Lee Chaolan stretched out his arms and spun in the street. His shiny shoes shattered reflections in shadowy puddles. The black roads were lit with a sliding riot of light where wet tarmac collected the blare of built-up night life, creating a galaxy below to rival the new stars above.

"I've missed Chinese food," he grinned, letting his long coat fan out behind him as he spun.

"It wasn't even good Chinese food," Kazuya grumbled.

"You get out more. This is the first time I've had anything remotely like a taste of home in years."

"Home?" Kazuya raised an eyebrow.

A flicker of fear passed over Chaolan's face,

"I didn't mean-"

"Relax," Kazuya laughed, "only someone with their brain out of gear would call the Mishima estate home." Chaolan's smile made a brave comeback. He adjusted his sunglasses, pushing them up his nose despite the fact they meant he could see almost nothing in the dark. "So," Kazuya bent over a cigarette, shielding it from a light nippy wind that skittered about their coattails as he lit it up, "where to? The night's yours." That brought the radiance back to Chaolan in an instant.

"We don't really have to go to gay bars if they make you uncomfortable. I'm pretty easy either way."

"I know you are. But make your choice and don't regret it, you wont' be getting chances like this every day."

"Round one can be painfully hetrosexual, I'll ease you in."

"If you make a single sexual innuendo tonight you're on your own."

"Kaz, it's all in your filthy mind, I'd never dare do a thing like that."

The first bar wasn't a bar. It was an acid house club reached by a ladder into a basement with a ceiling so low Kazuya immediately felt like he was being flattened into a tin. The music was so loud and the room was so dark that he almost immediately lost Chaolan. He spent twenty minutes standing in the deafening noise with bodies sliding all around him before he stamped back out of the place and lit up on the street. There was sweat running down the back of his neck and he could feel the bruises from his earlier sparring session aching. He undid the buttons on his waistcoat and shirt, letting the wind cool his chest. A thick dark scar slashed down diagonally down his torso, a relic from the time a five-year-old Kazuya had picked a fight with his father. The light of his cigarette glowed soft gold in the night. The pound of the acid house through the walls behind him chimed with the throb of his own heartbeat. He breathed out slowly, before drawing a lungful of fresh cold air into him. The cold air stung his lungs but cleared his head, deep and refreshing.

Someone came and leant on the wall next to him and chatted animatedly in German. He didn't know any German, but they didn't seem to mind or notice, happy to monologue at him and take the cigarette he offered. Chaolan came out half an hour later, dripping with sweat, wearing only a fishnet tank top.

Kazuya jerked his head at what he was wearing,

"Thought you didn't bring that with you?"

Chaolan gave him a tired but happy grin,

"I lied."

"Where's your coat?"

Chaolan looked around him, a little surprised. He gave a slightly guilty shrug.

"You're going to get cold," Kazuya said without much interest.

"I've got you to look after me, big brother." Chaolan stole the new cigarette Kazuya had started from out his mouth. Kazuya glowered at him. "I was going to go get drinks before we hit the clubs but this place was just here and it's pretty famous, you know."

Kazuya grunted in response. They meandered their way to a bar – Chaolan shivering and wrapping his arms around himself; Kazuya carried his coat slung over one shoulder, determined to let his brother learn responsibility the hard way. Despite the cold, Chaolan was grinning and smiling and babbling about other venues he wanted to visit.

"A girl in the club was telling me about this really good night that rotates venues – almost everything worth going to rotates venue, Kaz – the techno there is so-"

"How did you hear anything anyone was saying in there?"

"Don't be such an old man – hey let's get drinks in here."

Shortly, they were drinking fluorescent cocktails in a very pink bar. Everything was so pink Kazuya winced everywhere he looked. Even his cocktail was pink. Chaolan had enticed over three punks in ripped up tees and half shaved heads: two young women and a young man close to their own age. Chaolan was stammering through his poor German much to their delight. They made an effort to switch to English to include Kazuya, who at best for foreign languages could manage English and a smattering of Russian if he wasn't drinking cocktails.

"Chaolan says you're in Berlin for the music, are you a techno fan?" A young woman with a nose ring, green hair and five piercings in her ear asked him.

"Nope," Kazuya swirled his cocktail.

"Kaz, don't be a spoilsport," Chaolan turned to the woman, "he's mostly making sure I don't make a fool of myself."

"And failing," Kazuya added. The young woman laughed at that. It was warm and a welcome break from all the cold facades and ulterior motives back at the convention.

