Do you think they'll let you in?
Dai shrugged in answer to Hwoarang's question. We'll have to wait and see. It says No Spectators', but I was also a competitor. She smirked. And your coach.
Of course, Hwoarang said good-humouredly. You taught me everything that I know.
Dai skipped from foot to foot edgily, as the private train hurtled them closer to the home of Heihachi Mishima. She tried to ignore the butterflies in her stomach, and tried to remind herself that she was a professional. Still human, though, she thought with a smile. She was sure that Jeremy would have several choice words to offer her concerning her professionalism' in her post-mission briefing.
She looked at Hwoarang, fear for him tying a knot in her stomach. Heihachi was plotting something, but there was nothing she could do about it without drawing attention to her organisation, or to Hwoarang. Jin Kazama was also heading into danger, Kazuya Mishima was missing...the whole thing was proceeding far faster than her superiors had anticipated. Whether the tournament officials allowed her into the compound or not, Dai would be there, one way or another, to watch Hwoarang's back, and Jin's too.
They felt the train slow as it approached an underground station. Are we stopping? Hwoarang asked, glancing around the carriage. The interior was dazzlingly bright, with rows of halogen lights illuminating the carriage, and reflecting off the highly polished glass windows and chrome surfaces. In the darkness of the station outside, he could just make out dim figures in combat gear, adorned with masks and guns, pacing around in a purposeful fashion.
he said in a low voice. Old man Mishima takes his security seriously.
Dai nodded. Although this line is for the exclusive use of Ziabatsu staff and goods, they still check in case any insurgents have hijacked a train, or infiltrated an legitimate load. She gestured to the cameras that graced the cabin. Say hello to the nice security people!
Hwoarang shifted uneasily. I know they can't hear us, but still...
Dai said. It'll just register as a random equipment fault. As long as they can still see us, they won't be too concerned.
So why are you bouncing around like a grasshopper? Hwoarang asked wryly. Dai sat down.
Because I'm trying to think of the best way of fulfilling my mission parameters without anyone getting killed. I hate it when people die, even if they're evil scum like Heihachi Mishima.
For a few minutes there was silence between them as the train restarted, smoothly gliding along the rails. Hwoarang wondered if he should say more, but he got the impression that Dai didn't want to continue the conversation. He also wondered if Jin was on the same train, in another carriage perhaps. He rather hoped that Kazama wouldn't follow in his father's footsteps, and go missing.
******
Jin moved stealthily forward, leaving another trail of unconscious guards in his wake. He pulled himself over the large wall - a quick survey of the area showed that there were no more guards or dogs to contend with in the immediate future. He landed lightly on the other side.
He could have taken the specially scheduled train into the compound; part of him had been tempted, as he thought that the mysterious girl might be travelling with Hwoarang. However, he realised that even if she was, there would be no way he would be able to talk to her without their conversation being monitored.
Avoiding the cameras and sensors, Jin moved through the grounds like a ghost. He smiled tightly; security had not changed much since he had lived here. As part of his training, Heihachi himself had taught him how to avoid triggering the alarms. He had said it was beneficial for situation awareness'.
The grounds were familiar, yet Jin reflected that although he had spent four years living here, training with his grandfather, it had never felt like home. There was a coldness about the place he couldn't explain; Heihachi had always given him everything he had asked for, often making grand gestures of grandfatherly affection. Perhaps there had been a part of him that had distrusted Heihachi all along.
Four walls later, Jin stopped before the massive, traditional style building. He needed no guide to tell him where the fight would be held, it would be here, in the Mishima dojo. He had learnt Mishima style karate here, under the careful tutelage of Heihachi. The old man had often been exasperated by Jin's refusal to abandon his mother's teachings, yet eventually even he had acknowledged that the two arts had combined to create a formidable style - a style which had now been abandoned in favour of traditional karate, so great was Jin's loathing for anything Mishima related. When he thought about the Mishima blood flowing through his veins, he found it hard not to hate himself.
The guard by the entrance looked startled as Jin pushed his way past, keying in the pass code and opening the door. He took a deep breath, and stepped in...
His skin began to prickle as he realised that the dojo was almost completely empty. There were none of the expected camera crews, no officials, no announcers. Jin wondered for a moment if he had misjudged Heihachi, and that the fight was in fact going to be held elsewhere in the compound. That was before he caught sight of the man hanging limply, like some sick live action parody of a crucifix. The man swayed with his shallow breathing, the chains showing minute movement. Unwillingly, driven by a horrible compulsion, Jin stepped forward. The man was scarred, yet younger looking than Jin would have expected. Of his scars, the most vivid one was the angry slash of gnarled pink flesh that ran across his torso. Jin wondered what violent act could have created such a scar, yet allowed its victim to live.
Jin had often wondered what his first encounter with his father would be. He had never imagined it would be like this. He never heard the footsteps behind him.
I've been waiting for you, grandson.