*Go on if you want it
Another world awaits you
Don't you give up on it
You bite the hand that feeds you
All alone, cold fields you wander
Memories of it, cloud your sight
Fills your dreams, disturbs your slumber
Lost your way, a fallen knight
Hold now, aim is steady
Another world awaits you
One thousand years--you ready?
The other world it takes you
Go into the sand and the dust in the sky
Go now, there's no better plan than to do or to die
Free me pray to the faith in the face of the light
Feed me fill me with sin now get ready to fight *
*Nobuo Uematsu - Other World (Final Fantasy X Soundtrack)*
"Whoa."
That was the first word out of Angel's mouth as she got her first look at the Mishima Headquarters building in Japan. It was taller than most skyscrapers in America, that was for sure.
"Damn," Bryan muttered in agreement. They gawked at it like a pair of tourists for a minute before entering the main lobby. There were posters all over the place advertising good seats for the Final Round in the Tournament, as well as which TV stations one should watch in order to see the fights. Bryan didn't speak Japanese, but Angel was so fluent it was scary, so they didn't have much of a problem.
Registering wasn't much of a hassle, and they were allowed to bunk in the same hotel room (with two beds, of course, and free of charge as per the Mishima-sponsored event). They stowed their bags and inspected the bathroom, and made their way back downstairs to the work-out area, where other fighters were beginning to converge and show off. In the back of her mind, a little thought kept eating at Angel that she knew exactly how to get to the weight room from the main building, even though she didn't think she'd been here before.
Suddenly Angel grabbed Bryan's arm excitedly. "That's King!" She squealed, and pointed to where a tall, dark-skinned man was signing autographs. Covering his head was the highly-recognized jaguar mask, but this time with long, wavy black hair pouring out the back all the way down to the waist. His clothing suggested that he'd just gotten off the Las Vegas strip, which somewhat disappointed her.
Bryan tapped her arm, and pointed out another tall man surrounded by TV cameras and talking angrily into the out-thrust microphones. "Paul Phonenix. He's a jackass." This was obvious, because a few of the TV people were beginning to seek out other victims, which seemed to infuriate Phoenix even more. "He's a sore loser," Bryan added. "He kicked my ass last tournament, but the stupid fuck left before it was over. Serves him right."
"LAST Tournament? You were in the King of Iron Fist 3?" Angel was plainly shocked.
"I didn't tell you?" Bryan said with mock-innocence.
She death-glared him, then abruptly straightened, her face becoming a mask of disgust. "Sicko," she muttered.
"What is it?" Bryan asked.
She made a face. "Don't look now, but the guy behind you is checking out your ass."
Bryan looked anyway, and locked gazes with a man dressed completely in purple. Dress shoes, pinstripe pants, frilly shirt, and aviator shades, all purple. Hell, even his HAIR was purple. The purple guy gave Bryan a half-nod, and mouthed 'nice ass.' Bryan gave an angry glare, and the man lost interest momentarily.
Angel thought a moment. "I told you not to look. I saw him register earlier. Are you ready for this? His name is Violet Purple."
Bryan stared incredulously at her, before chuckling to himself. "Faggot."
She started to agree with him, then made another disgusted face. "No, apparently he's bisexual. He's checking out MY ass now. I believe our hair color is a turn-on for him." She shuddered, and the silver-haired siblings walked as far away from Violet as possible.
They decided to walk around outside for a while. Angel explained that they were in a part of town known as the Shinjuku, and that it was one of the many sites scattered around Mishima that would be used as a fighting arena.
Leaning against one of the lamp posts, and smoking a cigarette, was a kid straight out of the Army. Looking at his uniform, Angel pronounced him a Korean. Bryan unexpectedly confirmed it. "I kicked his ass last tournament. That's how I could beat that Billy asshole back home. His name's Howar, uh, Whore, uh, oh shit..."
