Ken was ready for battle this time, his body poised, fists raised protectively in front of his body for any attack Julian might deliver. But he didn't want to engage in battle if it could be avoided. He wanted to find out what was wrong, although he had a pretty good idea with Shadowlaw tampering with Julian's mind.

"Julian," Ken said slowly, not wanting any aggression to show in his voice, "are you feeling okay?" Julian Marquez stood with one arm supporting his body against a wall. He breathed heavily with effort, looking as if he might need some help, but Ken was smarter than to just run over to his friend's side, especially after what happened earlier that day.

"K…Ken," Julian stammered weakly, "I'm sorry for what happened today. I … I can explain, really."

"No need to, buddy," Ken replied, "I have a good idea what happened."

"Please, Ken," Julian continued, "you have to get out of here. Shadowlaw's sent me after you. They want you dead, and I've been ordered to do the dirty work. Please, I'm fighting it as much as I can but I don't know how much longer I'll be able to hold out."

"I won't leave you, Julian," Ken said stubbornly. "You have to continue fighting them. We'll find out what's wrong, and get Shadowlaw together!"

"No … you have to – GRAAGGH!" Julian's body began trembling violently. His hands clawed at his face, as if something inside of him was threatening to burst out. The veins in his face rose from his skin, a thin layer of sweat coated his entire body. His face began turning a dangerous shade of scarlet.

Ken was on high alert, but his instincts screamed at him to get in there and help his friend out. Between his mind and his conscience fighting each other for control of his body, Ken ended up just standing there, watching Julian degrade from a loyal friend to a despicable agent of Shadowlaw.

When Julian looked up at him again, all humanity was gone from his eyes. His face displayed a mere disregard for the life of a fellow human, let alone a friend. His composure returned, standing up tall, walking slowly, menacingly towards Ken with a look of indifference in his eyes. His hands balled up tightly into fists as his steps became wider.

There was going to be a fight here, right now, Ken could feel it. But he still tried to talk his way out of it, hoping there was some way he could save himself from hurting his friend – or vice versa.

XXXXX

She took off the glasses from her face, smeared with dirt and grease, setting it down on the table in front of her. Their removal revealed the true beauty of this woman's face. She had a round jaw, high cheekbones and narrow eyes with just a little bit of mascara. Makeup was something she didn't put too much effort into. Her complexion was milky, smooth and utterly flawless ... except for that zit forming just off the corner of her mouth. Her ruby lips were naturally pursed, adding colour to contrast the jet black hair she normally kept tied into a neat bun at the back of her head. She removed the name tag from the breast pocket of the knee length lab coat, revealing curved, shapely calves. The tag, reading "Katarina Feng" remained beside the gross, greasy glasses as she walked off into the change room adjacent to the lab, taking off her coat along the way.

The private speaker to the lab sounded.

"What is it?" she asked, her tone annoyed and irritated.

"I need to speak to you, Doctor," a voice replied from the other end.

"Not now, I'm busy," she replied sharply. Katarina shook her head, sighing outwardly. When would her subordinates ever learn to do things on their own? It was a wonder why Shadowlaw ever agreed for these morons to be a part of the scientific division. They were useless, constantly surrounding her, scribbling illegible notes in their notebooks, confusing the most basic of terms with one another. She was never like that, and she doubted her father was either.

The late Dr. Tai Su Feng, Katarina's father. She'd heard wonderful things about him, and the contributions he made to Shadowlaw. He was a great man, true, but she refused to believe that she was only hired because of her blood relation to him. She was pulled into the greatest scientific ranks of Shadowlaw because of her talent, passion, and respect for the sciences. She gazed adoringly at the picture frame of the man who brought her into this world, a faded photograph taken at least a decade ago. Her superiors who'd worked with her father had told Katarina she got his nose from him. But the rest of her beautiful, delicate porcelain features were inherited from her mother – a woman she'd heard a lot less about.

The mechanical whirr of the sliding doors snapped her out of her momentary daze, and Katarina's anger flared. She might have been petite and delicate in appearance, but she had a temper that nobody would want to suffer the wrath of. She stormed towards the door, preparing a intense bitch-fest in her head for whoever dared enter her private laboratory without her permission.

And then she stopped dead in her tracks. The man standing before her – she could recognize that handsome face, the thin, muscular, but simultaneously effeminate build of him anywhere. But there was a problem. He was supposed to be dead. In one of his well-manicured hands, he held a white rose, running its immaculately curved petals gently under his thin nose.

