Author's Note: Sorry for the time taken to update; I just started another fic ('Fry In The Pan' over in the TransFormers/Beast Wars section) and I felt like putting both fics on an equal standing, chapter-wise, so I had to devote quite a bit of time to that one. But I'm back now. As for this chapter…gah! Due to volume of votes, I'll have to do Jin and Hwoarang's endings. excessive burst of swearing and jumping around the room Typical; the one character I loathe above all others, and one of the cheapest buggers ever. Well, not THE cheapest; that 'honour' belongs to either form of Law. But I really don't like Jin or Hwoomerang. How the hell do you spell that anyway?! This is what happens when you listen to democracy…but I'm a professional, I can't muck this up…can I?
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Ending Number 7.0: Jin Kazama (DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE…sorry.)
The dark vestiges of the mind are some of the least understood areas of the human anatomy, with only about ten percent of its mass being attributed to any particular function. As far as Jin was concerned, the rest of the brain was for dreaming.
He used to love dreaming. Whether it be visions of his mother, Jun, or hopes for a future as far away from the crowded bustle of Japan as possible; all were welcome to him. Lately, however, his head had been filled with images of grotesque creatures standing in the shadows, watching his every move. All were hunchbacked, winged and had glowing eyes that pierced Jin's heart and read his deepest feelings in a single glance. And all had Jin's own face, sneering back at him like a twisted mirror image.
He had been taught that all dreams meant something in relation to one's own path, and were simply a trace of the latent divining abilities present in all humans, but Jin would never have guessed how accurate such images could be…
~Two Hours Previously~
Jin had finished his warm-up and was heading for the allotted 'arena', a dark and forboding underground entrance to one of the Mishima Zaibatsu's rarely seen laboratories. He could guess that his opponent, the once-dead Kazuya Mishima – his own father – would already have arrived and would be waiting for him. He'd done that for all of his matches so far; he apparently believed it to bring him luck. The old fool.
Rounding another corner of the dark hallway, Jin stopped abruptly. He thought he'd heard something; a faint scrape of metal on metal. Experience had taught him long ago not to ignore anything around you, however small that may be. Slowly turning and keeping his breathing at a carefully controlled volume, Jin glanced around. He couldn't see anything suspicious, but that did little to reassure him; he could only see two metres in any given direction.
Snorting, Jin turned back the way he came and was about to continue walking when he heard another noise, a soft 'pffwwp' and felt a slight shock on the back of his neck. Quickly jumping to the side, he raised a hand and brushed away a small dart, loaded with clear liquid. He realised that his reaction time had slowed, but didn't have time to worry about it; his mystery assailant was heading his way.
As the gunman's footsteps turned the corner, Jin caught a brief, up-close glance of a biohazard mask and body armour, reflecting an eerie blue light emanating from the figure's 'eyes'. In a rush of adrenaline, Jin identified the features.
Tekken Force!
Reacting as swiftly as he could, Jin stepped away from the wall and lunged into an uppercut, making contact with the trooper's lower-left jaw. With a sickening 'crunch', the goon fell to the ground, comatose.
Hearing the approaching scuffle of footsteps, Jin readied himself and lashed out with his left foot at the first moving shape he saw, hitting a second trooper clean in the chest and knocking him backward into one of his comrades. But there were more of them coming, and from different directions. This was going to be tough.
~Back To The Present~
Jin had done his best, but the Tekken Force were without number, and…well, you try moving after being plugged with fifteen hypodermic needles full of veterinary tranquillisers. The last thing he remembered before losing consciousness was one of the guards saying in Japanese, "Wouldn't it be great if they went down quietly for once?"
Then came the pain.
Jin couldn't recall when the pain had started, or how long it had been tormenting him, but it grew steadily worse over time, eventually reaching a crescendo as oddly-coloured images of Kazuya appeared around him, towering over him, repeating the same words in an endless mantra.
"Give in to the anger…Hate me…Curse me…"
Jin had no idea what the pointy-haired idiot was trying to bring about, though he definitely felt something changing within him. And there; those strange markings again, spreading like oil over his chest and back…what significance did they represent? He only recalled them showing once before, at the conclusion of the third tournament, where he should have died. An omen?
Flailing weakly and silently screaming, Jin collapsed and was on the brink of letting the oncoming rush of darkness consume him. Then, as quickly as it had appeared, the feelings vanished, replaced by a firm, commanding voice.
