Disclaimer: I don't own Tekken or any of the original Tekken characters.
Apologies: I'm English so pants are trousers to me and things like gray (grey) and neighborhood (neighbourhood) are spelt differently.
Thanks to the reviewers.
Ikhan: Congratulations. You are now a character who stars in this story. In this chapter no less. You are IKHAN WHITESCAR.
AndromacheCassandra: Congratulations. You are now a character who stars in this story. In this chapter no less. You are CASSANDRA MADISON. P.S. Your X- Men Fic is SOOO CUTE. I'm an X-Men fan myself and, yes, I hate Scott Summers. My Fave's Gambit. Do some more X-Men ones and do some Tekken ones. I bet you're really good. ______________________________
Cassandra Madison stood out on the balcony of the hotel room across the courtyard of the Mishima/Choalan Zaibatsu. She smiled briefly. She could easily spot everyone who was at the tournament. And it was easy to escape if she needed to. She closed her eyes and breathed in. She heard a sound from behind her.
"What do you want," she turned to face the person, "Brother Whitescar?" A figure stood in front of her. Her wore black combats and a black nylon shirt. He had a tattoo that could be seen on his neck and wrists. Obviously, they were part of one large intricate tattoo.
"Sister Madison," he said in little more than a whisper. He drew to his full height. Her face was at his chest height. He circled her. "It is our duty to keep an eye out for Sister Williams. . ."
"Don't call her that!" Cassandra snapped. "She is no longer a member of the syndicate!"
"Of course," Ikhan hissed softly. He hovered by her ear. She shivered slightly, partly from admiration, mostly from fear. She turned her head away. "just make sure you do your job. Otherwise, I'll have to be sent after you." He grabbed her face and pulled it close to his, his face concealed except for those dark piercing eyes. "And you don't want that." Cassandra drew her knife, just in case. She felt his hand run down her, grabbing her wrist. The pain caused her to drop her blade. "I know all of your secrets, your thoughts," she stared into those dark eyes, "And your deepest desires." He let go of her and headed over to the balcony.
"Not exactly hard for you is it?" Cassandra rubbed her wrist, kneeling down and picking up her knife. She sheathed it back in its holster on her hip, concealing it under her shirt. He turned to face her, leaning on the balcony, folding his arms. She couldn't see his face, but she knew he had a smug look on it.
"No. . . It isn't." He tilted his head. "You got company. Be careful. He's a cop."
Ikhan back-flipped off of the balcony as the door opened. Bloody psychic! She thought to herself.
The door to the apartment opened and a man walked in. He had black, unruly hair and a three scars over the right half of his face.
"Hello," she began, "my name is Cassandra Madis. . ." He rushed at her, pinning her up against a wall. He span her around and pinned both of her hands behind her back.
"Who are you?" the man sneered. The woman could feel the man's breath on the back of her neck. She could feel the skin on her neck rise in goose bumps. Usually, she would find this exciting, but there is nothing remotely exciting at this very moment in time.
"I. . .I. . .I'm your. . . roommate." She trembled, her wrists twisted at awkward angles.
"Who do you work for?" His voice was low and he put fear deep into her soul. For an instant, she thought it might be Ikhan, using his shape- shifting ability to play a practical joke, but then she knew that Ikhan Whitescar didn't make jokes.
"I. . don't understand what you. . .?"
"Really," he said dryly. He let go of her. She rubbed her wrists to relieve the tension. He looked at her. She wore tight black trousers with a belt made of chain-links, a black short sleeved tank top and a black fishnet long sleeved shirt. "Lift up your shirt," he added.
"What?"
"Lift up your shirt," he repeated. "Attack me with the knife you have concealed. Oh. . .wait." He held out his hand, with a small knife in between his fingers. Cassandra lifted the back of her shirt to find her knife missing. "You can't," he said, smiling maliciously.
"That isn't meant for you. I don't even have any idea who you are. That's for my own protection."
"Yeah, right." He moved the knife around in his fingers. He motioned to her waist. "I bet that belt could do some damage as well. What is it, weighted at one end? And that buckle could make a good blade?" She smiled. He had lightened up slightly. He was toying with her now. She took off the belt and tossed it about half way between them.
"You entering the tournament?" she asked. He smiled, then grinned. He flipped the knife in his hand and threw it. It imbedded itself about three inches from her face, in the doorframe of the balcony. She jumped slightly, then looked back at him. He had already turned around and was heading out of the room.
"Where are you going?" He turned around slightly. And smiled.
"Breakfast. I've been on a flight for sixteen hours. I'm bloody starving." He turned towards the door again and headed out again. "you comin'?"
"Sure. Why not?" She looked at the knife in the wall, then walked after him.
"Lock the door behind you," she heard him say. She did.
"Wait up," she called out. "I don't even know your name yet."
In the doorframe of a hotel room, a small knife had been imbedded. In the middle of the room, lay a chain-link belt. On the balcony, was a shadow. Attached to the shadow, was a figure.
"Hello, Ramirez," Ikhan said. "We meet again. . . old friend." ______________________________
That's it for this chapter, an intro of the new characters this time. Ikhan is pure evil, isn't he? It's all Sex, Drugs, Rock and Roll, Violence, Killing and some more characters (but only if I get more reviews with character ideas- Ikhan and AndromacheCassandra can also give more ideas if you want). The next chapter will be mostly centred around Ikhan. I've decided on a pairing when more characters are introduced by me but I don't want to give it away too early.