"Enjoying Berlin?" she asked him.

He gave a non-committal shrug,

"Seems okay. Not sure it's really my kind of thing. Belongs to people like you, I guess. Very different to my world."

"Ah, alternative youth culture," she put on a mock serious voice, then laughed again, "it's rebellion and not giving a shit, nothing else to it. Pretty universal regardless of what walk of life you come from." He raised his glass. He could definitely drink to that. He pulled a slight face as he swallowed the pink liquid. "How's your cocktail?"

"Pretty bad," he admitted.

"Too sweet?" she asked. He nodded. Next round's on me, she said, "bet I can find something more to your taste."

One of her friends gave a wolf whistle as she left for the bar. She flipped a finger up at her friend.

The next cocktail was better. Kazuya was loath to admit it, but he didn't need to – Chaolan always read his face like a book, and eagerly shared Kazuya's appreciation with his new friends. The German punks stayed with them for the next few hours – first they insisted on taking Kazuya somewhere he could get good whiskey, once they found out it was one of his drinks of choice. After whiskey it was another techno club – Kazuya found he didn't mind it so much once there was enough alcohol in his system. The sounds went from deafening to throbbing, settling deep in his bones and speaking to primal things reverberating within him. He closed his eyes and let his body sway to the electronic waves of noise rippling through the room. When he opened his eyes the punk woman was dancing close to him. To his right was Chaolan somehow dancing but also making out alternately with the other two. Kazuya pulled a face and the young woman in front of him laughed at it. There was no room to hear the sound, so he saw her face pull the shape of a laugh while only the drum of the techno swelled around them. At some point she was very close, and the taste of whiskey from her mouth was pressed into his, at another point he remembered the feel of her against him, body slick with sweat in the heat and dark and noise. At another point he'd shrugged and taken a pill she'd offered, and the world slowed down, and he felt stretched out like a thousand roots spread through the club, and the loneliness that always kept an iron grip on his heart loosened for a few precious hours and he danced like the legacy of an empire wasn't on his shoulders.

It was the small hours of the morning when he felt the cold night wind on his face. Chaolan was disentangling his limbs from someone and mixing up all his German with Mandarin. When he finally turned to Kazuya he was shivering in the frigid air. Kazuya threw his coat over him and hailed a taxi. The taxi didn't want to pick them up, but Kazuya threw notes in the driver's face and threatened him and soon they were on their way back to the hotel. They stumbled their way through the bright lobby lights and Kazuya got them into the elevator and off at the right floor. It took him three tries and much cursing to open his own door, and there was no way he was bothering with Chaolan's. He sat his brother down on the bed and made him drink a glass of water whilst lighting up another cigarette for himself. Then he took a shower, and watched the glass steam up whilst he was still high, and traced his fingers through the patterns the air made whilst heavy with water.

When he got out the shower Chaolan was asleep on his bed. Kazuya threw the covers over him, then laid down next to him. He sipped from a cool glass of water and stared at the ceiling and thought about feeling free until he finally drifted to sleep.


He awoke the next morning when the hotel staff knocked on his door with a ten thirty A.M breakfast. They'd already tried to give it to him at nine thirty and ten o'clock. He brought in two trays of food and set them on the bed. He nudged his brother with a foot.

"Chaolan." Nothing. "Chaolan."

Chaolan stirred with a disgruntled moan and pulled a pillow over his head. Kazuya poured himself a green tea and sat inhaling its clean herbal aroma and letting the smell chase the weight of a hangover trying to swell in his head. He opened the bedroom window and let in a fresh breeze before settling himself back on the bed.

"Go have a shower," he kicked his brother again, then picked up his itinerary whilst sipping at his hot tea. There was an ache behind his eyes as he stared at the characters on the sheet.

There were more talks and presentations, more meandering around stalls, a scheduled demonstration out of town that had started half an hour ago, and a buffet brunch. He glanced over at the still sleeping Chaolan and gave him a solid kick that sent him sprawling out of bed and onto the floor.

"Kazuya!"

"Shower. You stink."

"You stink, idiot. Why'd you kick me out of bed!?" Chaolan's face was all steeped in sleep. His black eye was thoroughly puffed up and purple and his hair was a muffed, tousled silver. He sloped off to the bathroom, huffing and slouching and cursing as he went.