Apparently the Korean had heard them, because he looked up and locked gazes with Bryan. Flicking away the cigarette, he stood and strode over to them, his firey red hair short-cut and spiked. "My name is Hwoarang," he said in flawless English. "And don't you forget it, you American asshole. I'm going to kill you this time!"
The two stared each other in the eye for a moment, before Hwoarang suddenly turned and walked away, muttering in his mother tongue. Angel stood there, listened, then called out something in Korean. Hwoarang halted in his tracks, turned, and strode up to her. They jabbered back and forth for a little while, with Bryan totally lost. Whatever Angel was saying was making the Korean pretty pissed, because he kept pacing back and forth and spewing Korean obsceneties, while Angel simply kept talking in that same tone.
She wasn't nearly as fluent in Korean as she was in Japanese, but her pronunciation was perfect, and her mind translated the meaning of words he said that she didn't know. Hwoarang spat out a final expletive and stomped away, leaving Angel staring open-mouthed at him.
"What'd he say?" Bryan asked, leaning in close.
"He said he was going to get you this time. I told him I was your sister, then he went into this big rant about how he was going to destroy all of us, and nuke our country, stuff like that." She shrugged. "I told him he could kiss my American ass, and he called me a bitch."
Bryan raised an eyebrow, and for a moment Angel was sure that Bryan was going to go layeth the smacketh down on the spike-headed Korean. She held out a hand to stop him. "I'm used to it. Besides, I'm going to kick his ass later, anyway."
"Well, one of us is."
She grinned, then saddened. "We draw our fights tomorrow morning. If I draw against you, I'm not holding back, you know."
"Neither am I. I owe you from that little spat we had a few months ago." He rubbed his chest, reminding her of the bruise she'd left. It had long since disappeared, but every once in a while he fancied that he felt a bit of tenderness there.
"I guess that's good," she said quietly, and thrust out her hand. "May the best Fury win."
They shook hands. Angel had registered as Angel Fury, as strange as that name sounded. He'd objected, but she reassured him that she had a birth certificate with her that would prove her identity should the need arise. Bryan suspected that it was forged, but didn't ask any questions. She probably didn't know, anyway.
Sleep came easily that night, and the next morning all fighters proceeded to the main building to draw fights. Bryan was paired with, of all people, Violet Purple, while Angel drew against a mammoth man named Craig Marduk. Bryan had never heard of the giant, but Angel explained that he was a former Vale Tudo champion that had been barred from the ring for a minor scandal. Last she'd heard, he was in a maximum security prison serving ten years. Apparently he'd been let out early.
"Next up, Hwoarang will be facing Christie Montiero."
Angel scanned the crowd, and found those named. Christie was a deeply tanned, dark-haired young woman that, in Angel's opinion, needed to put some more clothing on. She constantly looked as though she were about to 'fall out' of her shirt.
Hwoarang, on the other hand, leaned against a side wall and lit up a cigarette. Nobody stopped him. His flaming red hair was in stark contrast to his Army fatigues, which he insisted on wearing despite the fact that he was AWOL and in front of a camera. His golden brown eyes spotted Angel looking at him, and gave her the Korean equivalent of flying the bird. She sneered at him and returned the favor, American style.
The moderator continued to draw out names. "Next matchup: Steve Fox will be facing Lei Wulong."
Bryan sat straight up in his chair. Lei Wulong. The name hit him like a bolt of lightning. He craned his neck, and found the short Chinese man leaning against one of the back walls. Their eyes met, and it was impossible to describe the shock on the Chinese's face. Angel sensed her brother's confusion, and turned around as well. She recognized Wulong from the news, but turned to Bryan. "Is that him? Is that your-"
"Don't say it. Yeah, that's him. That's the pussy Mandarin bastard that left me for dead."
Angel placed a sympathetic hand on his shoulder.
"Julia Chang will be fighting Jin Kazama."
