A Flair for Dramatic Entrance
Author's Notes: I don't own any of the Capcom characters, nor do I claim to. All original characters are used with the permission of their respective creators. Thanks, everybody! (But I took artistic license with the character if you didn't provide me some specs. So no complaining, you had your chances!) English names are used: Charlie instead of Nash, Akuma instead of Gouki, Balrog is the boxer, Vega is the Spaniard, and Bison is the lord of Shadowlaw. The only exception is to this rule is Sodom instead of Katana.
Chan Yoruyamatiha: You liked it, huh? Anyway, here's the next chapter, posted before you decide to shear me apart or something like that. I hope you enjoy it, just don't mind some of, ah, Edgar's comments. And McGrath's cute connection? I've never thought of any connection with Akuma being cute. I'll have you know, storylinewise, McGrath is very badass. See, haggling does get results! (Not that I'm implying anything ...)
Kikoken: (Sweats nervously) Um, will you still like it after this chapter?
C. Nash: The Rugal connection was one that I had in mind when I designed this story. Occasionally, I'll be dropping hints and clues to help the reader identify M., although I expect very few people to find out. Canon-wise, this story occurs after SF3, but I've made many special exceptions for it.
Blue-Eyes Knight: And Mason is in the story! As are you ... unfortunately, you have been assigned the morally downtrodden task of looking after Kikoken and Chan. What's with all these people asking me for updates, anyway?
DeNice: Got your mail just tonight. Thanks, buddy! Rest assured that I have some very big plans for ... well, just about everyone in this fic, really. (Glances nervously at Chan.) Um, that's really all I can say without giving away too much. But if you think I'm going to up and tell you who M. is, you'd better think again ...
Atlanta, USA
One month has passed
"So, what's all this about, Edgar?" Kikoken asked. Slinging a duffel bag over her shoulder, Kikoken slid into step alongside Edgar. She was exactly five and a half feet tall, slim and pretty, but a discerning eye could easily identify the sleek, toned muscles that came from years of training. She wore a loose, comfortable set of blue exercise pants, a drying black T-shirt, and a pair of sneakers from some company which Edgar had never heard of. Kikoken herself had flaxen-colored hair that went down to the small of her back, but it was tinged with streaks of natural, brilliant blue. Her eyes shone a bright, icy azure.
Edgar, for his part, wore loose denim jeans, a gray undershirt, and a vest one size too small in order to accentuate his muscular frame. He was taller than Kikoken by half a foot. Underneath the jeans were traditional Chinese shoes. His hair was brown and cropped close to his skull, his eyes a dark brown hue. He might have been intimidating had it not been for the smile that played about his lips and the fact that his eyes fairly gleamed with merriment or mischief. Laughing and smiling, Edgar and Kikoken jaunted down the street in lockstep. It was past midnight, but the heart of Atlanta gleamed brightly thanks to various streetlamps and the headlights of the ever-present, ubiquitous car.
"Well, since you said that you were participating in the World Collision tournament, I thought you might want to meet a friend of mine," Edgar said. He, too, had made no secret of the fact that he was joining in the competition. A media blitz had already begun and the phrase "World Collision" was on everyone's lips. The fact that one was only allowed to join if invited, however, had drawn protests from all quarters. Two days ago, Edgar had read an article in a prestigious newspaper speculating on the identity of "M." He himself was quite curious.
"A friend of yours?"
"Yes, she was also invited and jumped at the opportunity. I tried to talk her out of it, but when she gets an idea ..." Edgar shrugged, his movement saying more than his words. "She's - let's see, fifteen this year - and can handle herself in a scrap well enough, but at a level of this tournament ..." Edgar himself was twenty-five, Kikoken nineteen. "She's currently an exchange student studying in Japan, but she agreed to come here tonight on my invitation. Her name is Chan Yoruyamatiha and she loves dramatic entrances. I think even you will be impressed."
"You know how much it takes to impress me, Edgar?" Kikoken queried. "Where are we going?"
"Shortcut back to my dojo," Edgar replied. "Anyway, where was I ... oh, yes, Kikoken, I've been meaning to ask if you had a clue as to the identity of M." It was actually a random thought designed to keep up the flow of the conversation.