"My lady," he said, bowing to her ever so slightly.

"V…Vega …" Katarina's normally pale face turned sheet white.

"I can't describe the pleasure," he said, handing the rose over to her, "at having the honor of beholding beauty such as yours, especially after all these years."

Katarina was speechless. Vega – the only man who ever meant anything to her besides her brother was standing before her after eight years of supposedly being dead. How was this possible? She wasn't given enough time to ponder the possibilities as he made a move for her, took her slender body into his arms and pressed his lips to hers, kissing her deeply. Katarina closed her eyes and lavished in the moment. Had it been any other man, she would've most likely kneed him in the groin and violently shoved him to the ground. Only Vega could do this to her, arouse her animal instincts within such a short time frame.

"You're back?" she asked. The question was partly rhetoric, her brain trying to tell her that this was but a dream. But the warmth of his kiss was too real. His arms around her, hers around his – it was all too concrete.

"I am, my love," he replied, "and better than ever. Just in time, too. Shadowlaw is about to make its rise to glory once again through the street fighter tournament. And I'm told a lot of it has to do with you."

She blushed. "I've just activated the AI technology within our prototype soldiers," she explained. "Bison's wish to have the street fighters tested beyond their limits is only a step away from materializing. All it takes is a push of the button."

"And those who do not meet his requirements for the new wave of Shadowlaw agents will be destroyed," Vega added.

"Regardless," Katarina continued, changing the subject, "it's good to see you again. I thought I lost you."

"Blame in on the Killer Bee."

"I've been training hard," Katarina said. "I've haven't rested a day since your passing, learning the Shadowlaw secret arts, perfecting my skill just so I can get my hands on her."

"She was the one who thrust my own claw into my chest," Vega recalled bitterly. "And to think I once regarded her as the physical embodiment of beauty. But her mind – or lack thereof – it changes a lot." He then looked into Katarina's eyes. "But you, my lady, you are far superior to her. And I can't help but think your loyalty to me is undeserved."

"I will destroy the Killer Bee with the very fighting style she employs. But before I do that …" she smiled mischievously at Vega.

"Now this, this is what I love coming back to."

"Fuck me."

XXXXX

Guile had been sleeping soundly, his mind lost somewhere in the deep, enveloping darkness. It was serene here, where he could rest without letting his mind worry over Shadowlaw's recent developments. He dreamt of the days when Cammy was still living under his roof, along with Wagner, Jane and Melissa. He fondly remembered Cammy and Wagner's childish bickering every morning at the breakfast table, her sense of adventure passed down to her from her father. He remembered coming home to their parties, being severely pissed off at them for not notifying him before hosting a social event where they and their high school peers would get drunk out of their minds.

He had been angry at them at the time. But now, with Wagner graduating from college in a degree in psychology, and Cammy working in the UK with Delta Red, he began to miss his children – adopted or not. Melissa was finishing high school soon and it was only a matter of time before she joined Cammy and Wagner and left the nest. His children, the beloved kids he and Melissa had raised, despite Jane's initial protests had all grown up. And now that Jane had gotten to be attached to them too, she found herself missing them.

Guile was rudely jolted from his sleep when he felt the mattress of his bed tip over. His first waking moment from his previous sleep was spent struggling to regain his balance as he found himself falling in midair. His body came crashing to the cold floor, his hands cushioning the impact slightly. He struggled to his feet only to come face to face with Wagner. Instantly, from the second he glanced into his son's eyes, he knew it wasn't his son standing there. It was the same man who'd attacked him and Kenny when they were in the car on their way over to fetch Wolfman.

Instead of speaking, Wagner threw a punch aimed at Guile's face. The older airman grabbed his son's fist and twisting, taking his attacker to the floor.

"Get a hold of yourself, Wagner!" Guile ordered. "I'm not going through this with you again!"

"Terminate," Wagner said in a cold, inhuman voice, and kicked upward with his booted foot, successfully smashing Guile's nose into his face. Guile leapt to his feet, holding his nose, taking note of the blood that seeped through his fingers. With a free hand, he grabbed a lighting unit beside his best, a tall lamp that provided dim lighting in the room for those who couldn't quite fall asleep yet. He pulled the electronic device from the wall and used its long body as a staff, keeping Wagner at a distance.

