Bryan drew in another breath, waiting. There it was, that miniature mechanical click in his breath where a hollow whir should have been. Lately the click had become louder, intensifying its strain when he took a blow near his chest. Bryan didn't know much about his body these days, but he knew the flicker in his breath should not be there. It made him angry, as most things did, but it was dull, tired anger. And anger that had been sparked so many times before that it bordered on an irritated depression. He knew that he was slipping, and he could not ignore the little changes that only reminded him of the fact. Lately his right arm threw small fits when he clutched his fingers, like short spasms, and his vision hazed over every so often. He took another breath and met the click again. He could feel it very slightly, fluttering in his chest, just under his ribcage. He closed his eyes for a moment and continued to walk down the alley. Just another pointless walk he took before the next day's fights in the tournament to pass the time. He rarely slept now, too fraught with his burning desire to train, fight, win, live.

            He thought about the tournament, and what was being said. Lee (Or his façade Violet, who, despite the obviousness of his new identity, could hold no candle to the ludicrousy of Eddy's alter transvestite ego, Christie)  was pulling ahead quickly, while Hwoarang also flew through each match with ease. Bryan was not one to plan about these things, however. Lee could pack a powerful hit, but his weakness was that he took too long to recover. Hwoarang was remarkably quick and agile, someone who Bryan would have to beat fast or not at all. But his weakness was his pride, and if Bryan could allow him to think he held the upper hand, the tables could be turned quite easily. However, Bryan was not thinking about this. His nature was to stride in with tremendous force and take as many hits as he could sustain if need be. With another sigh, he stopped to examine his hand. There was a strand of red mucus on the back of it, probably from a previous battle. With a disgusted sneer, he flailed his hand with one quick jerk. When that didn't work, he grumbled and wiped it on the brick wall next to him.

            "Hey!" cried a voice from behind him. "You up there."

            Bryan didn't turn around. It may have been another reporter or journalist, or just a fan. 

            "Hey, man, can't you see I'm talkin' to you?" the voice was getting louder and Bryan could hear the steps of his pursuer quicken.

            Bryan inhaled and opened his mouth. Rarely did he speak, but it was either that or fight, and he wanted to conserve his energy. "Go away." He hissed as he continued on.

            "I'm not playin' around, bitch." Slurred the figure.

            Something in that tone made Bryan turn now with a renewed anger. He made a threatening glare and clenched his fist.

            "Yeah, big boy, you heard me." The man was rather scrawny and lean, concealing a knife at his side. He couldn't have been over seventeen, another pathetic case of a boy making a living shaking down any victim he saw. "Now hand over what you got, or I'll gut your ass."

            Bryan's eyes rolled slightly to one side as he cracked his knuckles. He had given him fair warning, so anything now was justified. He stood and waited, staring at the thief with a menacing snort.

            "So you think you can fuck around with me, huh?" the boy clutched his knife harder and lunged for him.     

            Bryan jumped back and struggled with his attacker to the right, gripping the blade of the knife his palm. With a little difficulty, he broke the blade from the handle and rammed his head into that of the mugger. "Shit!" he cried in agony, falling back and grabbing his head. Bryan drew back his fist and hurled a deadly match breaker punch into the boy's jaw, sending him flying onto his back a great distance away with a yelp and a gurgle. Lucky for him, he was dead instantly.

            Bryan stopped and relaxed his stance for a minute, then walked over to ensure that he had indeed killed the other. The man lay most certainly dead, the jaw folding to the side and blood spilling from the broken teeth. Bryan shook his head and went to turn, when a certain gleam caught his eye. Turning back with his teeth bared and in a readied stance, he watched two golden eyes gazing at him with a wondrous stare. "Hm…" the figure said in a throaty, echoing tone.

            Bryan looked around, suddenly aware that there may be others. There were not.

            The figure stepped out into a dim light, revealing the impenetrable armor of an easily recognized person. He was the ninja Yoshimitsu, one that Bryan had encountered in the third tournament. Although he knew that the space traveler would doubtfully attack him, he kept his guard. "Was that really a fair fight…?" Yoshimitsu's thick voice queried.

            Bryan made no move to respond.

            "You were always the quiet one." The Manji leader nodded, careful not to make a sudden movement and set Fury off. "My name is-"

            "I remember…" Bryan said in a gruff tone. He never did speak loud, and so Yoshimitsu immediately quieted to hear him.

            The warrior shuffled his foot along the pavement, arms at his sides. "Okay." He replied. Bryan's stance shifted a little, putting a small amount of trust onto his acquaintance. Yoshimitsu remained silent for a while before striking the subject anew. "You'll fight me tomorrow…if, that is, you get past the other fighters."

            Bryan's stone expression flickered in anger once more, the same anger that tired him more and more. "Mm." He said in a small grunt of agreement, or perhaps just acknowledgement that he was listening.

            "I've watched you since the beginning, Bryan. Since we were enemies." He continued, scratching the back of his head and looking over. "And I know what's going on."

            Bryan huffed and narrowed his eyes.

            "Hai," he said sharply, "I know you're dying."

            Bryan snarled and decided to speak again. "Leave me."

            Yoshimitsu thought for a minute and responded calmly, making a motion with his hand. "Go-issho ni irassharanai yo ni, Bryan."

            Bryan twitched and watched Yoshimitsu with a flash in his eyes of his untamed rage. "I don't….speak Japanese…." He informed irately.