She was about to shrug before remembering that she was carrying a duffel bag, so Kikoken settled with a mere shake of the head. They were wandering through a dark portion of the city that spanned a number of back alleys. A highly trained part of Edgar's mind noted every shape and shadow, mentally cataloguing the situation with every step. Despite his size, his tread made less sound than Kikoken's. Once they were accosted by a number of cockroaches, each one the size of a half-dollar coin. Edgar ignored them, Kikoken made a face but said nothing.
Edgar's dojo was a nondescript building wedged between a pair of restaurants. The storefront was about twenty-five feet wide and big words in the windows proclaimed "Edgar's School of Ninjutsu." A more accurate phrase might've been "Edgar's School of Butt-Kick." To Kikoken's knowledge, Edgar was well-known for producing fighters more than capable of handling themselves against multiple opponents - if they endured the grueling training, that is. Usually only half a dozen students graduated any given year. The school was always hovering on the edge of bankruptcy without actually folding. At twenty-five years of age, Edgar was easily the youngest officially recognized Ninjutsu teacher.
Edgar opened the doors and consulted his watch simultaneously, noting the condition of both. "We're about ten minutes early. Can I get you some tea, Kikoken? Or maybe you'd like to have a game of cards?" She politely declined both. When Edgar disappeared around the back to sort through an extra deck of cards he'd received in the mail, Kikoken got her first good look at the dojo.
It was a plain, simple room, hardly worth noticing, if it weren't for the fact that it was actually quite a large room - enormous in the heart of Atlanta. The plaster had begun to peel off the walls in multiple places, small cracks had appeared, and the mats that Edgar used looked a dozen years old. The mats were tan, the walls a dirty white, and the entire dojo looked badly run down. A few old-fashioned lightbulbs completed the scene. Kikoken brushed a strand of blue/gold hair out of her eyes as Edgar returned to the room, sorting through a deck of cards.
Kikoken smiled to herself. Though she had never trained under Edgar - her instructor was an old Karate master who had died years ago - Kikoken knew Edgar very well. They'd attended the same school back in the old days and Edgar was the one who always stood up for any person who happened to be the target of a random bullying attempt. It was one such situation that had convinced Kikoken to learn rudimentary self-defense; she couldn't always rely on innate abilities. Edgar, on the other hand, despite the fact that he was a master of Ninjutsu, had built his fighting style around the power of his playing cards. Kikoken caught him slipping an Imperial Decree and a Blue-Eyes White Dragon into his main deck. Stars above, how many of those dragons did he have, anyway?
"Enough to earn the title 'Blue-Eyes Knight' from my students," Edgar replied with a wink. Kikoken belatedly realized that she'd thought aloud. He held up another card, this one something that Kikoken couldn't recognize. "I won this at the national tournament a few weeks ago," Edgar explained. "It's Ra, last and arguably deadliest of the God cards. Costs a lot to play, though, which is why I hardly ever use it."
Kikoken arched an eyebrow in a skeptical fashion. "That card? Edgar, it has a bunch of question marks for its attack and defense power. How could that be so powerful?"
"It's attack and defense are equal to the cards sacrificed to play it," Edgar explained. "And when you consider how many cards have to be tributed in order to bring Ra into play - well, you get the idea. It's kinda hard to keep up a strong deck when you're sacrificing so many good cards." He disappeared into the back room again, then emerged without his deck. Edgar looked around the room, glanced at his watch. "Another three minutes. Well, until Chan gets here - how's the family, Kikoken?"
"Same as always."
"And how's school -" Edgar abruptly cut off, tensed, and whispered, "Did you hear that?" Kikoken nodded.
A moment later, the ceiling tiles caved in and four black ropes dropped down. Before Edgar or Kikoken could react, four black-suited commandos slid into the room on the ropes, each one armed with brass knuckles and stun prods. Their would-be victims moved, Edgar going high and Kikoken low. Another four commandos dropped in; from the storefront, the doors flew open and more commandos piled into the room. There was no time at all to talk before the fight degenerated into a free-for-all.