By eleven they were only a fraction more awake. Chaolan was moaning about how much his head hurt and picking flakes of almond off a croissant.

"My head hurts from too much to drink and my body hurts from too much fighting you," he sulked.

Kazuya could sympathise, his own situation was not much better. He didn't though.

"Your own fault," he said as he lit up their first cigarettes of the day. He planned to stop, because smoking did nothing good for his martial arts, but tobacco was too much of a welcome release from everyday life under the roof of Mishima Heihachi.

Chaolan leaned back on the bed next to him, and for a moment there was silence as they both breathed out wreaths of smoke, and sipped green tea.

"When you're head of the Mishima Zaibatsu, can we start every morning like this?"

Kazuya raised an eyebrow,

"Thought you planned on taking leadership of the Zaibatsu yourself?"

Chaolan made an inarticulate noise, then shoved a half buttered croissant into his mouth, chewed and swallowed,

"I am going to take over," he insisted, "but on the off chance I don't, I'm keeping my options open. Being a good businessman about it." Kazuya gave him an amused look and reached for a pastry himself. Chaolan turned thoughtful, "Kaz, you know what you said about father having plans for me… in America…"

"Don't talk about it now. You'll only upset yourself."

"I never get upset," Chaolan said indignantly, "but did you mean that for real? He's going to send me away?"

"To the best schools," Kazuya kept his voice carefully flat and devoid of all intonation.

"But we're already at the best schools… and we do them together…"

"Well, you'll be going to the best in America. And that's a lot bigger than Japan."

Chaolan's fingers twisted nervously,

"Is he getting rid of me?"

"No. He's improving the value of his assets." Chaolan looked hurt at that too, but Kazuya only shrugged. They both knew he was only calling the situation as it was. "Stop worrying. You'll thrive in the US. The people there are all loud and friendly, like you." Chaolan pulled a face, but Kazuya ploughed on, "you'll be away from that cursed estate, free to do as you please. You'll be able to grow up without looking over your shoulder."

"I'd rather stay with you."

"No, you wouldn't. This is a fucking gold star opportunity to get out from under his constant surveillance, and I'm not letting you throw it away. Not that he'd let you have a say in the matter anyway."

"But… but what about you?"

Kazuya's eyes narrowed. He took another pull on his cigarette.

"What about me," he said flatly.

"It's better when there's two of us against him…"

Kazuya stayed still and silent for a long moment. Then returned to smoking.

"I managed just fine without you before you arrived."

Chaolan's eyes went to the jagged thick red scar running across his brother's bare chest. Kazuya fixed him with a black look, daring him to challenge that last statement. Chaolan relented and glanced away.

Kazuya's eyes returned to the itinerary, narrowing slightly as he perused the list.

"What?" Chaolan asked when he felt the tension between them had sufficiently dissipated.

"How essential do you think 'wine and nibbles' are this evening? I have an engagement I'd already arranged for tonight."

"Oooh, Kazuya!" Chaolan swivelled round and flopped his head into his brothers lap, looking up at him through half lidded eyes, "you're going a date? Tell me the gossip."

Kazuya gave him a look of utter contempt,

"A date? Is that really the first thing that comes to mind when I say I already have plans?"

Chaolan's cigarette butt waggled in his mouth as he frowned.

"Not really. Knowing you, it'd be more likely some underground semi-legal ring fight in a dodgy part of town."

Kazuya said nothing.

Chaolan sat up abruptly,

"It's not, right?"

Kazuya shrugged,

"MMA tournament in East Berlin. Everything's taken care of, I just need to show up."

"Kazuya, we're meant to be closing this stupid oil deal and-"

"Didn't see you complaining last night."

"But that's kinda the point, Kaz! We already had a night on the town and don't we really need to secure this deal before we head out again?"

"We'll secure it at lunch," he handed the itinerary to Chaolan, "or brunch, whatever that is."

"You philistine, that's breakfast for lazy people. People even lazier than us."

"Right. Well, that. It's in an hour, but you didn't write where on your little sheet."

Chaolan pulled a face.

"I'll go get dressed then check," he stood up, "I can't believe you didn't at least warn me you were planning on fighting here…"

"Why'd you think I was training with you yesterday?"

"Uh… because you like to train every day?"

"Good answer. Run along and find out where that venue is, we can finalise this Rochefort shit today."

Chaolan stuck his tongue out at him as he left.

Kazuya closed his eyes and enjoyed the brief slice of sunlight that fell across his skin and the silence that filled the room like a lapping ocean.