"Rise, Jin Kazama!"
Jin snapped awake, taking deep, gulping breaths while his vision span wildly. The markings were still etched on his flesh, and many of the impact points from the Tekken Force's darts had not yet healed; he hadn't been comatose for too long. Realising his arms were restricted, he yanked at them several times, the chains holding them in place snapping on the third attempt and sending the young man crashing to the wooden floor. He retched several times, but the feeling of nausea was unrelated to any particular physical ailment or discomfort. Glancing up, Jin felt a rush of blind rage sweep through his body as he locked eyes with the smirking figure standing in front of him. Past events had taken their toll on the other man's appearance so that he didn't quite match the image Jin had been carrying around in his head, but there was no mistaking his father's expression.
"You…If only you were dead…"
Jin struggled to steady himself, the markings on his body fading away as the familiar burst of adrenaline entered his system.
"Once I kill you, it'll all be over!"
Without a second thought, Jin threw himself into combat. His instructor from Brisbane always told him to take a calm, steady hand into a fight; karate was not the fury of the berserker, it was the art of the knight, so to speak. But Jin wasn't really in the mood for meditating at the moment.
Jin didn't think about what he was doing. He wasn't really even controlling himself. He felt like an outsider, watching the fight from third-person as two others battled it out. He wasn't even feeling the injuries his blind charge was causing him to sustain. All he was paying attention to was his opponent; his movements, his attitude, his condition. Though Kazuya was never truly caught off-guard – he seemed to expect everything – but he did seem to have trouble with Jin's frenzy, taking more punishment than Jin was expecting him to.
In that instant, Jin saw his chance. Kazuya, after backing off a step to avoid a kick, took a right-handed swing, overbalancing in the process. Jin quickly stepped around to his right, stopping straight behind his dizzied father. While Kazuya fought to stop himself falling over, Jin drew his right hand back, taking a deep breath and concentrating as much as he could. This was an all-or-nothing gamble. Just as Kazuya spun around, already raising his left arm for a punch, Jin lunged in, delivering his punch with inhuman force behind it. Kazuya was knocked off his feet, winded, and soared through the air for a good ten feet before connecting with the floor, chest heaving once before stopping completely.
Jin's heart was still pounding. The marks had returned while he fought, and his vision fluctuated frequently, sending flashes of vibrant colour through his mind. Another set of footsteps approached. Jin already knew who they belonged to.
"What a pathetic wretch – you worthless coward!"
The gravely tones of Jin's grandfather, Heihachi Mishima, were about as welcome as a stack of ice-cubes in Antartica.
"I will make your power mine…"
The old man lowered into his usual battle stance, something even older than Heihachi himself. Well, possibly.
"Time to die, boy!"
Jin didn't know what forced him to say his next words, but whatever it was, it was something to fear.
"You think an old fool like you can stop me? You are bluffing, mortal!"
Heihachi's expression at those words mirrored Jin's thoughts on this; namely, "What The Hell?"
Jin was completely helpless as to what came next. He felt himself advance on Heihachi steadily, blocking each of the old man's attacks with seemingly no effort and delivering counterpunches that would fell a tree. The elder Mishima had no chance of success, but he held on against the onslaught for ten minutes. At least that was admirable.
Picking up Heihachi's broken body by the scruff of his gi robe, Jin felt an odd sense of power flow through his veins. The black wings once again emerged from his back, not hurting as they had the last time. Raising a fist for the final blow, revelling in the puny creature's fear, Jin saw something out of the corner of his eye. Turning, he came face to face with…
His mother…
Jin gasped, blinking quickly, but the vision disappeared. At the same time, a veil seemed to have been lifted from his mind, and control of his actions was restored to him. Lowering his head, he smiled grimly to himself. The vision's message was clear; not the way mother would have wanted this situation dealt with at all. He dropped the broken figure and rose to his feet, glancing over at where he had seen his mother again. A gold statue of Buddha looked back at him.
"Thank my mother…"
He glanced down at Heihachi.
"…Jun Kazama."
And with that, Jin turned and stretched his wings, leaping up through the wooden roof of the building and into the dawn light, into a new future. He had nowhere to go and no parents left, but tomorrow had never looked brighter.
