Chapter Twenty-Nine: Ultimate-um

Video file databases were probably the bane of Julia's existence. All of the same, she found herself entangled in a passionate love-hate relationship with them. As useful as it was to manipulate the videos to show whatever she so desired to the enemy, she found that they enjoyed doing that to her as well.

So, here she was, browsing a video library on the computer mainframe to find some existence of a familiar face she always found herself looking for: Jin Kazama.

He was just as elusive online as he was in real life.

And data retrieval was about as frustrating when it came to getting information from it.

"So Princess, any luck?" Nina was applying a fresh coat of nail polish on the state of the art computer processor.

"It's pulling up some things," Julia murmured. "See, there's the footage I erased from the Korean military's little visit."

"Wait, I thought that was erased, like, done done erased."

"Computers have superior memories; they never forget. Everything has a footprint or fingerprint somewhere, and the impression has already been made," Julia explained. She could relate to that; sometimes she felt like her memory worked that way. She was getting to the point where all she was doing was loading individual surveillance cameras, and seeing innumerable crowds of tourists zip by the hotel hallways for every hour since the competition started was not exciting.

"What exactly are we hoping to find?" Nina crossed her ankles on a swivel chair, her spike heels poking the fabric.

That was the tricky part. She could be looking for a shoe going around a corner, someone entering a room suspiciously… odds were she wouldn't find a video of Tekken Force soldiers beating Jin down in the middle of a crowded hotel hallway, and for all she knew Jin was just wandering around fancy free as if absolutely nothing had happened. Just off camera. "That's the tricky part…" Julia didn't particularly feel like explaining.

Nina nodded, letting out a sigh as she stared at the ceiling. Steve, Baek, and Hwoarang were dividing and conquering, and frankly Nina didn't want to be alone with her supposed kin, someone else's mentor, or her former love interest. Meditating and refreshing her nail polish was good enough for her.

"Interesting," Julia said suddenly.

"What?" Nina asked, leaning forward.

"Hmm? Oh, they have surveillance of a couple of bedrooms too, nothing too interesting," Julia answered.

Depends on the bedroom, Nina thought, looking at her nails, uninterested.

Julia immediately recognized the bag on the bed of the first bedroom. It was Jin's jet black training bag, with the flamed tips of his fighting pants daintily dropped outside of the zipper. There was a cut in the film where someone must have edited it, before the original footage continued.

Jin crawled in through the window, tossing the curtains aside as he folded his jet black wings behind his shoulders. So like him. Julia never could convince him to use discretion. With surprising dexterity, however, the feathery tufts disappeared under his black overcoat, shrinking almost visibly as he made his way to his bag. This was obviously choreographed; he kept the bag in exactly the same position, just moving an item or two that wasn't really necessary. What was he doing? Julia had absolutely no idea.

Days went by, and each time Jin entered through the window, moving a towel here, his bag there, once even waving his hand in front of the eyes of a sleeping guard to ensure he was asleep, before continuing to rummage. Each time, the plumes of his jet black wings would tuck, until he tossed them out gloriously and went out the way he came.

It was pretty safe to assume the Tekken Force didn't know about what he did. It was even safer to assume that, when the days following showed sweep upon sweep by Tekken Force soldiers and no sign of Jin, that he had found greener pastures.

"Where are you?" Julia whispered to the tiny pixilated form on the screen. "Where did you disappear to?"

As more and more files were uncovered by the computer, Julia was once again bombarded with the intensity and vastness of web information. Here was Kazuya's room, there was the back ally behind Jin's room with a view of the balcony, here was the Korean military. It wasn't until a file named Ling.avi. When Julia opened it, she found the image of Ling Xiaoyu's room.

Nina glanced up and watched Xiaoyu as she tore through her closet on the screen, dropping items carelessly on Panda as she searched for something. "Ew, what pervert put a camera in her room?" Nina muttered, wrinkling one side of her nose.

"Why would they monitor her? I haven't turned up any video surveillance of the other fighters," Julia lied. She wasn't entirely comfortable mentioning Jin's surveillance, in case Nina should become curious as to Jin's 'condition.'

"I don't know, she's a sketchy character. Pigtails, bright colors… The kind of person you search in the airport all of the time," Nina sarcastically said.

Julia didn't answer. She had been fast forwarding everything, flying through Xiaoyu's life at 4x the normal pace, skipping parts where she was gone to other places. When the wash of night came and the camera went to night vision, Julia saw the tiny form of Ling Xiaoyu resting peacefully, arm behind curved behind her head as Panda slept on the floor. When Panda urgently sat up, Julia snapped the time back to 1x. She went to the window. Nudging open the lock, Panda pushed back the curtains as none other than Jin Kazama slid through.

"What's happening?" Nina asked nonchalantly, as if they were watching a sitcom she wasn't particularly interested in.

"I don't…" Julia stammered. Jin's wings were in full view, and Panda seemed to demand an explanation. It was hard to tell; no audio, and Panda's form of communication paired together seemed to make it impossible to translate. He must have explained everything to her, because she had to fast forward again at least fifteen minutes before anything changed. Panda, stationed by the window, looked on as Jin knelt on Xiaoyu's bed, her hair spread on her pillow, his hand by her forearm as he leaned forward-

The image disappeared as Julia wiped the screen clean with a few deft strokes.

"No good?" Nina asked.