He knew something was wrong when Chaolan came back. He could hear his footsteps shuffling quietly outside the door as he contemplated whether to come into Kazuya's room. Kazuya counted six minutes before Chaolan tentatively opened the door.

He looked pale. He'd snapped his glasses off and his bruised face made the picture look sadder. One of his hands was balled into a fist and shaking. The other was wrapped around a newspaper and also shaking. He looked down at his feet and chewed his lip. Kazuya didn't think he'd ever seen his brother look so contrite, at least not directed towards him. Their father was another matter. He looked like he was trying to form words, but none came out.

Kazuya gave a heavy sigh and beckoned him over. Chaolan didn't move. Kazuya got up and snatched the newspaper out of his hand.

There was a large black and white picture dominating the front page. Chaolan's silver hair contrasted nicely with dark smudge of the bruise about his eye, whilst his skin showed up light against a hasty pair of sunglasses trying to make their way back onto his face. For a moment, Kazuya's gaze was so drawn by the striking photograph that he missed the headline running over the top: Hidden face of the Mishima? A violent streak to the heir apparent of the Mishima Zaibatsu. He stared at the headline dumbly, then folded the tabloid so that so that he could read the article more easily: yesterday at an international arms fair in Berlin, the young adopted son of Heichachi Mishima, owner of the largest corporation in the world, was seen sporting a hefty black eye. The culprit? Likely to be the heir apparent of the Mishima Zaibatsu, first born and only blood son of the tycoon: Kazuya Mishima. Despite being only 21-years-old, Kazuya Mishima has already shown himself to have an unpredictable and violent temperament. He is rumoured to partake in bloody underground fighting tournaments across the world, and yesterday assaulted a journalist when attempting to remove this photograph from the public eye! (Inset: right; Chaolan Lee, adopted son of Heihachi Mishima). Could Kazuya Mishima's volatile and often violent behaviour spell doom for the future of stock and share prices in the Mishima Zaibatsu? Is young Chinese adopted brother Chaolan Lee the victim of abuse at the hands of this dark heir to the Zaibatsu throne? Has the cold prince finally grown too much for once impervious and omnipotent Heihachi Mishima to control? Only time will tell.

At the bottom of the page was an old photo of Kazuya scowling at some public function, probably from a year ago. His eyebrows were heavy set and his eyes were black with scorn. Kazuya looked up from the picture of himself. Chaolan's lower lip was trembling.

"They're obsessed with pointing out that you're adopted and not my brother by blood," Kazuya said mildly.

"I'll find out who wrote this and I'll fucking murder them," Chaolan exploded. "I-I can't believe that they would write this! It's defamation a-and libel! A-and I-I'm so sorry, Kazuya. I'm so sorry I wasn't more careful-"

"It's not your fault."

"It is my fault! If I'd just been more careful-"

"I should have kept my cool in the sparring match yesterday."

"I shouldn't have broken the rules in sparring match yesterday!"

"Chaolan," Kazuya sighed and threw the newspaper onto the bed. "What's done is done. There's no point passing the blame. We just need to handle this before father's press office gets hold of it."

"I'll fucking ruin that journalist!"

"Yes, of course. But we also need damage control, you might have to give an interview or two. I'll probably just make matters worse. And we need to get a contract signed with Rochefort immediately. He might not read a rag like this, but who knows what other trash might decide this is a story and run with it."

"There's nothing to run with! There is no story! For all they know, I might have fallen off a stepladder!"

"Yes, well. Unfortunately for us, I did in fact punch you."

"Do you think they already know?" Chaolan's fingers were twisting round and round. His face was peaked and tired from the night before. "Father's press office, do you think they already know?"

"I don't fucking know what they know, I only know what I know! And what I know is that we can't let this… We have to demonstrate that we can handle this professionally. And…" The clear line of argument in Kazuya's mind was fraying as he thought of his father reading the article: read of Kazuya punching his brother, fighting in tournaments, assaulting a journalist, challenging the 'once impervious and omnipotent Heihachi Mishima'. He took a slightly stumbling step back.

Chaolan caught him by his elbow and steadied him.

"Kaz?"