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Ending Number 8.0 – Hwoarang
There's only so much one can do with riches. Though the luxuries one can afford through these means can certainly make the life of a warrior more bearable, none of them should be the warrior's true concern, as this would result in dishonour creeping into one's life like cancer, slowly infecting everything it contacts until it destroys the warrior's soul.
Master Baek had made that lesson clear to Hwoarang a long time ago, and it was for this reason alone that he decided to sell off the Mishima Zaibatsu as soon as he earned its leadership. It's not like he was doing anyone any harm; the Zaibatsu's pollution problems and animal testing programs would hardly be missed. Besides, that Abel guy freaked Hwoarang out. Why would someone actually want to wear red tinted glasses? A wannabe Dr. Evil, evidently.
There was one other real significant reason for Hwoarang's sale of the Zaibatsu and subsequent departure. Another reason relating to the obscure concept known as 'honour.' Can't live with it, can't live without it. Hwoarang had been waiting for a chance for too long, and he'd finally decided to take matters into his own hands, regarding his little feud with the Kazama kid.
The Kazama kid. Hwoarang never realised when he first started calling his current rival by that name. It seemed daft, as they were both more or less the same age, but it made Hwoarang feel good, as if each time he said it he was secretly getting one over on the pointy-haired bastard. And then there was this new 'traditional karate' stuff the fool had been doing recently; sitting around meditating whenever he wasn't in a fight, lighting incense sticks and going for walks in forests. Hwoarang had taken some pride in the small act of following the ponce on one of those walks and secretly taking a photo of him lying against a tree, then messing around with it in Photoshop so that it looked like a good old bit of tree-huggin', before posting it on a variety of poplar internet message boards. Now who says new technology is a bad thing, huh?
However, now was not the time for minor pranks and behind-the-back jokes. No, as Hwoarang reminded himself, while in the taxi taking him to an unused car park in one of the lesser-known parts of Paris. Now was the time for serious action.
It had taken him some time, but he'd finally tracked down Jin to Paris, with help from various internet sites again. It wasn't too difficult once he'd figured out where to look, as the various Government agencies, which like to keep track of the Tekken Force's movements, had recorded a large number of Heihachi's ex-private troopers heading into various locations around Europe, and zeroing in around France's capital. Such presence would mean that this showdown would have to be quick, so as not to alert the armed nutcases; Hwoarang may not like Jin, but the thought of handing him over to the Tekken Force was repugnant to the extreme.
The taxi finally came to a stop. Hwoarang handed over a bunch of notes to the driver and stepped out without waiting for his change, quickly jogging down the steps into the brightly-lit underground area. He hadn't realised how nervous he was feeling until now; the palms of his hands were clammy and his breathing came in short, sharp bursts. Get a grip, man!
As soon as he reached the bottom of the steps, he saw him. The other man was waiting at the opposite end of the car park, wearing the same blue hooded tracksuit he'd been wearing through the entire tournament, the hood raised and being held up by the hair underneath. He still wore the same style of gloves too; as far as anyone could say, Kazama practically slept with them on.
Hwoarang continued to approach, a smile flickering across his face. Now, we'll see how tough this guy really is…
"You're finally here." He raised his voice unnecessarily; he thought it made the whole deal more dramatic.
"So…" Jin only just raised his eyes from the ground then. "What do you want?" His accent made the words sound almost Russian. Odd.
"You can't figure that out? I never got the chance to fight you at the tournament." Hwoarang continued to walk, stopping only when he was slightly behind Kazama. "I'll take you on, right here, right now."
Jin was silent for a moment. "There's no reason to fight."
Oh no you don't. "You ain't got one?" Hwoarang spun on the spot. "Well, I do!"
Jin shook his head almost sadly. "If that's what you wish…"
"You'd better believe it, buddy." Hwoarang took a step back and transferred into a normal fighting stance, hopping slightly between each foot.
Jin didn't say a word as he turned slowly and held both arms out in front of himself, taking slow, deep breaths.
Hwoarang stared blankly for a moment before blinking once, shaking his head, and jumping into the fray.
Jin's new style of fighting didn't really make Hwoarang very happy. He rarely tried any direct offensive manouvers, simply blocking everything that Hwoarang threw his way. And what little was used for offensive purposes was easily dodged and not very flashy. If this had been a proper arena fight, the crowd would have already been throwing things.
"C'mon, what are you waiting for? You're better than this!" Usually, Hwoarang reserved such phrases for taunts, but he was generally let down at his opponent's lacklustre performance right now.
