at Takeda's face. "Can't you at least act serious for once?"

"Hmhmhmhm…"

"And what's so funny?"

Takeda removed the dress from his face and looked up to Minamoto with a smile. He was sorely tempted to tease the woman further, finding amusement in her wrath (at perhaps the cost of a broken bone or twenty). "If you have that much energy to burn," he replied, motioning the red haired woman over, "then why don't you come on over and look through these photos."

Minamoto bit her tongue hard. It seemed everything Takeda did managed to get a rise from her.

"Well? Are you going to help, or will you just stand there?"

Relenting, Minamoto slowly walked over to the bed and kneeled next to him. Takeda turned the files over to give his partner a better view. As it turned out, Kazuya gave them more than simply paperwork; he also gave them photos, schedules, locations, even traveling routes. Both Minamoto and Takeda had to agree that, if anything else, Kazuya liked to be quick and thorough with his business.

"Armored truck," Takeda blurted out.

"Not just any truck," Minamoto added. "Top of the line, complete with a light field. Cracking that shell won't be easy."

"Not with what we have at the moment," Takeda nodded.

"And that doesn't include the heavy escorts that will certainly accompany it."

"Check out the guns on those things. Those people are serious about keeping that truck safe."

"So first we have to remove their escorts, then we have to figure out how to break that field before taking that truck." Minamoto sighed bleakly.

"At least we have some time to get ourselves ready," Takeda relaxed. "The cargo won't arrive until about two days."

The red haired woman nodded in agreement.

"Are you certain we can trust him?" she asked.

"Not even for a second," Takeda admitted. Slowly, the blue haired man rolled off the bed, stretching the kinks from his shoulders, and walked towards the closet. "On the other hand, this is the only lead we've got, and he still has his hands in the business. Besides, rich as Kazuya may still be, he's not the powerhouse he was a year ago. In some ways, he's as desperate as we are."

"I hope you're right."

"The fact that he rode with us and living in that little house with occupants he at best tolerates?" he pointed out. Unzipping his suitcase, he pulled open the cover to reveal a pair of heavily modified Berettas coated in a metallic finish. He examined the pistols with admiration, glossing over the finish before assembling the weapons. "Trust me, call him a devil, call him a snake," he continued, snapping the cartridges in place, then twirling the pistols in his fingers, "but I know some of that hard Mishima armor got worn out along the way, and I think I have a pretty good idea what that is."

"And what would that be?"

"Oh, you know exactly what that is."

With that, he quickly turned and pointed the pistols at one of the mirrors. Minamoto merely rolled her eyes at him.

"Bang."


"Don't get yourself killed," Kazuya murmured the words to himself.

Nina and Jin have yet to return, and Anna had just left to… somewhere. Not that it really mattered to him. All that mattered was he had the house to himself. Peace and quiet for the next few hours (maybe), plenty of time to relax, and plenty of time to figure out that data he was given.

Fifteen minutes later, Kazuya felt his eyes go cross-eyed from staring at the screen and dropped the device on the ground.

Another hour later, Kazuya began tossing one of his sneakers in the air out of boredom while talking to one of his agents on the phone.

Yet another hour later, he began flipping through channels on the television. As usual, hundreds of channels, nothing worthwhile to watch.

Yet another twenty minutes had passed, and he found himself staring at the torn remnant of a silk scarf for perhaps the thousandth time.

Half an hour more, Kazuya found himself yelling angrily over the phone at his agent's incompetence.

Two minutes later, the former executive started staring at the piece of silk once more and sighed.

Finally, after another hour and forty seven minutes of frustration, Kazuya came to a conclusion: he's getting absolutely nowhere.

Growling to himself (or perhaps that was his stomach…), he tossed the scarf onto the table and leaned against the wall.

Don't get yourself killed…

In another minute or two, he thought, something will die. Furthermore, not only will something die, but that something will die in the slowest possible way.

And Kazuya will use chopsticks.