"I'm… I'm fine," but Kazuya sat down on the bed anyway, not trusting himself to stay upright. He rubbed his forehead, then ran his thumb over a scar under his eye left eye and over his right cheek. "Fuck," he said very softly. Chaolan knelt down on the floor next to him. "I'm not ready," Kazuya's voice was uncharacteristically quiet, "I'm not ready to challenge him. There'll be hell when he reads this. Even if I tried to… Even if I went back as meek and subservient as a fucking dog it wouldn't be good enough." He pulled his hands through his thick black hair and bowed his head. Chaolan tentatively touched a hand to his leg. "I need to think." Kazuya stood abruptly, "I need to think! Get out."

Chaolan's face drained of what little colour remained. He left the room quickly without looking back.


They didn't speak as they went down to brunch. They were both dressed impeccably and fell into step as they had done for most of their lives, easily matching each other's strides and casting the illusion of cool control over the situation. Chaolan took the lead.

They entered a bright morning room filled with round tables covered in white lace cloths. A large buffet was spread along one side of the room. It was that odd time of day, when it was appropriate to serve both sparkling wine and coffee side by side. Chaolan picked up a plate and passed one to Kazuya without looking at him. Then he sized up the room, marking out his prey. He flung a cheese cracker onto his plate and a couple of grapes, then slalomed in and out of the weapons convention guests, motioning with a finger that Kazuya should approach Rochefort from the other side.

Before Kazuya got to his target, a figure walked into his path. He gestured minutely to stall Chaolan as he turned to this new obstacle. He heard his brother click his tonguing impatiently but turn his attention to the buffet table.

Kazuya surveyed the intruder. She was not the usual type attending the conference. Almost everyone here wore a suit, tie, and fake smile. This woman wore a stiff light brown military uniform, a blue beret over thin black hair, and an expression devoid of emotion. She chilled the atmosphere around him.

Kazuya raised an eyebrow at her, waiting for an explanation for her abrupt appearance. She said nothing for a few moments, choosing instead to stare him down with pale, grey eyes.

"Colonel Yaroslava Dragunova," she said abruptly, standing legs slightly apart, hands behind her back. "You are Kazuya Mishima."

"I am." Kazuya was intrigued. She had an abrupt military manner that he found preferable to the simpering tones of the businessmen who'd pandered for his attention thus far.

"The Mishima Zaibatsu are playing a dangerous game. Your recent purchases grant you a monopoly over the control of weapons manufacture in the Caucasus region previously directly under Soviet jurisdiction."

"Do they?" Kazuya feigned innocence.

"You would do well to take more caution in your purchases."

"It's your government that's selling the contracts, Colonel. Debt will do that to a man. Or woman," he conceded.

She narrowed cold, empty eyes at him. She held him with that deadened gaze for a long moment, then said,

"We understand you are intending to contract Rochefort Enterprises, per the conclusion of their previous contract with the Soviet Government."

"Per the conclusion," Kazuya mocked the words, "you declared bankruptcy when it came to fulfilling those contracts. Those oil fields are fair game."

"Nevertheless, the Soviet Union had plans to renew those contracts. We hope the Mishima Zaibatsu will wisely take note of our registered interest in this matter."

"Registered interest," he parroted back at her, lip curling unpleasantly, "your government has no fucking money. Your interest means fuck all. And you know it, otherwise they'd be making the deal themselves instead of sending military officers to register their interest."

The colonel set him with such a look that for a moment Kazuya was reminded of Heihachi.

"Very well," she said softly, "consider this a warning then."

"Are you threatening me?"

"Yes," came the simple reply.

Kazuya smirked at the honesty.

"A tactic after my own heart, but I'm afraid I don't do well with threats. Especially not coming from a crumbling empire. Your country's in its death throes. You'll be dead within a year."

"Spetsnaz are very much alive and well. And we will ride whatever wave is coming. You would do well to remember that, Mr Mishima. Stay away from those oil fields." She straightened her beret and swept out of the room.

Chaolan gave him look of confusion. Kazuya shook his head and motioned to Rochefort, who was peering into a cafetiere trying to judge how much coffee was left in it. That was the second warning about collecting ex-USSR contracts Kazuya had got in under twenty-four hours. He'd have to looking into getting more security for the remainder of the conference.

"Oh! Mr De Rochefort," Chaolan came up next to Rochefort under the pretence of cutting a wad of butter for himself, "how excellent to see you again. How did yesterday treat you? I hope the weather didn't ruin your evening."