Julia felt like she must have swallowed her tongue, because there was a lump in her chest the size of her heart. Desperately composing herself, she stood up, and said "I need to, I need to analyze, look for other things, this isn't working, it's no good, no good at all!"

Nina, albeit surprised, said nothing, wandering through her own mind and her own issues instead.


Baek and Steve had gone to check out the upper floors, knocking on doors and asking people about suspicious activity. Hwoarang had the much less person, less awkward, and more expansive job of the car port, the main floor including the bar, and the gym. His quest for Jin was somewhat halfhearted, however. The other half was in the hospital, worried to death about a poor, injured friend.

Friend, interesting choice of words, he chided himself. That was the word she used for him though. That, and that she "doesn't hate him." What's that even supposed to mean? Whatever it meant, it occurred to Hwoarang that it had absolutely nothing to do with examining the main floors.

He trailed through the bar, which she dragged him back from after he got himself into more than he could handle. Dammit, keep a hold of yourself! Snapping out of it, Hwoarang dutifully waved to the few drinkers, the barkeep, and the people sitting at tables. He didn't see any familiar Jin crowded into any corner, any more than he could see the Pope dancing the jig on one of the tables.

Wandering along, he swept through the gym where he had indirectly made her cry. The locker he had slammed into Jin's face was still dented. Unfortunately, there was no sign of Jin's face here anymore. He had clearly cut and run, and he had gotten pretty far away from the looks of it. There was no sign of anything, not a drop of blood, that might have been Jin's.

Finally, he rested in the Parking garage. "No memories here," he said to his motorcycle as he passed it with a friendly pat. Well, only memories of a gunfight and Jin bashing through several expensive cars as if they were Hot Wheels. At the moment? Those were infinitely preferable.

"Why do I always run into you here?" a voice called from a ways away.

His rival. His nemesis. He knew the voice just a little too well, and he realized quickly that this wouldn't be as easy. It didn't occur to him that he just might get taken captive in the midst of his little venture.

"Why do you keep LOOKING for me, don't you people realize I don't want to go with you?" Hwoarang snapped, whirling around.

It was the General in charge of his own division. He knew the face well; while Corporal Pak had been in charge of his immediate regiment, this was the man responsible for every punishment and every touch of misery that Hwoarang had to suffer through over the course of his military service. This was the man who was the root of all evil.

"Don't worry, the Tekken Force won't be showing up to help you. I'm here with official permission this time," General Hong said. "And we come with a simple proposition."

Hwoarang was tense. A simple proposition was never simple in the world of Military politics. His fingers lingered next to the handles of his motorcycle. He had to make sure there was a way out.

"I have a way to keep you out of the military for good," the General explained. He took a slow step forward. That sounded promising, but it was like medicine in advertising; the list of side effects was the most important.

"Keep talking," Hwoarang urged.

The General smiled, and Hwoarang immediately vowed not to get hooked, like this General obviously already thought he was. "I knew that would interest you. I'll give you the catch first."

Well, at least we're being up front about all of this, Hwoarang muttered sarcastically in his head. There would never be only one catch.

"Finish up your required military service," General Hong said.

Hwoarang groaned. "This again. It's always this. You say that, I say I refuse to go back, blah blah blah, you threaten me with the death penalty, yaddah yaddah yaddah, one two skip a few, I kick your ass and you waste our good nation's precious tax dollars on hunting down your favorite redheaded renegade just for the sake of pushing him in the army."

"If you finish the last few months, you'll be pardoned of your charges and allowed to change citizenship."

Hwoarang stared at General Hong. Suddenly, he found out what it was like to be floored and hit the ceiling at the same time. "You can't expect me to believe that," Hwoarang crossed his arms and leaned against the motorcycle.

"We're sick of fighting. You're a high profile fighter and you're nationally obligated to finish up your contract. Once the contract is over? You're free. Completely. Utterly. Free." General Hong was, indeed, the man standing before Hwoarang. General Hong didn't seem to be joking, and Hwoarang couldn't see any men with machine guns hiding in the shadows, waiting for Hwoarang to make a wrong move.

"Yeah right. If this were legit we wouldn't be having this conversation in the parking lot of a hotel!" Hwoarang cried.

"Would you have preferred an official business letter with the Korean Embassy's crest delivered right to 123 Sesame St., which you so generously provided as your address?" General Hong snorted. "Don't believe me? Here's the contract."


Xiaoyu's slippers touched the bright, soft wood. She felt like a princess, wafting down the hallway of her castle, surveying the gold statues of a friendly Buddha the stately pillars, the vibrant torches, the distant form of a crucifix. The rich brown color was so beautiful; she was so happy she had come early, just to take this moment to appreciate the location of her next fight.

It's so beautiful… she thought. If only Panda could see it. The guards had made her wait in the courtyard outside. It had been years since she had been in here. The true Mishima Zaibatsu. It made the other one look like an impersonator, a corporate, bureaucratic disguise. Here was the spirit of the Zaibatsu. For a very brief moment, she felt homesick. For, in that moment, she felt like she was at home.

"I remember you." The voice brought her out of that. The true heir of the household, Kazuya, stood in front of her. His red eye sized her up, and the torchlight flickered over his pale scar.

"Oh, right, hi," she bowed out of politeness. "I'm sorry if I scared you earlier this week."

A slow smile passed over his face, like a dreaming demon. "Oh, don't worry… I'll show you the true meaning of fear."