Author's Note: Yes, I'm back again, my dears! Please accept, as ever, my humble apologies for the time taken to update; I have no excuse this time, besides being intolerably lazy. Based on the 'votes' received, I should definitely give Christie Montiero's ending the treatment here. My apologies once more if it's not what you're expecting, but it's not like the ending itself gives you a lot to base your thoughts on, does it? As for my second applicant…well, I only received one vote each for Heihachi and Bryan Fury, so I've opted for the zombie copper on account of my thinking that he's so much cooler than that diaper-wearing old sod. And now, reviewers, reveal yourselves to mine eyes!
PerfectlyDemon: The ideas for another series once this 'un is finito are welcome, particularly the 'even further down the line' one, but please…no Nina/Anna bashing. I love them both. But for very different reasons. Neither could function properly without the other. And 'hun'? Eh?
Baccus Cremaeus: Well, thank you. AND I HOPE YOU HAD A HAPPY NEW YEAR TOO!
Spifferfish: Well, it's not my hating their individual plotlines that makes me loathe writing about Hwoomerang and Jinnykins…I don't like the Korean Kickster because he's so darn cheap and his outfits suck, and I hate Jin because up until T4 he was basically an inferior juvenile Kazuya, and in T4, though the new fighting style is at least original, it's not very effective. Plus, all the female gamers on the planet seem to adore these two just because they're attractive. (A generalisation, perhaps, but no-one has yet proven me wrong) And DON'T SAY I only like Nina because she's attractive…that's certainly part of it, but you've also got the intriguing storyline and the ability to kick people in the groin really hard, a source of endless amusement.
Boy, that was a long rant, eh? And now…the next chapter…the final frontier…these are the voyages of a teenager's mind…to BOLDLY GO WHERE NO ACCOUNTANT HAS GONE BEFORE! (Oh, ha-ha. You'll be fired by tomorrow. – Editor)
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Ending Number 9.0: Christie Montiero
There are some things in life that only make sense after you've done them. For Christie, entering the so-called 'King Of Iron Tournament 4' would definitely qualify as one of those moments. She'd read Eddy's farewell note thoroughly – not that there had been much to it – and then immediately headed off to Japan. Why? Did she honestly expect to find Eddy on his trail of revenge? Probably not. He'd never said who had killed his father – in truth, he might not have known 'til recently – and yet, there was definitely something in his attitude the last time Christie had seen him; a sense of urgency, purpose, and what could have been regret. Perhaps he thought this would not be a journey he was likely to return from. Which, as it turned out, was a fairly accurate prediction.
~Away In Tokyo, At The Closure Of The 4th Tournament~
The paramedics had already been standing by on the scene to wheel away the defeated finalist, which to everyone's surprise was the self-proclaimed 'reigning champ', Heihachi Mishima. Or was that Hihiechi? Heyachi? Whatever, the point was, he lost, and I won. Me. Christie. I should be overjoyed, both for finally accomplishing something that people may remember me for – a personal goal since the age of seven – and, of course, ridding the world (at least temporarily) of the hideous sight that is an eighty-something balding Japanese guy in a g-string. I mean, seriously, ewwww! What kinda sick childhood problems did that weirdo have?!
But even with all that in mind, Christie felt empty inside. Y'know, the way you always feel when you listen to a David Gray song. She hadn't seen a single glimpse of Eddy throughout the entire tournament, and hadn't received any phone calls, emails or any other forms of contact from him since he'd vanished without trace one short week after she graduated. It wasn't like she wanted to depend on his chaperoning for the rest of her life, but…well…she needed some support right now, that was for certain. Plus, though she had yet to admit to this out loud to anyone, not even the Chinese girl she'd become good friends with, she was kind of attracted to him. But not when he wore that daft Afro wig and the shades, and the rest of that 70s get-up. That was a bit much.
Abruptly, she realised she'd been standing stock-still in the middle of the arena, with a couple hundred thousand people cheering for her, and hadn't moved one bit. Weakly, she tried to wave and smile, but it wouldn't come. Then, of course, came the press.
"Christie, congratulations on your victory!"
"Umm, thanks."
"How are you feeling?"
"Whatever…good, I suppose."
"Is there anyone you'd like to share this moment with?"
Well, at least that question I have a proper answer for…Christie's wandering mind was cut short when she noticed a familiar face in the crowd, standing out as an African-American in a sea of Asian faces, and significantly taller than anyone around. And there was no mistaking that smile.
"EDDY!"