Apologies: I'm English so pants are trousers to me and things like gray (grey) and neighborhood (neighbourhood) are spelt differently.
Thanks to the reviewers.
Ikhan: Congratulations. You are now a character who stars in this story. In this chapter no less. You are IKHAN WHITESCAR.
AndromacheCassandra: Congratulations. You are now a character who stars in this story. In this chapter no less. You are CASSANDRA MADISON. P.S. Your X- Men Fic is SOOO CUTE. I'm an X-Men fan myself and, yes, I hate Scott Summers. My Fave's Gambit. Do some more X-Men ones and do some Tekken ones. I bet you're really good. ______________________________
Cassandra Madison stood out on the balcony of the hotel room across the courtyard of the Mishima/Choalan Zaibatsu. She smiled briefly. She could easily spot everyone who was at the tournament. And it was easy to escape if she needed to. She closed her eyes and breathed in. She heard a sound from behind her.
"What do you want," she turned to face the person, "Brother Whitescar?" A figure stood in front of her. Her wore black combats and a black nylon shirt. He had a tattoo that could be seen on his neck and wrists. Obviously, they were part of one large intricate tattoo.
"Sister Madison," he said in little more than a whisper. He drew to his full height. Her face was at his chest height. He circled her. "It is our duty to keep an eye out for Sister Williams. . ."
"Don't call her that!" Cassandra snapped. "She is no longer a member of the syndicate!"
"Of course," Ikhan hissed softly. He hovered by her ear. She shivered slightly, partly from admiration, mostly from fear. She turned her head away. "just make sure you do your job. Otherwise, I'll have to be sent after you." He grabbed her face and pulled it close to his, his face concealed except for those dark piercing eyes. "And you don't want that." Cassandra drew her knife, just in case. She felt his hand run down her, grabbing her wrist. The pain caused her to drop her blade. "I know all of your secrets, your thoughts," she stared into those dark eyes, "And your deepest desires." He let go of her and headed over to the balcony.
"Not exactly hard for you is it?" Cassandra rubbed her wrist, kneeling down and picking up her knife. She sheathed it back in its holster on her hip, concealing it under her shirt. He turned to face her, leaning on the balcony, folding his arms. She couldn't see his face, but she knew he had a smug look on it.
"No. . . It isn't." He tilted his head. "You got company. Be careful. He's a cop."
Ikhan back-flipped off of the balcony as the door opened. Bloody psychic! She thought to herself.
The door to the apartment opened and a man walked in. He had black, unruly hair and a three scars over the right half of his face.
"Hello," she began, "my name is Cassandra Madis. . ." He rushed at her, pinning her up against a wall. He span her around and pinned both of her hands behind her back.
"Who are you?" the man sneered. The woman could feel the man's breath on the back of her neck. She could feel the skin on her neck rise in goose bumps. Usually, she would find this exciting, but there is nothing remotely exciting at this very moment in time.
"I. . .I. . .I'm your. . . roommate." She trembled, her wrists twisted at awkward angles.
"Who do you work for?" His voice was low and he put fear deep into her soul. For an instant, she thought it might be Ikhan, using his shape- shifting ability to play a practical joke, but then she knew that Ikhan Whitescar didn't make jokes.
"I. . don't understand what you. . .?"
"Really," he said dryly. He let go of her. She rubbed her wrists to relieve the tension. He looked at her. She wore tight black trousers with a belt made of chain-links, a black short sleeved tank top and a black fishnet long sleeved shirt. "Lift up your shirt," he added.
"What?"
"Lift up your shirt," he repeated. "Attack me with the knife you have concealed. Oh. . .wait." He held out his hand, with a small knife in between his fingers. Cassandra lifted the back of her shirt to find her knife missing. "You can't," he said, smiling maliciously.
"That isn't meant for you. I don't even have any idea who you are. That's for my own protection."
"Yeah, right." He moved the knife around in his fingers. He motioned to her waist. "I bet that belt could do some damage as well. What is it, weighted at one end? And that buckle could make a good blade?" She smiled. He had lightened up slightly. He was toying with her now. She took off the belt and tossed it about half way between them.
"You entering the tournament?" she asked. He smiled, then grinned. He flipped the knife in his hand and threw it. It imbedded itself about three inches from her face, in the doorframe of the balcony. She jumped slightly, then looked back at him. He had already turned around and was heading out of the room.
"Where are you going?" He turned around slightly. And smiled.
"Breakfast. I've been on a flight for sixteen hours. I'm bloody starving." He turned towards the door again and headed out again. "you comin'?"
"Sure. Why not?" She looked at the knife in the wall, then walked after him.
"Lock the door behind you," she heard him say. She did.
"Wait up," she called out. "I don't even know your name yet."
In the doorframe of a hotel room, a small knife had been imbedded. In the middle of the room, lay a chain-link belt. On the balcony, was a shadow. Attached to the shadow, was a figure.
"Hello, Ramirez," Ikhan said. "We meet again. . . old friend." ______________________________
That's it for this chapter, an intro of the new characters this time. Ikhan is pure evil, isn't he? It's all Sex, Drugs, Rock and Roll, Violence, Killing and some more characters (but only if I get more reviews with character ideas- Ikhan and AndromacheCassandra can also give more ideas if you want). The next chapter will be mostly centred around Ikhan. I've decided on a pairing when more characters are introduced by me but I don't want to give it away too early.