Author's Notes: Please bear with the lack of flowing chapter numbers. I am in the process of merging the chapters in the middle of the story as I'm finding they take up more space than they're supposed to. As requested by Tao Shui (Stillstraet) and in following Vammy's suggestions, I have FINALLY allowed the tournament to start. It should have started many chapters ago, being the main plot of the story, but I got too caught up with the subplot involving the drama between the OC's. Ah well, the spotlight's being shifted over to the Street Fighters now. Enough of my blabber. Let the story continue!

XXXXX

The Osaka Dome was filled to the brim with screaming, hysterical fans. Tier upon tier threatened to spill the spectators from their seats, over the balcony and into the arena, placed in the direct centre of the massive dome. The indoor baseball field had been converted accordingly, a large tiled platform set up a few steps off the grassy ground. Brilliant camera flashes went off all around from fans and journalists alike. The hysteria was partly attributed to the nature of the tournament – one that celebrated the martial arts from all over the world – or at least, that's how Shadowlaw marketed the tournament. Another cause was the fact that the tournament was not an annual event and instead only occured every couple of years. So when it came around, people got into it – hardcore.

Kenny knew how popular the Street Fighter tournaments were, having been spectator to at least one in the past. He walked towards the entrance of the dome, smothered by people whichever way he turned. Cranky was just a few steps ahead of him, shoving people out of the way, clearing a path for the both of them to move through. The locals were little, and he was big. There were a few shouts of protest, but nobody dared approach the foreigner with pale skin and fiery hair.

Kenny tagged along behind but purposely kept a good few feet between him and Cranky. He got a feeling that his brother was still pissed off after finding his secret earlier this morning – or more specifically, Cammy's secret. Cranky had hardly said a word to him after that, only showed up at Kenny's hospital ward and grunted, signaling it was time to leave to attend the event. He'd snuck back to the hospital, the nurses never having suspected that he left in the morning to go for breakfast, and convinced them afterward that the street fighter tournament was a once in a lifetime opportunity for him to experience. It took a little convincing, but he eventually talked them into letting him have his way while Cranky stood by, arms folded angrily across his chest.

The children of irresponsible parents ran around at Kenny's feet, waving their hands wildly in the air. Some of them were dressed up as their favorite street fighters – one of which had a red shoelace around his head, and a matching white tank top with karate pants.

"Hadouken!" the child cried, pushing another child who could have been his little sister.

"You've got it all wrong," Kenny mumbled under his breath.

The girl, whose hair was sloppily pulled into two buns at the sides of her head, fell on her rear. Kenny half expected her to break out into tears, but she rose to her feet quickly and wrestled her brother to the ground, laughing happily the whole way down.

Deciding he'd seen enough of horribly performed fighting techniques, Kenny looked forward, making sure he didn't lag too far behind Cranky. He dug his hands into his pockets to check for the tickets that Ken Masters was able to snag for him. They were still there, the glossy and crisp pieces of paper in his pocket. He took them out and had a quick look over them – front row seats, as usual. He would never expect anything less from his Uncle Ken. If the special, expensive tickets weren't purchased as a favor for Kenny, then they would be used give him the closest thing to a first hand experience of Uncle Ken's near flawless martial arts style. Show off. Typical.

As they approached the Dome, Kenny's eye shifted over to a woman standing by herself, gazing up at a huge poster portrait of Ryu. These posters were laid out accordingly all along the building's exterior, and from where Kenny was standing, in the corridors too. They depicted the fighter's face and shoulders with their name slapped somewhere in the layout. It was surreal for Kenny, seeing the people who he called his friends being treated like such celebrities, even having children dressed up like them.

He couldn't explain why, but his eye was drawn back to the woman staring at the portrait of Ryu. She didn't look like a fan girl – definitely way too old in her dress shirt, knee length skirt and high heels. Was it her hair? It was short, almost like a boy's haircut only a little longer at the top. He caught sight of a white headband that she held in her hand, neatly folding it into a bow which she then placed in the breast pocket of her shirt.

"Sakura …" Kenny found himself mumbling. Yes, it was her – the girl who he ran into on the streets nine years ago, the crazy fan of Ryu. Only now she didn't look as crazy anymore, but it was obvious to him she still held that same kind of admiration close to heart, the way she looked up at his face, as he looked across the horizon to the sky. Kenny shook his head, his artistic side of himself suddenly subsiding.