Under normal circumstances, Christie would probably have blushed and slipped quietly away for such a public display, but right now she didn't notice; all her attention was focused on her once-missing friend and mentor. Leaping down from the ring, Christie barged her way through all the assorted teenagers and other sports fans that crowded the arena, not bothering to watch where she was going until Eddy was right in front of her. Oblivious to the press cameras following her, she literally threw herself on him, bursting into tears immediately, mumbling his name over and over as the flashbulbs lit the night sky…
~One Month Later, In Brazil~
Eddy's condition had improved fairly steadily once Christie had managed to get him back home. Though he refused to tell the hospital staff how his injuries were received, he spilt the beans to Christie at the first opportunity he got.
It turned out that his father had been killed under the orders of one Kazuya Mishima, another competitor from the fourth tournament and son of the geriatric finalist Christie had had the…erm…'pleasure' of facing. It was still unclear what Eddy's father had done to warrant his demise, though whatever it was, it was somehow related to Kazuya's own rise to power within the Mishima Zaibatsu, Heihachi's company, after the 2nd King Of Iron Fist Tournament. The name 'Boskonovitch' and something called 'Jack' were often associated with the case as well. Eddy had met up with a Hong Kong detective at the 4th tournament, someone he'd known from the previous tournament, and had managed to persuade the guy to help get to the bottom of the mystery, if that ever happened. Sadly, Eddy's reunion with his 3rd tournament chums was cut short by the Tekken Force militia, who ambushed Eddy in his hotel room one night and left a very clear message; stay out of our business or there'll be more where that came from. Eddy, with his arm broken, had no choice but to drop out of the tournament at the last minute, though he escaped from the local infirmary to watch the tournament's final in person…and was quite shocked to see his protégé up in the ring, dishing out a beating.
Christie had committed herself to watch over Eddy as he recovered fully, and her heart had already made up its mind to stay as close to him as possible when he set off again, no matter where his journey may take him. She owed him that much, at least. Plus, she owned all of the Zaibatsu's fortune now – and she couldn't possibly spend all of that on CDs!
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Ending Number 10.0: Bryan Fury
There's only one life for the average man, and for some, that's just not enough time. It had certainly seemed that way to Bryan, at least in his first life. Wanting to get the most out of his time while it was available, Bryan joined the police and eventually graduated into the SWAT division, a job he relished not for the challenge, but for the sheer adrenaline of facing down a full squad of perps, all spitting machine-gun fire every which way, your comrades falling around you…Bryan never like to think of himself as sadistic, but other people certainly couldn't find a better way to describe his actions. Despite this, he quickly rose through the ranks, earning the responsibility to command a full squad, who invariably came out of battle scarred and seriously hurting, if they came out at all, while Bryan was as healthy as ever.
Unfortunately, not even all this could stem Bryan's need for excitement, and he decided to try something different; illegal operations right under the cop's noses. It worked well enough for some time – he set up deals, he got the merchandise to be sold off later, then he called in the backup and his 'partners' were in jail before sundown. But this all came to an end one day when a lone oriental detective stumbled across the scene and reported back to HQ, but not before planting three 9mm FMJ rounds in Bryan's chest. Such an attack should have killed him…Later on, he would say it did.
~Many years later, At The Conclusion Of The 4th Tournament~
Heiahchi's near-lifeless body once again collided with the cage-like wall surrounding the ring as his opponent advanced. He'd seen this zombified nutcase before, but he was different this time. Previously a being of cold logic, the cyborg's actions now stemmed from a seething hatred for everything that lived and breathed, and had proven to be unstoppable throughout the entire tournament. Indeed, Heihachi's pet, the grizzly bear named Kuma, was still at the veterinarian following Bryan's rather callous post-match actions, that being dropping the 800-lb bear off the top of a skyscraper, from Heihachi's penthouse suite level. Revolting, but the machine had done far worse.
Heiahchi was starting to regret ever having stepped in the ring with this psycho when the machine stepped over to his battered body and lifted him up by the throat, a sneer of pure malice growing on his – or rather, it's – face. Pushing back, the cyborg slammed the back of Heiahchi's head off of one of the steel support beams on the wall, rattling it almost out of its foundations. Heihachi coughed blood, but was still conscious. Unfortunate for him, as Bryan quickly punched him left-handed in the gut, actually piercing the skin with the sheer pressure, before swinging the elderly warrior overhead. Heihachi landed in a heap and stopped moving. The winning bell was sounded, though no-one raised Bryan's hand; not even a $10,000 bonus could convince the announcer to go anywhere near the sociopathic killing machine. Not that he would have needed to; Bryan stumbled off immediately after the match ended, clutching his gut.
