Author: Kazuya-sama, aka MiraiSonGokou
Notes: -This story is rated because of serious adult content in the first two chapters. Mild violence and rape, though it is not explicitly graphic…I've tried to leave it up to the imagination as much as possible. Some may find it disturbing, others may not mind. If you are overly sensitive, please don't read it. Otherwise, feel free!
-This is my first Tekken story attempt, so the characters might be a little OOC at times. Please don't send me hate mail… =)
Characters: Kazuya, Jin, Jun, possibly Nina and a few others…
Summary: Kazuya Mishima, now 52 and CEO of the Mishima Zaibansu, has a terrifying experience which will scar him for life…possibly nearly as much as his father has. Will this make him a different person altogether, or will he continue to be the usual devious and utterly irresistible Kazuya?
Disclaimer: Though I'd love to, I don't own Kazuya, Jin, or any of the other Tekken characters…Namco does. I just like to imagine 'what might happen if'…you know the feeling. So don't sue me, cuz I said I dun own them already! Besides, you'd get nothing out of me if you sued anyhow… ~_~; ANYWHO…on with the story, please…
A Change Of FaceKazuya somehow managed to swallow the yawn that was threatening to erupt from his lungs, as he fought to keep his eyes open. This wasn't going the way he thought it would. His dark eyes looked from person to person, in search of anything better than this mindless conversation; hell, even the food was boring.
However, his opinion was not shared by everyone else at the lunch table. Friends and old enemies alike sat around the large table in the slightly run-down restaurant in the downtown district of Tokyo, Japan, discussing nothing more than business, though the conversation went off at a tangent every now and again, offering a little interest as it arrived at more exciting issues. But the cold-hearted Japanese could barely keep his eyes open and his mind on topic...for some reason, just for today, he didn't want to be wasting his time talking about Wall Street, stocks, and money. However, he was a changed man at this point, no longer his heartless, cold-blooded, evil self, since the Devil Gene was wiped from his entire system. In other words, he had the manners to spare to listen, or at least look like he's listening.
His youthful features were racked with boredom, but he hid it well. Most people wouldn't recognise him as the same Kazuya that fought in the tournament three years ago...that Kazuya was covered in scars from head to toe. His face was worn, and showed his age, which was, at the time, nearly fifty. One of his eyes had an eerie red colour instead of the dark ebony they were now. He only looked in his mid twenties currently...and he was, though definitely dark, mysterious, and possibly evil, a magnet to a lot of women.
Falling into a bit of a dream state, Kazuya watched one particular woman seated opposite him. She had long blonde hair, tied up on top of her head in a style that certainly didn't suit her. Her glasses curved upward at a point on the outer edges, and the frames were cherry red; looked awful. He watched as her lips moved...each of which was painted bright red, and lined with a lip liner that way too dark. She seemed to talk with a permanent sneer, nose slightly wrinkled (which was awfully long too, mind you), and with a whining, whinging tone in her voice. It was a nasally, horrid voice. Oddly enough, a lot of people liked her. Kazuya couldn't imagine why...maybe it was the way she flaunted her tanned, freckled, and slightly saggy cleavage. She was at least a decade or two younger than his fifty-two years, but she showed her age. In his mind, he labelled her 'The Bitchy One' for lack of a better nickname, and for the fact that Ms Lizousalski was rather difficult for his Japanese tongue to twist around.
His dream state was shot to pieces, by the sudden hideous mutilation of his name. The Bitchy One was calling him.
"Mr Kazzy-yah, what is your opinion? What would you have the Mishima Conglomerate do?"
He blinked a few times, a little stunned, and slightly confused. Heck, that's the first time someone's addressed him like that...and with such an awful New York Jewish accent! It made the hairs on the back of his neck curl.
"Pardon? My apologies, I zoned out for a moment."
The Bitchy One sighed, and repeated herself. "About the current threat of war. The US wants you to aid in supplying them with munitions. What would you do about this?"
Oh, how could he forget. Of course, the main topic of the conversation for the five minutes he wasn't listening.