Now it was Angel's turn to frown. Bryan noticed, and leaned over. "What's wrong? Who are they?"
Her brow furrowed, as she answered. "I don't know. But Jin Kazama... the name seems... familair, somehow." She shifted in her seat and scanned the room, but didn't see anyone that fit the name. Julia Chang was doing the same thing. In the back, young Chinese girl in pigtails squealed at the mysterious young man's name, and went bouncing all over the room searching for him.
"Next fight: Yoshimitsu versus Kazuya Mishima."
"Kazuya Mishima?!" Angel whirled in her seat. "It can't be. There's gotta be a mistake!" Apparently most of the crowd agreed with her, as a disjointed murmuring rose up through the ranks.
"What's wrong?" asked Bryan, his preoccupation with throttling Wulong momentarily forgotten.
"What's wrong?" she echoed. "Kazuya Mishima is dead! He was killed just after the King of Iron Fist Tournament 2." Her keen eyes searched the crowd, absently continuing to explain. "The most common story is that he was thrown into a volcano. Killed, by his own father."
"Is he here right now?" Bryan asked, anxious to meet a fellow undead.
"I don't see him. No, he's not here. But someone else is."
"Huh?"
"There's someone here that knows me. And I know them." Her voice became quiet, hardly audible above the increasing din of the crowd over the reappearance of Kazuya Mishima. "It's him."
"It's who?" Bryan asked crossly. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"It's him," she repeated. "It's the boy from my past."
Bryan's face was a blank.
"The boy... with the tattoo like mine. He's here. And he's looking for me."
But the boy wasn't there, at least not visible to Angel, and the pair failed to spot the hooded figure slipping quietly out the door. The figure knew that she'd sensed him. Psychics were good at sensing each other. It was surprising that she hadn't connected his name with his face.
The figure was silent as he slipped into a dark alley in the rear of the Shinjuku. He'd known that Kazuya would show, but the girl as well? He knew she'd help him. After all, she was looking for him.
Everything was starting to fall into place.
Another world awaits you
Don't you give up on it
You bite the hand that feeds you
All alone, cold fields you wander
Memories of it, cloud your sight
Fills your dreams, disturbs your slumber
Lost your way, a fallen knight
Hold now, aim is steady
Another world awaits you
One thousand years--you ready?
The other world it takes you
Go into the sand and the dust in the sky
Go now, there's no better plan than to do or to die
Free me pray to the faith in the face of the light
Feed me fill me with sin now get ready to fight *
*Nobuo Uematsu - Other World (Final Fantasy X Soundtrack)*
"Whoa."
That was the first word out of Angel's mouth as she got her first look at the Mishima Headquarters building in Japan. It was taller than most skyscrapers in America, that was for sure.
"Damn," Bryan muttered in agreement. They gawked at it like a pair of tourists for a minute before entering the main lobby. There were posters all over the place advertising good seats for the Final Round in the Tournament, as well as which TV stations one should watch in order to see the fights. Bryan didn't speak Japanese, but Angel was so fluent it was scary, so they didn't have much of a problem.
Registering wasn't much of a hassle, and they were allowed to bunk in the same hotel room (with two beds, of course, and free of charge as per the Mishima-sponsored event). They stowed their bags and inspected the bathroom, and made their way back downstairs to the work-out area, where other fighters were beginning to converge and show off. In the back of her mind, a little thought kept eating at Angel that she knew exactly how to get to the weight room from the main building, even though she didn't think she'd been here before.
Suddenly Angel grabbed Bryan's arm excitedly. "That's King!" She squealed, and pointed to where a tall, dark-skinned man was signing autographs. Covering his head was the highly-recognized jaguar mask, but this time with long, wavy black hair pouring out the back all the way down to the waist. His clothing suggested that he'd just gotten off the Las Vegas strip, which somewhat disappointed her.