            Yoshimitsu paused. "You don't? But…we're in Japan! You never took it upon yourself to learn any at all?" Yoshimitsu usually reverted back to his Japanese when he wasn't sure if he could speak an English sentence properly.

            "Leave me…the fuck alone." he growled.

            Despite the fact that he was angering the infamous Bryan Fury, he was becoming surprisingly talkative now, and Yoshimitsu struggled to keep a conversation. "Come with me, Bryan." He said. 

            Bryan gave an incredulous grumbled, shocked that Yoshimitsu would think he would actually agree to follow him. "What?" he snapped.

            "We need your help. Dr. Bosckonivitch and I." He said. "We've been plan-"

            "I don't help." Bryan cut in.

            The wasp warrior huffed a breath and folded his arms. "Well what's so special that you've got left?"

            Bryan growled and looked down, clenching his fists and hearing a mechanic groan from his right arm. His eyes flashed to Yoshimitsu's trailing green orbs and Bryan flailed his arms suddenly, making the Manji fighter spring back. "No. I want…Abel."

            Yoshimitsu shook his head. "What makes you think he'll help you, Bryan?" he took a few steps closer and made a motion to Bryan's face. "Maybe he won't even remember you. Maybe he'll try and kill you."

            Bryan made a loud angry grunt that threatened to show a more psychotic personality. It was not hard to push him over the edge.

            "You have to listen to me." Yoshimitsu continued. "What choice do you have?" he received no response. "If you come with me now, tonight, I can-"

            "No." Bryan repeated, his breath heaving in fury. "I am going to win the tournament…"

            Yoshimitsu was getting rather irritated by this point. "What good will that do you?" he asked. "If you win, do you think Abel will notice you? Do you think he'll want you back?" his tone became somewhat more sympathetic. "Do you think he'll care about you?"

            "If I own Zaibatsu, he'll have to help me!" he yelled, shaking a fist and kicking the cement below him. "I will own him!"

            "Like he owned you?" Yoshimistsu raised his voice and thrust his head forward, leaving another smoky green trail from his eyes. "That's what it comes to Bryan, doesn't it? You want revenge!" 

            "I want to live!" Bryan yelled and slammed his fist into Yoshimitsu's stomach, sending him backwards a few steps. He was, however, wearing a bit too much armor for the punch to have the effect Bryan could've hoped for, and he retaliated with a high knee to Bryan's chest. He fell back and almost lost balance, but his unstoppable rage took over and he dove full force for his antagonist. He tackled Yoshimitsu and tried desperately to knock him down, but the other was good at shifting his weight. But Yoshimitsu was surprised, and almost fell a number of times. When he saw an opportunity, he worked his elbow backward and caught Bryan in the jaw, turning him away for a moment. While indisposed, he grabbed Bryan's arm and turned him around, quickly wrapping one arm around his neck while the other drew his sword and grazed the skin just under his throat. If Bryan moved, he could be decapitated, so he froze.

            "I'm trying to help you!" Yoshimitsu insisted.

            Bryan's teeth chattered with an uncontrollable anger as he held the arm around his neck, but he could not pull it away. He could feel himself seething with insanity anew. His eyes watered and his nose was running, not to mention that his teeth were clenched so hard he could hear the pressure. He attempted to jerk away from the blade in enraged spasms, but to no avail.

            "How does it feel to be helpless, Bryan?" Yoshimitsu said piteously. "Gojoppari! There is nothing you can do! You've never felt this way before, have you? You've never been at the other end!"

            With an unfathomable feat of adrenaline, Bryan dug his fingers into Yoshimitsu's arm and found a grip. Pulling it away, he cried out with a roar and hurled Yoshimitsu across the alley onto his back. Mortified, Yoshimitsu battled the earth for his feet again. But Bryan was already quickly approaching, watching as the warrior scrabbled desperately on the ground. "No, no, no! Bryan, listen to me!" he pleaded. Just as he came, Yoshimitsu's hand found his sword at that moment and his hand clutched around the handle, bringing it up. In a dash of panic, he rose and rammed the butt of his sword with all his might into Bryan's stomach, flinging himself to the side simultaneously. He was immediately behind Bryan now, his sword drawn in case he was not subdued.

            As soon as Bryan felt the crashing pain in his stomach, he lurched forward with a grunt, stunned. He fell to his knees, one hand to his injured stomach and the other on the ground to support him. With a rumble in his chest, he felt the burning sensation of acid in his throat, and expelled a soupy string of vomit and mucus onto his hands and knees.

            Yoshimitsu let his guard down slightly and dropped his shoulders in relief. "You can't keep fighting, Bryan…" he panted.

            Bryan turned his head slightly with a wince, anger diminishing after a moment.

            "There will come a time…when fighting…isn't enough anymore…don't you see that?" he sheathed his sword and rubbed his bruised shoulder. "I'm the only chance you have. You told me you didn't want to die, so don't!" he reached out his hands in a gesture of explanation. "You can't trust Abel. He'll tear you apart and use what he can…"

            Bryan closed his eyes and spat once more. "Why…should I trust…you?"

            "You come to me, Bryan, when you see why…" he shook his head and gave one more sigh of sympathy before flickering out his wings and taking off in a flurry of a burst. Bryan watched him go and slowly rose to his feet, looking at his scratched up hands. With another breath he drew, that mechanical click was much louder. Dropping his hands, he continued to trudge back down the alley.