Keeping his eye on Wagner, making sure he wouldn't get closer, Guile suddenly felt his heart ache. Was this how his life was to end? At the hands of his own son? If not now, how much longer would he continue to be under Bison's control? Would Wagner then find a way to kill him later? Now that he no longer had to worry about Kenny being in danger by being involved in the fight, it then dawned on Guile for the first time that unless Shadowlaw was brought down, there was a good chance he would lose his son to them. He would not accept that, especially not after losing his best friend to them. Guile had worked so hard to take Wagner off the streets, to turn his life around by providing a stable family backing him – and it was all about to be undone. He couldn't have it. He wouldn't.

XXXXX

Bison paced back and forth in the throne room, absolutely furious with Vega's ungratefulness. He'd spent eight years of precious energy taken straight from the Psycho Drive, significantly hindering it from reaching its full potential just to bring him back from the dead. And where does the Spanish matador head to once he's revived? He heads to one of his toys, a mere scientist whom he deems beautiful. Bison had no time for beauty. Petty human appreciation for unimportant things did nothing but slow progress. Where the hell was he!

"Sir," Sagat said, approaching his master, "your guest has arrived."

"Send him in." Bison ordered. "And I want a search party for Vega. This is no time for fun and games."

The doors to the dark throne room slid open, revealing a tall, well muscled figure, just a head shorter than Sagat, but not anywhere near lacking in bulk. His dark hair was just a mat of short spikes, revealing a lengthening buzz cut. He was dressed in combat fatigues and a black, body hugging T-shirt, clearly defining the underlying slabs of muscle on his torso. He held a red beret decorated with the Shadowlaw insignia in his hand, having just removed it out of respect, being in Lord Bison's presence.

"Admiral Issei," Bison greeted. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you in person."

"We've met before," his guest replied, "but given your phenomenal task of rebuilding the organization from the ground up, I shouldn't expect you to remember our initial meeting nine years ago."

"You are right to expect that," Bison nodded in approval. "But my attention has recently been directed to you, and for good reason. With the Street Fighter tournament commencing tomorrow, this is the worst time for anything to go wrong."

"Something has, sir?"

"One of our AIDS prototypes has discovered an unfamiliar threat to our plans in," Bison explained. "While waiting for the right moment to launch an assault against the street fighters, we picked up an energy signature in the hospital we believe to be the Satsui no Hadou. The issue is, it didn't belong to Ryu, and I have a strong feeling I know who it was."

"Who?"

"We cannot afford to have the Shotokan demon, Akuma, thwart our plans for Ryu," Bison said. While the tournament progresses, I want you and your best men to keep your eyes open for Akuma. However, though I likely need not remind you, stay on your guard. He is a force to be reckoned with. Sagat, Balrog and Vega – if we can find him – will be assisting you. But once the final rounds commence, you and your unit are on your own."

"I understand."

"You know I chose you for this task because you are among the best our organization has to offer. Do not fail me.'

"Yes, sir." Admiral Issei bowed his head in acknowledgement of his orders.

"I'm not finished yet, Admiral. There is a less important, secondary task that I would like accomplished, depending on your ability. I need Ryu and Akuma apart from each other. Ryu is ours. If you find him, bring him to us. Again, Sagat and the others will be at your disposal should you require their assistance."

"You want me to capture the champion Street Fighter?"

"Wait for him to reach the final rounds. Then we will seize him, with your help of course. I hope these tasks aren't too much for you and your men to undertake."

"Not at all, sir."

XXXX

Kenny was positioned by the window of his ward, looking outwards into the nightlife that he longed to be involved in. Across the street, a few clubs were still open, the bass of the music droning slightly in his ears. He bopped his head to the monotonous beat – trance music. It had been awhile since he'd gotten the opportunity to forget his worries. But now that he was finally out of danger, forgotten by Shadowlaw and Umbrella Incorporated alike, maybe he could finally settle down and continue his studies. Yeah, he never really like studying after living in Raccoon City for two years before the quaint American town was destroyed by missiles, but that kind of lifestyle, complete with junior high gossip, hair gel, cologne and social status seemed like a dream far away.