"I don't intend to do anything for them, Ms Leez-uh-saul-skee," he smirked as he replied. Ooh, he enjoyed destroying her name...it made her nose twitch with indignation. Of course, she wasn't impressed by it, and one could almost see behind those green eyes that she was thinking politically incorrect thoughts about Kazuya's peoples. "After all, it is not in the best interests of the Mishima Zaibatsu to interfere with a war that would ultimately destroy the planet. We are a major source of weapons, and we don't intend to 'supply' anyone with them unless they're willing to pay what they're worth. And America doesn't seem quite willing to pay up."
"I see." Yes indeed, she wasn't one but happy.
Kazuya continued to watch as the conversation once again left him out, and he found himself looking about the grungy old restaurant boredly, though he tried to look as interested as everyone else. Why did they have to choose a place like this? After all, everyone here could afford a seat in a five-star hotel's best restaurant. Once again, his dream state was snapped to oblivion, with the obliteration of his name. Oooh, he was starting to hate The Bitchy One.
"Mr Kazzy-yah, are you alright?"
His already narrow raven eyes narrowed even more. Though, somehow, his tone of voice remained passive. "Kazuya...Ka-ZOO-yah. And I thought it was customary to refer to someone by their family name..."
She blinked a few times, remarkably managing to peel her lids back up...her mascara must have weighted several kilograms, or so Kazuya believed. "It is...you are Mishima Kazuya, are you not?"
"Yes I am indeed, my family name is Mishima, hence the name Mishima Zaibansu, my company." He wanted to tear her to pieces, yet he remained perfectly calm. He felt almost empty without the Devil inside his soul.
Her nose wrinkled again. "My apologies, Mr Mishima. I meant no offence." She sounded rather...pissed off, one might say. And sick and tired of the arrogant oriental man, who, though she didn't notice, was much taller than her, unlike the waiters and waitresses running about the restaurant.
He smirked his trademark smirk. "None, taken, Ms Lisousalski." Of course, this time, he pronounced the name perfectly, though he almost ended up with his tongue twisted in knots.
***
An hour or so later, the informal lunch conference finally ended, and people began to leave, wishing each other well, and getting into their cars to leave. Kazuya stood, walking past The Bitchy One stealthily. Sure, he looks like just another little oriental man, but she had to do a double take when she noticed his rather powerful chest, and the fact that her hair only came up to his shoulder. Hm, he was much bigger than his face implied sitting behind a table.
Two men in black suits and sunglasses approached Kazuya and stood in front of him. He merely waved at them however, and nodded. "Wait outside for me, I'll be with you shortly...business to attend to." The men nodded, then headed out of the restaurant, toward a black limousine with heavily tinted windows. Kazuya headed in the opposite direction, walking toward the men's room.
The small room was just as run down as the rest of the restaurant, and empty. The two stall doors were closed, but that didn't seem to bother Kazuya, as he attended to his business. He did notice a little...noise...after a moment, but he thought nothing of it. Just as he finished, the stall doors flew open with a crash, and before he knew it, he'd been flung around, and pinned against the cold tiled wall of the restroom. Two men held each of his arms against the wall; two more pressed his legs to the wall below. In this position, he couldn't move...the four holding his arms were strong, almost as strong as himself. Great, he thought, good thing I only have a few hundred dollars in my wallet. Interesting way to rob someone though. He didn't bother struggling, he knew the men would take what they wanted, then leave. They certainly made it uncomfortable for him though, he hadn't even had time to zip his trousers back up, and he found himself being pressed up against the ice-cold wall...not a pleasant sensation at all.
He let out a sadistic chuckle. "Okay you bastards, go ahead and take what you want and leave me alone. I have no time for cowards who try and outnumber their opponent."
An equally sadistic chuckle came from behind...one that sent a chill down his spine...a chill almost as strong as the one the wall caused him. That laugh wasn't one he wanted to hear...he knew now that the situation was worse than he thought a moment ago. And he was vulnerable, unable to outfight these enemies in the small room, outnumbered completely. There were at least seven of them in here. He was helpless.
(Note to sensitive viewers and underage readers…next chapter is rather graphic, though I have tried to leave a lot up to the imagination. This is your second warning…please skip the next chapter if you are sensitive to adult content or underage! Don't say I didn't warn you!)