Vammy You know I never realized how funny the swivel feature was until I actually read it. And I found myself laughing out loud. I never intended for it to be humorous at all, just a little piece of description I could squeeze in to establish a scene. But the first thing that crossed my mind was this hulking caped man in red spinning around in his chair, knees to his chest, with a childish smile on his face. About Julian, I'm keeping him in undercover priest mode for now, until I find out what exactly happens to him in your story. I have to wait until you finish with him before I can take over, so that I don't screw up the consistency between our two stories anymore than I already have.

DaguI'm not sure how many characters you're expecting, but I've already got nine street fighters involved in this storyline, although I guess only five have major roles. This chapter introduces one more. But I can't tell you how many more I'll be including because I don't know yet. When writing, I'm more concerned with how many side stories there are, who's involved in those, and how well they intertwine – not how many street fighter characters I can stuff into one story.

BushinGuyYeah, I totally went on a hiatus without even planning on one. What can I say? Inspiration dried up for a bit. But after reading some other authors' stories and Vammy's death threats ;) I suddenly found the inspiration to start taking this story down its own path, not a clone of its prequel. It seems to be a popular belief among authors that if there are no reviews, that means people aren't reading the stories. I don't particularly care that I only get one or two people reviewing per chapter. I write for myself and I post it on here to share my imagination with others and hopefully inspire them too (after all, E-Z B's Resident Evil story was inspired by mine and I have his review to prove it!). But a review once in awhile is always nice, cause I like to know how I'm developing as a writer. Okay, I'm getting off on a tangent. What I wanna say is that although I may not always review regularly, I try my best. But that doesn't mean I'm not reading your story.

E-ZB: You know, I was always intrigued with Shadowlaw itself. Whether or not Capcom intended it, I don't know, but that evil organization is truly a force to be reckoned with. There's Bison and his three bodyguards at the top, then there's the elite 13 female assassin squad (the Dolls), the Shadow Technology (I dunno if that's a term I made up, but it's the same stuff that created Shadow and Shadow Lady in the Marvel crossover games) and all of the brainwashed agents like you mentioned. I'm only coining the term "Agent Initiative" because I don't think Capcom ever nominalized that movement.

XXXXX

"He's … he's finally gone." Yun gazed blankly at his palms, upturned to face him, but his hands were the last thing on his mind. "Grandfather Gen is dead." The overwhelming sorrow clutched at the youth's heart, choking him with his own remorseful cry. He bent his head down and cried into his hands, making sure that his baseball cap covered his features. He didn't cry often at all, despite being the younger of a set of twin brothers. He was a strong boy, having raised by Gen since he was an orphan. But his teacher, his father, his very role model in life had died. And it wasn't a peaceful event either. He'd died violently, coughing up blood, having his life ripped away as Yun watched it happen before his very eyes. And it was all the demon's fault. Akuma.

Yun's mouth frothed in hatred at the mention of the name. Akuma. More spittle. The mere thought of him ceased Yun's sobbing as he turned his sorrow into hatred. The youth slammed his fists into the ground where he sat, in a dirty alley littered with garbage somewhere in the heart of Hong Kong. "I'll make that demon pay, Grandfather, I promise you."

It was easier said than done. First of all, Akuma was an enigma, his existence itself just a rumor. It hadn't been confirmed to Yun until today – that fact that Gen had died in the demon's hands. Secondly, if he did find this evasive creature, how was he supposed to defeat it when it had defeated Gen? In Yun's world, Gen was the know all, end all in martial arts. Yun modeled his life after his teachings. And thirdly, motivation by revenge was something his grandfather had taught him to be against. Yun doubted Gen would ever consent to his pupil fighting the martial arts demon on his behalf.

Yang was probably wondering where his brother was now. After receiving the news, Yun had left their apartment in a hurry, storming out and slamming the door behind him. He ignored his brother's cries and just ran, not caring where he ended up. But he couldn't go back home now, not in this state, not before he did something about his anger and sorrow. Revenge had to be exacted on Akuma and suddenly, the perfect candidate came to mind. Someone to help him wage war against Akuma. Yun didn't know anything about the demon. All he understood was that he was responsible for Gen's death. That's all the excuse in the world Yun needed, anyway.

XXXXX

Blue eyes and blond hair cut close to his scalp, a typical Air Force hairdo. He was square-jawed, a small, sharp nose and a blemish-free face, Scott Wagner knew he was an attractive young man, and all that was just above his broad shoulders. Physically, he was built strong and sturdy with a runner's leanness, and muscle size just coming up short of the bodybuilding type. Too bad for him there weren't too many women around his work for him to impress, but there was always the bars and clubs on the weekends.