But ask, and you shall receive.
Jin suddenly turned up the heat with a variety of quick and high kicks, some of which were virtually impossible to dodge. Hwoarang wasn't ready for them, but he adapted quickly, and saw an opening. It seemed that Jin's new methods were focused on a single value, and by changing to an offensive pattern, he had left his defence open. Hwoarang flicked out with a leg and caught Jin behind the hell, sending him collapsing to the floor, and followed through with an axe-kick, though it was dodged. Jin rolled to the side and leapt up, spinning around for a kick, but was again caught by Hwoarang's lightning feet in midair, knocking him backward into a concrete pillar, which cracked under the pressure. Dazed, Kazama struggled to stand, but Hwoarang wasn't about to let him get his bearings. Taking a run-up, Hwoarang used the hunched-over Jin as a springboard, propelling him up at the pillar, from which he rebounded and landed wit hone solid foot coming down on Jin's neck, slamming him headfirst into the floor as Hwoarang landed and rolled away.
Standing again, Hwoarang stepped over to the dizzy Kazama, whose forehead was now bleeding from a small cut, almost dead centre. Hwoarang would have finished him off then and there…
Ch-chkk!
But sometimes, circumstances outside your control get in the way.
"SERGEANT!"
Hwoarang briefly closed his eyes and muttered 'damn' before turning on his heel to face his former commanding officer from the Korean military. He was always a by-the-book kinda guy, and Hwoarang only ever agreed to do something if he could do it his way, so there was quite a deal of enmity between the two.
"Desertion is an offence punishable by court martial!" The officer folded his arms behind his back and sneered as he spoke. He was enjoying every minute of this. "Give yourself up, soldier!"
Hwoarang just sighed. He really didn't want to go back to the military, and there were five stupid goons pointing rifles at him. Can a guy's day get any worse?
Then he noticed Jin standing up and tapping one of the troopers on the shoulder. "Hey…"
The trooper turned around; about one of the worst mistakes he ever made.
Quick as a flash, Jin sent a right uppercut straight into the guy's chin, spinning him away through the air. Without pausing, he spun his head around and thrust his right foot out, catching another guy clean in the chest. Jin turned back to face Hwoarang, raising one eyebrow and returning to a passive stance. The message was clear; now it's your turn.
Hwoarang whistled appreciatively, before launching into motion. The guards were busy staring in awe and didn't notice him move until the first of their number cried in surprise and pain. Leaping at the trooper in front of him, Hwoarang used his chest as a spring -board, then rebounded onto another guard, doing the same, then spun around and kicked the last guard in the jaw while in midair. Landing softly, Hwoarang blew some imaginary dust from his shoulder; he'd seen guys do that in action movies, and it always looked cool.
The officer was the first to return from the silence. "FIRE!"
Jin and Hwoarang quickly dived behind the nearest car as machine-gun fire tore up the asphalt and walls, ricocheting from the vehicles with an ear splitting 'ping.' Jin was silent, contemplating; almost as if he thought about sprinting back out there and right into the line of fire. Wacko.
"Kazama!" Hwoarang decided to break the silence; he felt like gloating. "Remember, I kicked your ass back there."
Hwoarang looked at the silent youth next to him. "Hey, you listenin'?"
Jin blinked twice, coming out of his stupor, and turned to Hwoarang.
"I'll give you a chance to even the score at the next tournament. And hey," he smirked, "you'd better show up!"
Jin stared blankly for a moment, before smiling as well.
~One Month Later~
Hwoarang had finally managed to escape from the Korean pursuit party by settling down in America, or more accurately, Chicago. He'd always like the big cities, and he held a special place in his heart for Chicago; possibly something to do with all those old gangster movies from the Al Pacino era. He'd had to register for his current abode using the fake name of Kit Yun, but he made certain that his tournament contacts knew where he was; it just wouldn't do to miss his rematch when it finally came, would it?
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Author's Note: Thank Christ, it's finally over. At least I can say I got the hard ones out of the way quickly. I'll be needing some more votes for who comes next; so far I've had one vote each for Heihachi, Bryan Fury and Christie Montiero. Unfortunately, I won't be able to work on this during Christmas as I'll be away at a relative's house, but I'll go back to work ASAP afterward. And finally…Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!
Microwave Jockey