In his head, Bryan knew he didn't have long left. In fact, he'd known it for a long time, ever since his creator, Dr. Abel, had abandoned him and gone to work at the Mishima Zaibatsu. Without Abel's maintenance and upgrades, Bryan's body would rapidly age and degenerate until there was nothing left but the odd few servomotors and memory chips. The acceptance of these facts created a steely determination within Bryan, and he knew that his only available chance was to win the 4th Tournament and take over the Zaibatsu, which would allow him to command Abel to keep him alive.
Finally slumping into the infirmary, Bryan found the man he was looking for, a short, bald guy with angular red glasses and a lab coat: Dr. Abel, looking no different from usual.
Hearing the half-mech's trudging footsteps, Abel turned around and quickly backed off a couple steps, staring in utter disbelief.
"You're still alive?!" was all the doctor could think of to say.
Ever since starting out in the tournament, Bryan's vocal functions had become less and less efficient, to the point where he knew about ten English words in total. Thankfully, he was programmed using the basic concept that actions speak louder than words. Suddenly bursting forward, he reared back with one arm and grabbed Abel by the scruff of the neck, twisting around and throwing him sharply through the nearest wall. Then, his condition critical, Bryan fell to the ground, smoke twisting out of his nostrils. He was certain that, before blacking out, he saw odd-looking feet approaching…
~Two Weeks Later, In A Laboratory (Undisclosed Location)~
Bryan's mind came back online and registered the bright lights shining straight onto his face, dazzling his eyes.
"Ah, you're finally awake…"
Turning at the sound of a voice – a worn-out Russian voice – Bryan found himself looking at a very old man in a lab coat with wire-framed glasses. The words were unrecognised, but the face triggered a search on Bryan's memory files, matching with a previous target, one Dr. Boskonovitch, to be captured alive. That objective however, was history.
Boskonovitch continued to talk, nothing of which registered with Bryan until he turned his head down at the foot of the bad Bryan was propped up on. Looking at his feet, Bryan saw another familiar being, a mechanical warrior decorated in the same way as a form of insect. Memory files matched this as Yoshimitsu, leader of the 'Manji Party'.
Returning his attention to the doctor, Bryan clearly heard the word 'life'. That, at least, he recognised. Judging by body language, whatever the doctor was trying to express was a positive development for Bryan, so when the doctor trailed off on a questioning note, Bryan merely nodded and laid back as the doctor pierced his skin with a small object, and Bryan quickly blacked out again.
~Just Over A Year Later, San Diego~
The Tekken Force had long since set up local branches in all of the major cities of the world – or, at least, those which contained a large branch of the Mishima Zaibatsu. The departments in American areas only really saw any action if they were needed abroad, but were kept at the ready regardless. So when a security breach was reported at the large West Centurion Towers department, the Force boys were dispatched ASAP. Arriving on the scene, they saw nothing wrong, except that the main door of the building was missing. One of the troopers aimed carefully and fired a smoke grenade from a small launcher, the projectile landing just inside the entrance and covering the scene in billowing fog within a few seconds.
Then a dark figure emerged from the clouds of artificial smoke. The troopers opened fire, with army-issue M-16 assault rifles and MP5 submachine guns. Yet the being – who resembled nothing the troopers could think of – plodded on relentlessly, barely flinching as literally hundreds of bullets tore into his seemingly artificial flesh.
The being approached the nearest trooper and punched him once, right on the nose. The man's head snapped back, almost off the shoulders, and he crumpled immediately. The next soldier drew a knife and stabbed the creature. The creature snapped the knife with one miniature karate-chop and tore the man's jugular vein out with his bare hand. The trooper fell on his face, gargling softly.
It only took about five minutes for the other ten men on the scene to be eliminated in the same fashion. Following that, the being known as Yoshimitsu emerged from the smoky entrance to the building, hefting a large sack of stolen cash, and hefted it into the helicopter that arrived on the scene unnervingly quickly. The other being followed, still showing no signs of injury.
Snake Eye was reborn again, and nothing would stand in his way this time.
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Author's Note: And another two down. Again, I want you guys and gals to tell me who or what to do next, and if you have an idea for another story, gimme it! I need all the help I can get! And, on that note, I'd like to say goodnight to one and all. G'bye!
Microwave Jockey