Chopsticks… and body paint… purple body paint…

Kazuya chuckled to himself. These past few days had definitely driven him mad. The former G-Corporation CEO and executive turned his head towards a full length mirror. Several seconds later, his eyes shifted back to the screen on his portable device, back to the mirror, back to the device, then back to the mirror once again.

Mad? You haven't seen mad yet…

Picking up the device in his hands, he quickly scrolled through the pages on the touch screen, shifting through images like turning pages from a book until he stumbled upon a specific image. Turning the screen over, Kazuya ran his finger along a fine piece of writing… not just any sort of writing, he realized, but a kind of… code? No, not a code… a language… a very familiar dialect…

Where have I seen this before?

The moment he asked the question, Kazuya immediately knew the answer. He had seen this during his years as a guinea pig with the G-Corporation, well before he made his hostile takeover. Twenty odd years before, he had seen it during his abrupt reign as the King of Iron Fist during the second tournament. And further still, he caught glimpses of these writings as a young boy, back when Heihachi dropped him into that chasm…

Back when the Devil first took hold of him…

Kazuya shook his head and laughed.

This was no ordinary writing at all. This was a language that predated numerous ancient civilizations, one that no living human being (as far as he knew) could understand. No name was ever given to this dialect, save for one label: the tongue of demons.

A language for devils…

Kazuya stared at his reflection in the mirror wordlessly. During the fourth tournament, Kazuya discovered the means to finally gain direct control over his power, something science had failed countless times. When the moment came to take control of this power, he seized the opportunity, practically grabbed it by the throat. Power he had gained… but there was always that nagging feeling that something was missing…

Now that he realized what was missing, he now had to make a choice. His options had become very limited, and he had a mere five days till the new tournament begins. This was one option that he didn't want to use.

Then again, between bringing his 'son' (a term he would like to use very loosely) back from the proverbial grave, rehiring both Williams sisters as bodyguards, and bending over backwards between Minamoto and that bothersome Takeda, all while watching his back from countless other enemies, including the possibility of whoever is running Soleil Inc., Kazuya came to another realization…

What's another annoyance?

Pushing himself up, he gradually walked over to the mirror and looked at his reflection again.

Don't get yourself killed…

"Too late," he muttered, raising his right hand towards the mirror. Both his eyes began to glow red as his reflection began to change. At first, it started off as a slight waver, the equivalent of a small stone thrown into a pond. Gradually, that slight wave grew in size and speed, becoming a torrential cascade of waves crashing into one another. Finally, the waves gradually slowed down and eventually stopped, revealing a different reflection on the mirror. With the task completed, Kazuya lowered his hand and glowered at the image before him: a grotesque, demonic doppelganger of himself, or at least what's left of it.

This bluish purple reflection, a once proud and mighty beast, now hung almost lifelessly on a set of chains tied around its throat and strewn over its body. What's left of that body wasn't much, as it was nothing more than a head and an upper torso. Its body from the waist down had been torn off as was its arms. In its place, various tubes attached themselves to its 'bloody' stumps, seemingly leeching the life out of it. Where there were once horns on its head, all that was left were a pair of holes and a mess of dried blood on its wild and messy hair. Where there were once majestic wings, large gashes remained with hooks gouging through its skin. In this state, it would be difficult to believe that the Devil is the source of his power…

Kazuya glared at his doppelganger in the mirror and snarled. "Wake up!"

Nothing.

"Wake up!"

"Ugh…" the one called Devil lolled its head, weakened from all those years of being locked away in Kazuya's psyche.

"Open your damn eyes," Kazuya growled under his breath.

Slowly, the Devil came to, squinting at the light reflected into his eyes. Finally, fully awakened from its long slumber, the purple doppelganger met Kazuya's gaze with its own crimson eyes. All the Devil could do upon seeing his host for the first time in years was smile.

"Hello, boy," it said in an exact mimicry of his own voice. "It's been a long time."