Mr Rochefort gave surprised smile and fixed a bowtie at his neck,

"Mr Lee, what a pleasure. I've been having a marvellous time, and yesterday was very successful, thank you, in fact I had several bids on my oil contracts, including renewed interest from the Soviet Union, so I'm spoilt for choice really! Not even a little rain could dampen that for me!"

Chaolan kept his face perfectly schooled,

"You have? How encouraging. Would you care to join my brother and I at a table?" Chaolan gestured, and on cue Kazuya appeared at Rochefort's elbow, piling bread onto his plate. He was subdued and quiet, and doing his best to look like a respectable businessman and not like a thick muscled fighter scowling at the buffet table.

Rochefort's expression lost a little of its enthusiasm as he caught sight of Kazuya. He gave a slight smile and inclined his head to Chaolan,

"Why, of course."

Soon they were eating all together at one of the prim round tables. Chaolan and Kazuya had plates piled with an odd assortment of things they'd snatched off the buffet without any mental expenditure. Rochefort sipped at a cup of tea. Chaolan and Kazuya were already on wine.

"So," Chaolan said brightly, "you say you had lots of interest yesterday, not too much I hope!"

"Yes, lots of interest," Rochefort's voice was warm, and he thanked a waiter who came and gave him a little pot of hot milk for his tea. "Actually, so much interest that it really got me thinking about how this is the start of a new era – this is really an opportunity for us to invest in the future – for us to think carefully about the legacy we want our children to have."

"We're all a little young to be thinking of children, aren't we, Mr De Rochefort?" Chaolan cocked an eyebrow at him.

"That may be, Mr Lee, but investment is a long term commitment – much like raising a child – and I would like to have one of my own some day. I'd like someone to pass on my own legacy to, I don't think I need to explain that to a Mishima. It's something I've always respected about your corporation – very family orientated – even a multi-national corporation can still be a family affair."

Chaolan saw Kazuya's fingers tighten so hard around his wine glass he was sure it would shatter.

"Indeed," Chaolan flashed another smile and deftly steered the conversation elsewhere, "and what better place to invest than in a partnership with the Mishima. Two families mutually benefiting from a deal that will bring us closer together, not just as business partners, but as friends."

Rechefort touched his chest,

"Mr Lee, you speak so beautifully, and straight from the heart, you have such a way with words! But actually, yesterday I got talking with a Russian scientist who really has quite a remarkable vision of the future." Kazuya shifted in his seat but said nothing. "It got me thinking," Rochefort continued, "that maybe what we need is for smaller companies who've really got a similar vision, to come together and use our profits to give a home to research like Dr Bosconovitch's. And really, we can't have that kind of control over where we want our profits to go if we've signed such long term contracts, like those I was thinking of with the Mishima. If companies like mine kept more control over our assets, we could regulate our buyers – ethically screen them even, try and make sure our oil is going to good places – and encourage our partners to be investing in really cutting edge but fringe work like the good doctor's. Presently, mega-corporations hold all the power over what research gets funded, but with companies like mine paving the way… the nineteen-nineties could really be the era of peace – the end to all these wars that have plagued us for a hundred years!"

Chaolan caught Kazuya's eye. Kazuya intended to answer. Chaolan gave him a warning look that said something like don't fuck this up.

"Mr De Rochefort," Kazuya put his wine glass down and sat back in his chair. He folded his arms and slouched a little, fixing him with his famous sullen stare. "Do you know what causes war?"

Rochefort looked a little put out by the question,

"Many things, Mr Mishima. Chief among them greed, selfishness, that natural human need to take and keep t-"

"Weapons," Kazuya interrupted. "Weapons cause wars. If two children throw fists at each other, you have a fight. Give them each a gun, and you have a war. But take one of their guns away, Mr De Rochefort, and what do you have?"

"Oppression?"

"Peace," Kazuya corrected. "For the world to have peace, one person just needs to have all the guns. The Mishima Zaibatsu will be the one with all the guns, Mr De Rochefort. Whether that takes a decade, or two decades, it will happen, and we will rule the world. A contract with your company will speed us along the way, but it's not necessary to our success. There are dozens of you we can use. And at some point we will turn around and look at who our allies are, and who our allies aren't. You talk about your choices as if you can shape the world, Mr De Rochefort, but your petty 'billion dollar' company can no more shape the world than an ant can a boot. The question you really need to ask yourself, is are you going to be crushed like every other company in this room, or are you going to make the right choice, and make yourself very rich along the way."