"Kenny, gimme the tickets!" Cranky called from the turntables. Beside him, a fully clothed attendant stood with her hands folded neatly in front of her body, waiting patiently for Kenny to catch up.

"Coming!"

XXXXX

"You know, shaking and shivering like that wastes a lot of your energy prior to the fight." Chun Li took her hand off Cammy's shoulder and she resumed her convulsions. Chun Li sighed and headed towards her locker, placing a pile of her neatly folded civilian clothes into it, and slammed the door shut with a bang. It was strange being the large room with only two of them to occupy it. During the preliminary rounds, the women's locker room was filled with Street Fighter hopefuls, all wanting to prove themselves as the strongest women in the world.

The tournament administration didn't emphasize it enough that there would be no sex discrimination when it came to the selection process, and that the women would be fighting against men as equals. A few of the more conservative ones were disgusted by the morality of it all, packed their bags, and left. The rest were beaten and eliminated – by Chun Li. Still, Cammy found it mildly odd that she and Chun Li were the only women competitors in the tournament. And Cammy was one of the new comers. Chun Li had already secured a spot for herself in the preliminary rounds.

"Were you like this when you first started out?" Cammy asked.

"Back in the Alpha tournaments, I was a little," Chun Li admitted. "But as they continued, I found myself getting less scared and more excited. With very victory, I was getting closer to my goal to defeat Bison. I guess sometimes, I was too blinded by revenge to feel nervous. Hey, you participated in the Alpha tournaments too, didn't you?"

"I was a different person back then," Cammy replied. "And I don't remember much of it."

"I'm sorry, that was inappropriate," Chun Li apologized. "Listen, we'll talk later cause my turn's coming up soon and I haven't warmed up yet." She gave Cammy a supportive pat on the shoulder before heading out of the locker room, leaving her alone in the empty space with nobody to comfort her.

XXXXX

They had just barely entered the Dome when Kenny thought he saw something – a dark shadow of a man just around the corner, emanating some kind of concentrated energy, a really strong fighting spirit that felt eerily familiar. He felt his palms instantly condense with cold sweat, forcing himself to look away. It was Akuma, no doubt about it, the man that attacked him and Ryu last night at the hospital. What in the world was he doing in the street fighter tournament?

Though his instincts told him not to, Kenny looked again, this time, surprised to find that the enigmatic figure had suddenly disappeared. The initial glimpse had been quick, but Kenny was sure he made out some features pretty accurately. The figure was strangely dark in a brightly lit hallway, but he could've sworn he saw the flaming red hair of the man sticking up in intimidating spikes off the top of his head, the dark karate gi, and tanned, dark brown skin of his arms.

"You're walking too slowly," Cranky called angrily from a few steps ahead. "Keep at this rate and we'll lose our seats for sure."

"Did you see that …"

"See what?" Cranky sighed outwardly and grabbed Kenny by the elbow, tugging him along at a faster pace while he struggled to break free.

"You don't need to be in such a goddamned hurry," Kenny said. "It's arranged seating."

Cranky paid him no attention as they headed down what seemed like an endless maze of corridors, each one just as crowded with people as the last. The heat in here was suffocating and he couldn't wait to get to their seats, in the wide open arena, and get a breath of fresh air.

He caught sight of a large, thickly built security guard staring them down as they passed. He sure didn't look like a security guard, though, more like a soldier with his army fatigues, combat pants, a tight black T-shirt that showed of his muscular torso with a dark green padded vest over that. One side of the crimson beret came down over his face, covering a brow. What really caught his attention was the Shadowlaw emblem on the hat, its gold coating contrasting well with the deep red.

Cranky made eye contact with the man and got the feeling something wasn't quite right about him – the way the guard was looking at them, as if expecting the pair of brothers to cause some kind of trouble. Could it be the way he was rough housing Kenny? Then again, there were quite a few Japanese people who had a distaste for foreigners, and Kenny wasn't an obvious foreigner.