Here he was, a powerful chick magnet, hovering over his office phone and waiting for a man to call, just like a chick hopelessly in love. But Wagner was not in love. He was worried. Guile was more than just a buddy to go around and get drunk with to Wagner. Guile was twenty-something odd years older than Wagner and was the man responsible for taking him under his wing when Wagner's parents were murdered when he was a mere teenager. It had been a little under ten years since Guile had taken custody over him but Wagner had grown from an adolescent into a man under his guidance.

Because of this amazing feat – and forget the fact that Guile had also raised a girl around Wagner's age at the same time, it was inconceivable that Guile didn't have the responsibility to call around the same time he normally did. And if he couldn't call to check in, he'd at least have left an email, a voice message, something to indicate that he was busy! But there was nothing. It was ironic, Wagner noticed, that as a teenager, he abhorred the fact that Guile would always call to check in on him. But now that he was twenty five, out of the nest and independent, he found himself wanting Guile to call.

He glanced at his watch, reading 12:16 am. It had been time to go home around three hours ago, but he figured if he wanted a free weekend, he'd better stay behind and catch up on some paperwork. Besides, Guile liked to call the office before the house. There was hardly anyone on the base grounds at this time of the night, save for security which consisted of a bunch of high school jocks wanting to use their brawn before their brains.

Ring!

"Yes!" Wagner cheered out loud, swiping the cordless phone off its rest on his desk. "Wagner here," he called into the receiver. "Hello?" There was no response. "Heeeelloooooo!" There was only a strange breathing on the other end, erratic in pattern, like that of a dying old man. It sent chills up Wagner's spine.

"Mister Wagner," a dark voice said on the other end. It was the kind of voice that commanded authority, one that didn't have to strain to be heard.

"Who is this?"

"I would like to congratulate you on being a successful candidate for the Agent Initiative," the voice replied slyly. The speaker seemed to get a kick out of talking in code.

"Listen," Wagner spat, "I'm expecting an important phone call and I don't have time to waste with your telemarketing bullshit!"

"This isn't bullshit!" the speaker said sternly, the very nature of his voice forcing Wagner to shut up.

"Well listen, buddy, I have not the time nor interest to …"

"I'm sure Shadowlaw is of valuable interest to you."

"Shadowlaw? What kind of joke is this? We destroyed that organization years ago!"

"We're sending an escort team on their way to come pick you up. If you want to minimize the damage, I suggest you co-operate."

"HEY!" But the line was dead. Wagner had already forgotten about Guile. Thoughts on that mysterious phone call were swimming in his mind, along with a thousand questions that had developed. Who was it that called him? What was the Agent Initiative? How had they gotten his number and what did they want with him?

He wasn't going to get any answers just sitting in his desk with his heart thumping in his chest. Wagner hadn't felt fear like this for a long time. The army had told him not to be scared, had taught him to protect himself verbally, and how to fight. But dealing with Shadowlaw was always different. They rarely negotiated with their victims and often used brute force. The most worrying part was that their ranks consisted of well trained martial artists and they too had their own military force. Not to mention inhumane projects like the Doll Program and the Shadow Technology reflected accurately their value of human life, or lack thereof. Wagner couldn't blame himself for being scared, and he was facing the pick up crew in a few minutes. How long he had, there was no way of telling. Then, an idea came to him. If Guile wasn't going to call him, then perhaps he should call Guile and let him know what was going on! If Wagner was to be kidnapped, then at least he could leave an SOS.

He swiped the receiver up for the second time in less than five minutes and began dialing, only to realize that after dialing the fifth number in the sequence, the lack of a dial tone indicated that the line had been cut.

"Not good, not good," he repeated to himself as he scanned the room for anything to use as a weapon, across the carpeted floor, and artificial potted plants placed at the corners of the white walls, THERE! Right by the entrance was a set of wooden chairs with no back rest, just an arm rest that curved around the cushion, encircling about two thirds of the seat. They weren't too tall and definitely not too heavy to lift with one arm. Wagner ran to the door and locked it tight, then over to the windows just behind his desk and locked them too. He pulled the blinds down in a frenzy and headed back to the front of the room and shut off the lights before scooping up the chairs, one in each arm.