There was silence. Chaolan looked straight ahead, eyebrows lost in his hair line. He sipped his wine glass and kept drinking until it was empty. Rochefort had stopped eating. There was a slight tremble in his hand as he set his cutlery down.

"You, uh – certainly know how to make a business proposal, Mr Mishima," he said quietly and just a little shakily. "But, I'll have you know, I do not take kindly to being threatened, and if you think-"

"I am not threatening you, Mr De Rochefort. Trust me, you would know if I were. I am merely stating the facts, one businessman to another. Take a step back from your pride and fears and think rationally about the situation. The Mishima Zaibatsu has grown in the last forty-five years from nothing into the largest corporation in the world. Current predications are that it will double in size again just in the next ten years. The future belongs to corporations now, not to states, not to soviets, and certainly not to ethics. Now, that's not to say that if there were a friend close to the Mishima family, they could not use their influence to steer the direction of the Zaibatsu towards a route of their choosing… That indeed would be power, and power that might change the shape of the future… but you've got your heart set on some kind of protest vote, is that right? You want to be seen to be taking a stand against a big nasty corporation, instead of actually making a change."

"Mr Mishima, you're being manipulative and unfair, I-"

"I do apologise if my brother has upset you, Mr De Rochefort," Chaolan swept in, voice rife with emotion, "he can be so thoughtless. Kazuya's always been such a realist. But I understand. You run a small company, and it feels important to exercise that power even in the face of overwhelming odds. I think it's very brave of you. So many other people would take the safe, profitable option, but, despite the risk, you want to stick to your guns, pardon the pun!"

Mr Rochefort's head turned between the brothers quickly,

"Well, wait a moment, I'm a businessman as much as the next person, so let's not throw around the word risk like it's meaningless. The kind of venture I'm proposing wouldn't be risky-"

"It would," Kazuya said flatly. "Which corporations were you thinking of entering into a partnership with?"

"That's confidential, and it's not even been decided, it's just an idea I'm floating-"

"Vectrocorp? The Mishima Zaibatsu supply over seventy percent of their territory with fresh water. All I have to do is whisper that we'd cut off that pipeline and they'd turn on you like a pack of dogs. What about Brikhauser? I heard the CEO is in Munich with her family. She likes the skiing holidays there and takes a train into the Alps to the family chalet. Every train out of Munich is run by Deutsche Bundesbahn. Deutsche Bundesbahn are a subsidiary company bought out by the Mishima Zaibatsu in ninteen-eighty-six. All it takes is a false signal on that remote snowy stretch of line, and poor CEO, family and all, are definitely out of The League of Ethical Oil Barons or whatever your supergroup's going to be called. We own everyone, Rocheforte. For all you know, we even own your butler."

"S-sebastion!?"

"No, I'm kidding, we don't own your butler. But now that we know you have one…"

"A-alright, Mr Mishima, y-you've made your point and had your fun."

"Have I?" Kazuya gestured and Chaolan brought a document out of his inside blazer pocket.

Rochefort took the document with trembling hands. He turned the pages over carefully, scanning the small print.

"This… this contract has changed," he looked up at Kazuya. Kazuya gave a cold smile and with feigned ignorance said,

"Has it?"

"There is no end date to review the terms. This locks Rochefort Enterprises into a b-binding agreement with the Mishima Zaibatsu. Forever."

"It does also guarantee your independence as your own company though," Chaolan put in gently, "no buying out or takeovers, no insecurity – the Zaibatsu would be your client for life."

Kazuya took the document from Rochefort's hand and flipped through to the end where the signature strip lay.

"Sign here," he set the paper down and slammed a pen down on top of it. Rochefort jumped, then swallowed. He picked up the pen and signed.

"And we'll need a second one to keep for ourselves," Chaolan produced another one, and Rochefort reluctantly signed this too. Chaolan smiled at him, "Excellent. A pleasure doing business with you, Mr De Rochefort."

The brothers abandoned their plates and fell into step as they left the buffet hall.


Author Note: So many Tekken characters and yet a dirth of them to choose from for a pre-Tekken 1 story. Eventually I threw my hands up and decided yes I would be having a cameo from Dragunov's mother. There aren't enough badass ladies in this story anyway. If you want some time-period appropriate Berlin techno check out the link I put on archive of our own, my username is the same there. I did a lot of unnecessary research into the history of Berlin early 90s techno for this chapter and then only included a fraction of stuff in the story. The first venue was a real place though.