Cranky caught a glimpse of the guard's name tag, reading "Issei." As they walked away, Cranky noted that the guy didn't make an attempt to stop him if he thought Kenny was in some kind of trouble. Then again, he wouldn't expect much help from a Shadowlaw operative. This whole tournament was run by them. Cranky shuddered to think that everything around him was just a fancy mask for an illegal operation. Kidnapping street fighters and brainwashing them just like they did to Wagner and Julian? Illegal was an understatement.

The guard spoke into his walkie-talkie, too quickly for Cranky to understand, and he spoke in Japanese, which made it that much harder, but he could've sworn he heard the word "Akuma" in there somewhere. That caught Cranky's attention as he turned around for another look, and realized why this guy, aside from glaring at him with an unspoken hatred, had caught his attention. He eyes and nose, the shape of his jaw – it was all so familiar … The guard's head jerked left and right as if he were about to cross a busy street in a disciplined military fashion and took off.

"So you're pissed off at Cammy and now you're hopping the fence, huh?" Kenny joked. Cranky shot him an angry look. The wound was still sore and now was not the best time to joke about it. "Sorry," Kenny apologized, holding up his hands.

Cranky's expression softened and he sighed. "I don't feel like dealing with her and her secretive bullshit anymore," he said. "That man …" He pointed at the spot where the guard had been standing. "He looked like you."

XXXXX

Ken landed from his finishing move, after he'd launched his opponent in the air – a large sumo wrestler dressed in noting but a blue bath towel wrapped around his enormous waist. He called himself E. Honda and the first thing to hit Ken's mind was the imported cars that required little maintenance, but did nothing to protect you in a car crash.

But this guy was built like a tank. Ken initially passed him off as an overweight walrus, but made the mistake of mistaking those pounds of muscle for fat. E. Honda had immense strength, and had proven it to Ken earlier on in the fight, seizing him effortlessly by one arm and throwing him around the ring like a rag doll. And for a 500 pound sumo wrestler, Ken had to admit that this guy quick, almost as quick as he was. Even the attacks the sumo delivered – that move where he launched himself across the ring like a torpedo, or the combination attack of what felt like a hundred light punches that eventually took their toll, felt like they were being dealt by more than one person.

But after Ken made sure to himself that he would no longer underestimate this particular opponent, winning was easy. He kept his weight on his back leg, in a defensive stance, arms protectively shielding his torso, ready to strike at any given moment. The moment Ken spotted an opening, he would dive right in, offer a quick jab and retreat. The keep away strategy was predictable, and he could tell that E. Honda knew it. But he was far to large to keep up with Ken.

After Honda stopped performing his elaborate attacks that would leave him with a long recovery time and took a defensive position, Ken could feel his strategy crumbling before his eyes.

"Hey, fatty," Ken taunted, "come on and fight. It ain't nap time yet!"

"Is this the Shotokan art?" Honda retorted. "Your childish techniques do you no good."

"They seem enough to handle an overgrown baby like you!"

Honda lost it at that point, and came at Ken with a fury of his hand slap attacks. The brief oral exchange bought him enough time to concentrate his chi into a single focal point in his foot. The second Honda was within reach, he unleashed that chi with a wave of turning kicks. Ken spun his body around, kicking his leg out with every full rotation, striking with such speeds it was as if the friction of air around his foot had set it, and therefore his opponent, on fire. He was spinning like a top, the momentum driving both fighters into the air. The only difference in landing was that Ken did so gracefully, while Honda cracked the tiles with his bloated body in an unconscious heap.

"Your winner," a voice over the speaker announced, "Ken Masters!" And the crow went wild as a wave of camera flashes set off for a glimpse of the US Martial Arts Open champion and hopefully this year, Street Fighter Champion. Ken threw his arms in the air in victory, embracing the cheers, taking in every single voice in the chorus of screams that chanted his name!

"Kick ass, Uncle Ken!" a soft voice yelled, but it stuck out like a sore thumb to him. He would recognize the voice anywhere. He sauntered over to the front rows, separated from the battle arena by a thick wire fence. He stuck his hand through one of the diamond openings and ruffled the back of Kenny's head affectionately.

Beside him was a beautiful blonde lady who stood up and gripped the fence, trying to get closer to the victor of the bout. "You were terrific, honey," she said.

"Eliza, babe," Ken said, a childish grin appearing on his face, "I'm glad to see you made it."

"The doctors said I couldn't travel so I had to postpone the flight home," she explained. "At least I get to see you fight now."