Each commando wore a ski mask and a black fighting suit. Edgar slipped beneath a punch and brought his fist up, hard, glancing as he did so at the back room. Too many commandos between him and it, though; without his deck, his fighting power was severely compromised. On the other side, Kikoken fended off a jab but was kicked in the shins. Edgar winced, but in sympathy for the commandos - in a situation like this, a pissed Kikoken was a virtual death warrant. Edgar blocked another jab and dropped on his back, pulling his opponent over his head and landing him neckfirst into the mat in a classic circle throw. Then the room suddenly shone with a strange bluish light for an instant. Edgar instinctively ducked; a moment later, Kikoken flung her right hand out, a razor-sharp blade of water materializing from her palms and slicing cleanly into a commando's body, where it splashed and drenched his whole uniform. Kikoken followed the attack with her left hand, flinging a meter-high wave of water through the entire room. A series of inventive curses informed both of them that the stun prods, now wet, had been turned against their users.
Coast clear, Edgar sprinted for the back room, reappearing a moment later with his Yu-Gi-Oh card deck in his vest pocket. He hastily drew a card, glanced at it, then glanced at the commandos regrouping in the front of the dojo, and made his decision. A moment later, the card disappeared in a puff of smoke and a large, rectangularly shaped portion of the floor began to glow. Edgar braced himself for the attack to come.
Had any of the commandos known the rules of the game, they surely would not have tried to cross the patch of glowing light. One of them did; a moment later, the glowing rectangle erupted in a blaze of color, a gigantic mouth appearing beneath the man. With a quick scream abruptly cut short, the commando was swallowed whole and a huge insect sprang up, jaws slavering in anticipation. Once again surprised, the commandos shouted, cursed, and tripped over each other in their haste to get away. Edgar grinned. "How do you like my Man-Eating Bug? Automatically devours an opponent when activated, fools."
"Any bug can be crushed," a new voice interrupted. Edgar and Kikoken both spun and looked upwards; a moment later, a masked man with a wickedly gleaming claw on one hand dove down from the ceiling and impaled the bug on his claw. He elegantly backflipped, avoiding both the bug's corpse and Kikoken's abortive attempt at nailing him with a burst of water. Edgar's bug disappeared in a spray of multicolored light, stunning him. The commandos charged again; before Edgar could pull out another card or recover from his shock, the masked man had a claw to his throat. Kikoken, rushing over to help, was waylaid by the commandos and instantly stunned into submission. A minute later, both of them were securely tied.
The mysterious man removed his mask, revealing a beautiful, refined face. Unlike the commandos, he wore a silk shirt and silk pants, tied with a long red sash around his waist. His hair was brown, every strand tucked perfectly in place. He was an inch over six feet tall, but most disturbing was something about his eyes and manner that screamed insanity. He bowed elaborately to Edgar and Kikoken. "Forgive my rudeness. My name is Vega."
"The famous matador?" Kikoken asked.
"None other, beautiful lady," Vega answered. He shifted his gaze to her and Kikoken wished that she'd never spoken up. "Now, if you'll be so kind as to come back with me, my boss has taken interest in you."
"I don't know who you work for, but no thanks. I'm not one of your showgirls." To emphasize her point, Kikoken transformed into a puddle of water, instantly slipping out of the confining ropes and reforming herself behind Edgar. Unfortunately, she had been preempted by Vega and instantly felt a claw on her throat. The commandos had a number of stun prods all over Edgar. "You are most remarkable, my dear," Vega said conversationally, "but try that stunt again and your friend will have the shock of his life."
"Don't listen to him, Kikoken," Edgar spat through gritted teeth. "Get out of here, now!"
Vega rapped him on the head. "Quiet, fool. You don't have a line at this point and the script says that neither of you are supposed to escape."
"Oh, right," Edgar grimaced. "Sorry, Vega, I forgot about that. Go on."
Vega put a hand to his chin, stroking thoughtfully. "Um, where were we ...? Oh, yes! Anyway, Kikoken, my boss wishes to see you. So, if you'll quietly come with me, we can avoid further ... unpleasantries." Heartbroken, Kikoken glanced despairingly at Edgar, then at Vega, who seemed to be enjoying the whole scene tremendously. Inwardly, though, she was seething at Edgar. If the author decides to do this scene again because of that screwup, I'm going to beat Edgar to a pulp.
The commandos tied Kikoken up again, securing her hands behind her back. Vega strode over to her and whispered in his exotic Spanish accent. "Come, my dear, it will not be as difficult as you believe." Kikoken closed her eyes. A small part of her was attracted to the gorgeous man, but her body screamed with suppressed revulsion when Vega leaned over and planted a quick kiss on her cheeks. I specifically asked him to take this part out in the last revision. Who kept this in the script?! Face burning, Kikoken felt an almost uncontrollable urge to show Vega the full force of her mastery over water. Edgar, for his part, was straining hard against the ropes and struggling to get his hands on Vega.
Everybody looked up when a mysterious wind began to blow through the room. Kikoken's eyes automatically fixed on the doors, but they were tightly closed. And the wind was certainly not coming from above; instead, it seemed to circle around the room, growing stronger and stronger with each repetition until even Vega had to struggle to stay on his feet. Kikoken noticed a tangible wave of fear spreading through the commandos; she herself felt ill at ease. Only Edgar seemed to remain calm in the midst of the storm. As the wind strengthened, it gradually started to become material, darkening out the incandescent light bulbs. Now at hurricane level strength - more than half the commandos had been blown over already, and Vega was shouting something incoherent - the wind whirled around the center of the room and began to collect there. The center darkened into near opaqueness, but Kikoken's sharp eyes made out a human form gathering itself together in the middle. Glancing at Edgar, she caught him mouthing some words at her: I told you Chan loves dramatic entrances.
In a moment, all sound instantly died out and left the room dead quiet, the wind stopping in an instant. Vega made a few ineffective swipes at the shape in the center of the room. Kikoken concluded that the commandos were positively spooked at this point, many of them glancing longingly at the entrance to the dojo. Then, in the deadness of the air, a single question was whispered. Sou desu ka?
The commandos screamed as the air suddenly turned lethal, instantly changing from stillness into a razor-sharp whirlwind that tore flesh from bones. A massive spray of blood ensued as they banged frantically and ineffectively against the glass; the wind took them off their feet and began to shear them apart. Kikoken shut her eyes, but after a moment realized that the air was curving around Edgar and herself. Vega, too, seemed unaffected. The whirlwind, now crimson, raged violently in the center of the room; suddenly, both doors burst open and the wind rushed out, taking the mutilated bodies of the commandos with it. As the darkness dispersed, a lone figure remained where the storm had centered and Kikoken had her first impression of Chan Yoruyamatiha.
To her surprise, Chan was Caucasian. She measured five-eight, making her taller than Kikoken, though not by much. Underneath her fancy yellow/black robe she seemed slender and small. As Kikoken's eyes focused more, she saw that Chan wore a black undershirt, black pants, a gold vest, and a dark yellow tunic that came a little bit beneath the knees. Chan also had black fur-trimmed boots. She kept all of this in place with a unicolored black belt. Her eyes were deep black, and whereas Kikoken's hair was gold tinged with blue, Chan's was shoulder-length and midnight sable except for a pair of blonde bangs stylishly pulled down to the side of her head, perfectly emphasizing her oval face. She looked a couple of years older than fifteen.
Vega, much taken aback, could only step backwards in alarm, claw raised defensively. "Wha -?"
Edgar grinned; Chan fixed her eyes on Vega and Kikoken inwardly shivered. She'd seen career assassins with gentler eyes than the kind that Chan was turning on Vega. Chan snapped her fingers; a powerful wind came out of nowhere and instantly had Vega suspended in the air, legs dangling a foot off the floor. That same wind quietly sliced through the bonds confining Edgar and Kikoken. Rubbing his wrists together, Edgar checked his cards. Untouched.
Chan glared at Vega. "I don't know who you are. But I'm in a good mood, so I'll let you weep or quiver -"
"Spare me, I can't believe I'm hearing this," Vega groaned. Kikoken facefaulted.
"What?" Chan demanded, carelessly dropping Vega to the floor. He landed with a thud and a muffled oath.
"Um, Chan," Edgar ventured, "according to the author's script, that line is supposed to be 'I'm in a good mood, so I'll let you keep your liver.' Do it again."
"Oh, right. Sorry, Vega." Chan lifted her left forearm and the ghost wind hung Vega in the air before he could voice his protest. "Okay, the line was ... right - I don't know who you are. I'm in a good mood, so I'll let you keep your liver. But I will give you something to remember me by." Chan closed her eyes; before Vega could protest, she pointed right. The Spanish matador went flying on a ghostly gale, ramming into the wall of the dojo. Impassive, Chan then pointed left and Vega went flying in the opposite direction, banging headfirst into the left wall. Still unmoved, Chan pointed in various directions and Vega tumbled past her, shouting as he did so. "Chan! This - isn't in - the script!"
Chan's eyes snapped open and Vega screeched to a halt, halfway to Edgar's floor. "I know," Chan replied softly. "I lied when I said that I don't know you - of course I do, and script be damned! I've always wanted to do this, and now that I have the chance ..." Vega was about to say something else, but Chan introduced him to the ceiling. "Oh, cheer up, Vega, if the author doesn't include this in the story, at least we can laugh about it later when we watch the bloopers edition of Colliding Worlds." So saying, Chan opened her fist and Vega dropped from the ceiling like a brick, landing hard at her feet.
"I'm gonna shpeak wisth my agenth about thish," Vega threatened. He abruptly shut his mouth when a wild wind blew from behind him, fanning out Chan's hair and clothes in a manner that made her look like a vengeful Greek goddess. Deciding that wisdom was the better part of valor, Vega scrambled from the dojo, his face and arms black with bruises.
"Hey, wasn't he a Shadowlaw assassin?" Edgar asked.
"Um, we're not supposed to know that, Edgar," Kikoken replied. "The script -"
"Forget the script, we screwed up this scene already." Edgar paused for a moment. "But where are my manners? Kikoken, this is Chan Yoruyamatiha; Chan, this is Kikoken." The two women shook hands cordially. "Although, Chan isn't her real name, it's actually -"
"Ah, shut up, Edgar!" Chan leaped at Edgar; he caught her and they tumbled onto the mats, scuffling playfully. "Never ..." - thwack! - "... ever ..." - slap! - "... say my real name ..." Edgar blocked another slap and righted himself. Chan got up by vanishing into a wind for a moment, then reforming herself in a standing position. "So ... were you impressed?" Chan asked Kikoken.
"Definitely," Kikoken replied. "Chan, you have such a flair for dramatic entrances."
Chan looked down modestly. "It's nothing. I did enjoy owning Vega, though."
"Pwn," Edgar corrected. "It's pwn. Get your geekspeak straight, Chan."
"What's the difference?" Kikoken asked.
Chan rolled her eyes. "There is no difference, not unless you ask Edgar. He says that 'own' is just own, while 'pwn' stands for 'power own,' which is more painful than mere own." She paused. "Which, when you think about it, is more appropriate when you think of what I did to Vega. That was fun!"
Edgar sighed. "I never understood you two. You both have such great powers, why not use them to fight for justice?"
Chan turned to Kikoken in a professionally curious manner. "Oh, so you're also one of the Lian, Kikoken? Which element do you control?"
"Water. Chan, I have to say, I admire your precision with the wind."
Chan dismissed the comment with a wave of her hand. "Thank you, but I'm sure you're no less skilled, Kikoken. Poor Edgar, having to sit there listening to us gossip! Did you inherit your power from your parents, or were you part of the ritual, like me?"
Kikoken looked down. After a suddenly tense silence, Chan quietly ventured, "Did I say something wrong?"
Edgar glanced at Kikoken and then at Chan before giving the explanation. "Kikoken doesn't know her true family. The people she's living with right now adopted her when she was twelve. But her memory doesn't go back any further than that - it's like a blank slate where her earliest years should be. Kikoken is rather sensitive about this."
"I'm sorry."
Kikoken shook her head slowly. "No, it's not your fault. