Light and Dark
A/N: This is very obviously my take on Bryan's Tekken 4 ending, and I hope very much that you enjoy it. Any comments/reviews/flames very welcome. If I get enough, say 5 or so, I will continue it.
Disclaimer: I don't own Tekken, merely a twisted imagination
Light and dark.
Light and dark.
The strip lighting in the ceiling above him changed, light and dark, light and dark as he lurched down yet another corridor, in an eternity of corridors.
Men and women in white coats would flatten themselves against the wall of the corridor, or dash away through doors. He paid them no heed, felt nothing for them. There was no emotion other than the all consuming rage.
Staggering through another set of double doors in the Mishima Zaibatsu compound, he became aware of many other people in the small room.
Blinking the blood away from his eyes, Bryan realised it was a squad of Tekken Force, and simultaneously they opened fire.
The automatic fire slammed into Bryan. He shielded his face against the projectiles as they ricocheted from him, and leapt into the men with a bestial roar. His foot smashed into the Tekken immediately in front of him.
Bryan lashed out, left and right. Bones smashed, blood soaked the walls, his fists, his clothes, He only stopped swinging and kicking when there was no more resistance.
The wreckage of his fury lay around him, soaking the carpet, armour smashed, faces twisted out of recognition. His black combat boot crunched on an outstretched hand as he continued on unsteadily down the hallway.
This trip was made on a vague memory, a memory in the black and white drab colours of his non-life, his existence after the shoot out in Hong Kong.
Bryan knew he was close, very close. There were two guards outside the doors to Abel's lab. Before they could react, Bryan smashed his glove-covered fist into the face of the first, crashing through the helmet visor, through layers of bone and tissue, Gray matter oozed around the remaining eye, and down Bryan's hand. The other guard moved forward, and Bryan kicked him in the chest so hard his head flew forward, and his neck broke with an audible snap.
Bryan was stronger, faster, tougher than ever. He felt no pain, had unlimited energy. The Iron Fist Tournament was over, and Bryan was unbeatable.
He was very close now, close to the end.
The room around him flickered, light and dark, light and dark.
Suddenly Abel was in front of him, the diminutive scientist stood, amazed.
"Fury? You're still alive?"
The rage of everything that had happened since he had died flared all the brighter, and darker, within him. Drenched in blood, a sea of blood, he raised his hands above his head and laughed, a humourless, pitiless, sanity- less laugh.
Abel fumbled in his coat, and drew a semi-automatic pistol, and fired rapidly.
The slugs hit home, but simply fell from Bryan's body, flat from the impact on the steel-like skin. Abel had made him too well. Bryan kept laughing.
The crazed fighter grabbed Abel's coat front, and drew him close, drawing back his fist.
The room flickered again, light and dark, his legs wavered.
"Bryan..don't.I can help you.."
The end was very close now.
With all his remaining strength, Bryan hit the old man.
Fury fell to his knees.
In the fluorescent, blinding light of the lab, he saw Abel's body lying across the room, blood pouring from his chest, gaping jaw cavity and smashed skull.
Bryan fell forward into darkness.
A/N: This is very obviously my take on Bryan's Tekken 4 ending, and I hope very much that you enjoy it. Any comments/reviews/flames very welcome. If I get enough, say 5 or so, I will continue it.
Disclaimer: I don't own Tekken, merely a twisted imagination
Light and dark.
Light and dark.
The strip lighting in the ceiling above him changed, light and dark, light and dark as he lurched down yet another corridor, in an eternity of corridors.
Men and women in white coats would flatten themselves against the wall of the corridor, or dash away through doors. He paid them no heed, felt nothing for them. There was no emotion other than the all consuming rage.
Staggering through another set of double doors in the Mishima Zaibatsu compound, he became aware of many other people in the small room.
Blinking the blood away from his eyes, Bryan realised it was a squad of Tekken Force, and simultaneously they opened fire.
The automatic fire slammed into Bryan. He shielded his face against the projectiles as they ricocheted from him, and leapt into the men with a bestial roar. His foot smashed into the Tekken immediately in front of him.
Bryan lashed out, left and right. Bones smashed, blood soaked the walls, his fists, his clothes, He only stopped swinging and kicking when there was no more resistance.
The wreckage of his fury lay around him, soaking the carpet, armour smashed, faces twisted out of recognition. His black combat boot crunched on an outstretched hand as he continued on unsteadily down the hallway.
This trip was made on a vague memory, a memory in the black and white drab colours of his non-life, his existence after the shoot out in Hong Kong.
Bryan knew he was close, very close. There were two guards outside the doors to Abel's lab. Before they could react, Bryan smashed his glove-covered fist into the face of the first, crashing through the helmet visor, through layers of bone and tissue, Gray matter oozed around the remaining eye, and down Bryan's hand. The other guard moved forward, and Bryan kicked him in the chest so hard his head flew forward, and his neck broke with an audible snap.
Bryan was stronger, faster, tougher than ever. He felt no pain, had unlimited energy. The Iron Fist Tournament was over, and Bryan was unbeatable.
He was very close now, close to the end.
The room around him flickered, light and dark, light and dark.
Suddenly Abel was in front of him, the diminutive scientist stood, amazed.
"Fury? You're still alive?"
The rage of everything that had happened since he had died flared all the brighter, and darker, within him. Drenched in blood, a sea of blood, he raised his hands above his head and laughed, a humourless, pitiless, sanity- less laugh.
Abel fumbled in his coat, and drew a semi-automatic pistol, and fired rapidly.
The slugs hit home, but simply fell from Bryan's body, flat from the impact on the steel-like skin. Abel had made him too well. Bryan kept laughing.
The crazed fighter grabbed Abel's coat front, and drew him close, drawing back his fist.
The room flickered again, light and dark, his legs wavered.
"Bryan..don't.I can help you.."
The end was very close now.
With all his remaining strength, Bryan hit the old man.
Fury fell to his knees.
In the fluorescent, blinding light of the lab, he saw Abel's body lying across the room, blood pouring from his chest, gaping jaw cavity and smashed skull.
Bryan fell forward into darkness.