"And do I get a kiss for winning?"

"Not through this," she replied, tapping against the fence. "I don't feel like tasting metal right now. Besides, you're all sweaty and gross."

"Good to see you here too, Crankurt," Ken said, acknowledging the red haired man sitting on the other side of Kenny. "You're a pretty tough lookin' guy. How come you didn't bother registering for the tournament? You would've been great competition."

"I'm a petty thief, Masters," Cranky laughed in good nature, "not a fighter. But thanks for the consideration, though."

"They're having a tough time removing the sumo," Kenny noted, staring with interest at what was going on in the arena. "Looks like they're gonna need more than four men to carry him off in a stretcher."

"They should have enough people," Ken said, shrugging off the issue. "Hey, I better get out of here. The next match is starting. I'll probably be facing the winner in the intermediate rounds. I'm gonna go freshen up. You guys enjoy the fight." His declaration was followed by a mini-chorus of goodbyes.

"I'll see you tonight, honey!"

"Own them good, Uncle Ken!"

"Later, Masters."

XXXXX

Chun Li stood in the middle of the fighting platform, a small, petite figure on one end of the stage, in stark contrast to the caped figure standing at the other end. She recognized the fighter from the Alpha tournaments, a Russian wrestler who went by Zangief. The man was seven feet tall while she was just above five and a half feet – and that was considered tall for a Chinese woman. Nine years ago, Zangief had fallen victim to a variant of the Shadow Technology that possessed her and Charlie Nash, turning his body into metal. She didn't fight him, being under the influence of the Shadow Technology herself, but judging from accounts from her fellow street fighters, fighting him was like going a against a machine.

Despite that, technological body enhancements not included, Zangief WAS a machine made of muscle. He was as densely packed as E. Honda, only muscle striations and veiny bulges were clear beneath hairy Siberian skin. His body was covered from head to toe with deep scars, never to be fully healed. Rumor had it that he'd gained the scars from wrestling bears in the Siberian wilderness, but not even the most imaginative of people were willing to believe such a tall tale, let alone Doubting Chun Li.

The two fighters approached the center of the ring, their eyes never breaking contact. Zangief looked angrily at her, though Chun Li was sure her face wasn't reflecting the same expression. She was looking at her opponent with curiosity, more so than anything else. She never learned of the Russian wrestler's fate after the Mt. Fuji explosion, but here he was standing in front of her looking healthier – and meaner than ever.

They were given a chance to stare each other down before the fight commenced. But Zangief took to opportunity to talk to her instead.

"It is good to see you are well, Detective," he grunted, his voice deep and thick with an accent.

"Same here," Chun Li replied. "I've always wanted to know what happened to you after Shadowlaw."

"We speak later," Zangief said. "Now is not the time."

"Agreed."

And the round commenced. Chun Li hopped back a step to gain some distance between her and Zangief. He was a powerful grappler so as long as she kept her distance, she was going to be okay. Chun Li wasn't lacking in the agility department either, so getting some good space between her and the hands of her opponent was a cakewalk. As they circled each other, Chun Li began forming an attack strategy in her head, one that would allow her to get a few decent strikes in without putting herself at risk within Zangief's grappling range.

"Come here!" Zangief growled, flexing his mighty arms. "Let me show you the power of Mother Russia!"

Chun Li took this as an opportunity to strike. While Zangief was busy showing off his build to the crowd, she threw her body towards him, leg extended for a solid kick to the wrestler's upper abdomen. WHAM! She followed it with two more in lightning quick succession and a flurry of light kicks to disorient him. "Senretsu Kyaku!"

Zangief grabbed his face with a hand and shook his head clear and roared at Chun Li. The attack was meant to enrage him, not so much to hurt him, it was obvious enough. But he wouldn't settle for that. The fact that this insolent little fighter thought she could get the better of Zangief enraged him. How ironic.

"Mother Russia may b e powerful," Chun Li remarked smugly, "but she sure isn't bright."

Zangief fist smashed into her face, forcing her to eat it and her own words. She sailed through the air with the power of his strength and his weight behind the punch. The wrestler was spinning around with his arms outstretched, performing a multi-hitting lariat move. Before Chun Li could fly out of his reach, Zangief's other fist came around and knocked her again. This repeated for a another few seconds after but to her, it felt like an eternity.