By now the sweat was trickling down his forehead. It was as if fate was catching up to him. Maybe Wagner was supposed to die that night Bison, the head of Shadowlaw himself murdered his parents and younger sister with his own two hands. Maybe Wagner's blood should've joined his family's on the dining room floor and all over Bison's hands. Whatever the case, Shadowlaw was here to take him now. He swore to himself as he stood in the centre of the room, gulping the lump in his throat, that no matter how afraid he was, he'd fight to the death and that he'd take some of those Shadowlaw bastards down with him.

The door to his office burst open with considerable force, splintering as it hit the ground. But there was no squad of armed, masked men like he'd expected. There was just one man, a giant, hulking figure of a man. His size was the only thing Wagner could be sure of in this darkness and he suddenly regretted turning out the lights.

"You're not taking me alive, fucker!" Wagner screamed, hurling the first chair at his kidnapper. But his heart nearly broke when he saw that the chair had just to collide with the giant's forearm before joining the door on the ground in a pile of splintered wood. Wagner threw the other, hoping that the man had been at least hurt or distracted by the first so that this one could impact him fully. But one solid kick that looked like it had been ripped straight from a how-to kickboxing book shattering it faster than the first. Residual splinters scraped against Wagner's arm as he could only stare in shock as the giant approached him. Now he could make out its features. The giant was well over seven feet tall, having a difficult time standing upright as his head scraped the ceiling. He had no hair. The only thing marking his face was an eye patch over his left eye. His broad, bare chest outsized even Wagner's by at least half the width of his. The giant's arms were as thick as Wagner's legs, and the legs as thick as his waist. There was no way he could win a scrap against this monstrosity but again, Wagner promised whoever was sent after him a fight.

Wagner launched his foot into the giant's chest but cursed himself immediately after. Given the size of the man, it would take more than a side kick to knock him to the ground. So he followed up the kick with a right hook, then a left, hoping to push the larger man into a corner and maintain his offensive. The giant was somewhat constrained by his height in this room, and Wagner hoped to keep him that way. But then –

"Tiger Uppercut!"

Both fighters flew through the ceiling, one by his fist, the other by having his body thrown against it. The fist had collided with Wagner with such force that he had sailed through the very roofing of this office, and out into the open night. Fortunately, the building was made of light wood. Anything harder and he was sure he would've broken a few bones. Wagner caught a glimpse of the stars glowing overhead, of the Milky Way shining its heavenly lights upon their mortal world. And then, he felt his body sink earthward and collide with the asphalt.

The giant landed a few feet away, looking at the beaten airman with a disgruntled frown. Perhaps he'd lasted much shorter than predicted? Wagner didn't know. He wasn't good at reading faces and was too preoccupied with the pain that plagued his body. He then closed his eyes, hoping to shut it out as best as he could, and unexpectedly fell into unconsciousness.

XXXXX

"Target apprehended," Sagat reported, calling into his walkie talkie as he picked up Wagner's limp form and slinging him over his shoulder.

"Excellent, Sagat," Bison said excitedly on the other end.

"But I don't understand, sir, what kind of importance does Scott Wagner hold?"

"I normally don't tolerate my subordinates questioning my decisions, but because of your successful missions, I believe you deserve some form of explanation. I want the Agent Initiative to be established quickly. The faster the better. But the Street Fighter tournaments haven't even started yet, and sufficient data on the warriors has not been gathered."

"But Wagner is merely an overgrown teenager, not a fighter."

"You have no idea what his capabilities are."

"I did take him out as ordered, sir."

"You did so to Kenneth Feng as well, Sagat! But their fighting abilities do not reflect what is hidden within them. Just as Kenny has the main Shadow chip in his body, Wagner has absorbed some kind of magnetic energy produced when I murdered his family. And that energy is still at work in his body today."

Sagat smiled with interest. "It's very unlike you to get to know your targets so personally, sir. You've killed many people in your lifetime."

"Yes, but I remember the Wagners now that I think about it. Scott's abilities have only been brought to my attention recently, after viewing what little information we've gathered on the street fighters and their associates in the past Alpha tournaments. He's connected to Guile, who is in turn connected to Charlie, our first true Shadow Soldier. After digging a little further, I've come to the conclusion that Wagner is a sufficient prototype to the Agent Initiative."

"And I will be delivering him to headquarters shortly."

"Good work. Upon which he can join the other."

"The other, sir?"

"The other prototype. The son of the head of a Latino gang that used to have a powerful influence in the States, the Latin Kings. Julian Marquez."