Bryan tapped her arm, and pointed out another tall man surrounded by TV cameras and talking angrily into the out-thrust microphones. "Paul Phonenix. He's a jackass." This was obvious, because a few of the TV people were beginning to seek out other victims, which seemed to infuriate Phoenix even more. "He's a sore loser," Bryan added. "He kicked my ass last tournament, but the stupid fuck left before it was over. Serves him right."
"LAST Tournament? You were in the King of Iron Fist 3?" Angel was plainly shocked.
"I didn't tell you?" Bryan said with mock-innocence.
She death-glared him, then abruptly straightened, her face becoming a mask of disgust. "Sicko," she muttered.
"What is it?" Bryan asked.
She made a face. "Don't look now, but the guy behind you is checking out your ass."
Bryan looked anyway, and locked gazes with a man dressed completely in purple. Dress shoes, pinstripe pants, frilly shirt, and aviator shades, all purple. Hell, even his HAIR was purple. The purple guy gave Bryan a half-nod, and mouthed 'nice ass.' Bryan gave an angry glare, and the man lost interest momentarily.
Angel thought a moment. "I told you not to look. I saw him register earlier. Are you ready for this? His name is Violet Purple."
Bryan stared incredulously at her, before chuckling to himself. "Faggot."
She started to agree with him, then made another disgusted face. "No, apparently he's bisexual. He's checking out MY ass now. I believe our hair color is a turn-on for him." She shuddered, and the silver-haired siblings walked as far away from Violet as possible.
They decided to walk around outside for a while. Angel explained that they were in a part of town known as the Shinjuku, and that it was one of the many sites scattered around Mishima that would be used as a fighting arena.
Leaning against one of the lamp posts, and smoking a cigarette, was a kid straight out of the Army. Looking at his uniform, Angel pronounced him a Korean. Bryan unexpectedly confirmed it. "I kicked his ass last tournament. That's how I could beat that Billy asshole back home. His name's Howar, uh, Whore, uh, oh shit..."
Apparently the Korean had heard them, because he looked up and locked gazes with Bryan. Flicking away the cigarette, he stood and strode over to them, his firey red hair short-cut and spiked. "My name is Hwoarang," he said in flawless English. "And don't you forget it, you American asshole. I'm going to kill you this time!"
The two stared each other in the eye for a moment, before Hwoarang suddenly turned and walked away, muttering in his mother tongue. Angel stood there, listened, then called out something in Korean. Hwoarang halted in his tracks, turned, and strode up to her. They jabbered back and forth for a little while, with Bryan totally lost. Whatever Angel was saying was making the Korean pretty pissed, because he kept pacing back and forth and spewing Korean obsceneties, while Angel simply kept talking in that same tone.
She wasn't nearly as fluent in Korean as she was in Japanese, but her pronunciation was perfect, and her mind translated the meaning of words he said that she didn't know. Hwoarang spat out a final expletive and stomped away, leaving Angel staring open-mouthed at him.
"What'd he say?" Bryan asked, leaning in close.
"He said he was going to get you this time. I told him I was your sister, then he went into this big rant about how he was going to destroy all of us, and nuke our country, stuff like that." She shrugged. "I told him he could kiss my American ass, and he called me a bitch."
Bryan raised an eyebrow, and for a moment Angel was sure that Bryan was going to go layeth the smacketh down on the spike-headed Korean. She held out a hand to stop him. "I'm used to it. Besides, I'm going to kick his ass later, anyway."
"Well, one of us is."
She grinned, then saddened. "We draw our fights tomorrow morning. If I draw against you, I'm not holding back, you know."
"Neither am I. I owe you from that little spat we had a few months ago." He rubbed his chest, reminding her of the bruise she'd left. It had long since disappeared, but every once in a while he fancied that he felt a bit of tenderness there.
"I guess that's good," she said quietly, and thrust out her hand. "May the best Fury win."