As the attack finished, Chun Li's body fell to the tarp, but she was oriented enough to sense Zangief's heavy stomp coming down on her small body and to roll away in the nick of time. Chun Li winced as the heel of his boot scraped her arm.

XXXXX

High above the arena in a special V.I.P. booth, Bison watched the match unfold far below him from two viewpoints, one being the thick glass flooring which kept them from falling onto the fighters down below, and the other a big television screen projecting from a system of cameras set up around the arena, switching to different cameras every fifteen seconds. Bison watched through the screen, analyzing the moves of the fighters and had been doing so since the tournament began.

"She's going to win this match," he predicted to Sagat, standing powerfully beside his master. "The little Chinese one. She knows how to maneuver herself in a fight while the big oaf can only stand there and watch her dance around him. What's her name?"

"Interpol Agent Chun Li," Sagat replied. "You should remember her from the Alpha tournaments …"

"Doesn't ring a bell," Bison snapped, rubbing his chin.

"You killed her father," Sagat reminded.

"I've killed lots of people," Bison retorted. "How do you expect me to remember every last one of them?"

There was a knock on the door. "Enter!" Bison grunted. There was a click of the latch and the sound of high heels against glass flooring. Bison turned in his swivel chair to face her, the very same seat from the base. He was delighted upon finding out that it was portable as well.

"Miss Katarina Feng," he said, a grin of temptation spreading across his lips. She wasn't only one of his best scientists, but she was the finest woman Shadowlaw had to offer. Bison had been working hard to ignore his lust for women as it was a sign of weakness. If he was going to rule the world, he could destroy every man, weak or strong, big or small, but if he allowed himself to be tempted even for a second by a beautiful woman, everything he worked for could come crashing down in an instant. He'd been somewhat successful in ignoring such temptations when it came to the dolls – they were just bodies with no personalities. Having sexual relations with them would earn him no favors in return and would be about as good as humping a corpse. And as for Cammy the Killer Bee, he didn't like his women butch. "What can I do for you this afternoon?"

"I would like your permission," she replied with a silky voice. As she spoke, she removed her glasses and tucked them into the pocket of her short white lab coat. "I hear that my brother, Admiral Issei, is on a secret mission."

"He is," Bison nodded.

"Is it true that you're ordering his unit to weaken the street fighters, to sabotage their training so that they don't stand a chance in the final rounds against you?"

"By mind control, yes," Bison admitted. "Their minds must be weak to lower their capability of resisting the Psycho Drive when they do in fact lose."

Katarina nodded in comprehension. "I would like to engage in battle with the Killer Bee," she said. "I've been training for this moment ever since Vega was killed by her."

"Oh so you're Vega's new toy," he said smugly, turning his back on her. "You are well aware of how much you mean to this organization. You are a scientist, a very talented one at that, not a warrior. I will not jeopardize one of scientific gems for a fight that your brother could easily take care of."

"Sir, you underestimate her," Vega said, coming up from behind Katarina, entering the room. "She is talented not only in the sciences, but in the ring as well. I've seen her in action."

"In more than one way, I'm sure," Bison muttered.

"I'm sorry, Master Bison?"

"Er … nothing." He turned back to face them. "I will allow you to fight the Killer Bee on one condition." He held up his index finger to emphasize his point. "We created the Killer Bee. We know how she fights."

"She employs the same Shadowlaw Ninjitsu that the other dolls use," Katarina said, "the one developed by Admiral Issei. He's taught me a few things, too."

"The Killer Bee is an expert at the art," Bison countered, "and with her kind of engineered strength, it wouldn't surprise me if she could take down even Admiral Issei in battle. Don't think that 'a few things' is enough to last more than a few seconds with her in a fight."

"What are your terms then, sir?"

"Vega will have to accompany you if," Bison replied, folding his arms across his chest, his solid posture alluding to his unshakeable terms. "I'm sure he's aching for some revenge as well, after what the Killer Bee did to him all those years ago."

"Agreed." Katarina looked at Vega, the two of them smiling devilishly at each other. Revenge would be theirs Killer Bee was going to die soon. Vega ran his tongue along his bottom lip while his fingers rubbed lightly against his razor claws.