A few meters from the bar sat a street child, probably ten or twelve years old. He was dressed in dirty winter coat and a toque, gloved hands rubbing against each other for warmth. In front of him lay a half eaten sub-sandwich, probably dug up from a trash can somewhere. Kenny shook his head in disapproval at the street child, in the very same position he was in less than a decade ago. One thing Cranky taught him was that you never, under any circumstances take half eaten food. Who knew what kind of bacteria it could've been crawling with, having someone else's mouth all over it, and the marinating in a garbage can all day? Food was supposed to be acquired by money – money stolen from people who you try to charm the hell out of.

Sure, Kenny had gotten his fair shares of "buzz off, street rat!" but he had to learn to suck it up and continuing the practice if he wanted to eat, if he wanted to survive. Kenny continued watching the street child with an intense curiosity that he couldn't explain. He reached down hungrily for his sandwich, but as his fingers came within inches of the soggy morsel, a pedestrial walked by and stepped on it accidentally, smothering the bread with the grime from the bottom of his shoe.

The child looked up angrily at the pedestrian, a businessman dressed in a nice trench coat who obviously, going by his clothes was in a much different financial situation as this particular street child. He saw the kid's mouth open and yell something, though through the hospital windows, Kenny couldn't figure out what was spoken. But their body language said everything – the man reaching out and pushing the child to the ground, kicking him once in the ribs, turning around and walking away with his hands stuffed in his pockets.

The street child remained on the ground, moving very slowly, probably in pain from having been struck. Kenny felt an invisible hand grip his heart and choke tears of sympathy out of him. He'd gotten plenty of verbal abuse from people before, but nobody had actually attacked him. Maybe it was the fact that he was much younger than this boy now, but he still felt sorry nonetheless. Were people just getting meaner nowadays? He didn't know, but Kenny suddenly felt a deep urge to help.

He glanced over at his bed. Beside it, on the dresser lay a tray with his leftovers from dinner. There was a piece of broccoli, some cold chicken noodle soup in a cup and the crust from a sandwich – one that looked much better than the one that kid was about to devour. Kenny headed over to the tray, rummaging around the litter on the floor for the lid and covered it. The food was already cold, but there was still the aesthetic presentation to consider, though he was sure the street kid wouldn't care.

He grabbed a coat on his way out of the room with the tray of food in hand. The hallways were practically deserted this night, except for the few nurses performing their duties in rooms here and there. He tiptoed silently down the hallway, deciding to take the stairway down instead of the elevator. He didn't want the doctors and nurses thinking he was stealing the tray. The stairway led to an emergency exit door with a sticker warning people not to open it or a silent alarm will be triggered. He shrugged and opened it, instinctively readying himself for a screech of the alarm.

The cold night air nipped at his skin the moment he stepped outside and he felt compelled to step back in, but the street child was in sight now, still not having moved from the spot where the pedestrian had left bruised and hungry. Kenny looked both ways before crossing the street, just like Cranky had always told him to do, and approached the fallen child.

"Hey," he said calling out, "are you feeling alright?"

"P…please sir," the child begged, "if you have any change, any at all …"

"I … I have something better," Kenny said, kneeling down and placing the tray in front of the boy, who looked questioningly at it before him. To assure him that it was alright, and it was meant for him, Kenny lifted the lid and almost gagged at the old leftovers.

But the street child's reaction was completely the opposite. His eyes opened wide and his mouth began to water. "T…thank you sir!' he cried in gratitude. "I haven't eaten in days!"

"Eat it slowly," Kenny advised. "If you stuff yourself too quickly, especially when your stomach shrinks after going so long without food, it'll make you sick. I learned the hard way." Kenny placed a hand on his belly for emphasis.

"Are they not feeding you well in the hospital?" the street child asked curiously.

"How did you know I came from …?" Then he looked down at the tag bound around his wrist and smirked. "No, actually. I used to be in your shoes not too long ago."

The kid ignored his comment, tipping his chin towards the hospital. "Looks like there's a party going on in there," he commented.

Kenny turned to see what was going on and reeled back in horror. In the ward a few rooms down from his, Kenny could see two human forms in heated battle, one of which he immediately recognized as Guile from the unique hairstyle. The other silhouette was equally large, and he could only guess it was Wagner.

Whatever control Shadowlaw had Wager under, it had just come back to life. And Kenny couldn't help feeling partly responsible, having the technology used to develop the Agent Initiative program taken straight from his body. Without thinking, Kenny dashed back across the street, hoping to get in there and help with the brawl. Who knew how much time Guile had left, especially with the injuries he might've suffered in the car crash?