They shook hands. Angel had registered as Angel Fury, as strange as that name sounded. He'd objected, but she reassured him that she had a birth certificate with her that would prove her identity should the need arise. Bryan suspected that it was forged, but didn't ask any questions. She probably didn't know, anyway.
Sleep came easily that night, and the next morning all fighters proceeded to the main building to draw fights. Bryan was paired with, of all people, Violet Purple, while Angel drew against a mammoth man named Craig Marduk. Bryan had never heard of the giant, but Angel explained that he was a former Vale Tudo champion that had been barred from the ring for a minor scandal. Last she'd heard, he was in a maximum security prison serving ten years. Apparently he'd been let out early.
"Next up, Hwoarang will be facing Christie Montiero."
Angel scanned the crowd, and found those named. Christie was a deeply tanned, dark-haired young woman that, in Angel's opinion, needed to put some more clothing on. She constantly looked as though she were about to 'fall out' of her shirt.
Hwoarang, on the other hand, leaned against a side wall and lit up a cigarette. Nobody stopped him. His flaming red hair was in stark contrast to his Army fatigues, which he insisted on wearing despite the fact that he was AWOL and in front of a camera. His golden brown eyes spotted Angel looking at him, and gave her the Korean equivalent of flying the bird. She sneered at him and returned the favor, American style.
The moderator continued to draw out names. "Next matchup: Steve Fox will be facing Lei Wulong."
Bryan sat straight up in his chair. Lei Wulong. The name hit him like a bolt of lightning. He craned his neck, and found the short Chinese man leaning against one of the back walls. Their eyes met, and it was impossible to describe the shock on the Chinese's face. Angel sensed her brother's confusion, and turned around as well. She recognized Wulong from the news, but turned to Bryan. "Is that him? Is that your-"
"Don't say it. Yeah, that's him. That's the pussy Mandarin bastard that left me for dead."
Angel placed a sympathetic hand on his shoulder.
"Julia Chang will be fighting Jin Kazama."
Now it was Angel's turn to frown. Bryan noticed, and leaned over. "What's wrong? Who are they?"
Her brow furrowed, as she answered. "I don't know. But Jin Kazama... the name seems... familair, somehow." She shifted in her seat and scanned the room, but didn't see anyone that fit the name. Julia Chang was doing the same thing. In the back, young Chinese girl in pigtails squealed at the mysterious young man's name, and went bouncing all over the room searching for him.
"Next fight: Yoshimitsu versus Kazuya Mishima."
"Kazuya Mishima?!" Angel whirled in her seat. "It can't be. There's gotta be a mistake!" Apparently most of the crowd agreed with her, as a disjointed murmuring rose up through the ranks.
"What's wrong?" asked Bryan, his preoccupation with throttling Wulong momentarily forgotten.
"What's wrong?" she echoed. "Kazuya Mishima is dead! He was killed just after the King of Iron Fist Tournament 2." Her keen eyes searched the crowd, absently continuing to explain. "The most common story is that he was thrown into a volcano. Killed, by his own father."
"Is he here right now?" Bryan asked, anxious to meet a fellow undead.
"I don't see him. No, he's not here. But someone else is."
"Huh?"
"There's someone here that knows me. And I know them." Her voice became quiet, hardly audible above the increasing din of the crowd over the reappearance of Kazuya Mishima. "It's him."
"It's who?" Bryan asked crossly. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"It's him," she repeated. "It's the boy from my past."
Bryan's face was a blank.
"The boy... with the tattoo like mine. He's here. And he's looking for me."
But the boy wasn't there, at least not visible to Angel, and the pair failed to spot the hooded figure slipping quietly out the door. The figure knew that she'd sensed him. Psychics were good at sensing each other. It was surprising that she hadn't connected his name with his face.
The figure was silent as he slipped into a dark alley in the rear of the Shinjuku. He'd known that Kazuya would show, but the girl as well? He knew she'd help him. After all, she was looking for him.
Everything was starting to fall into place.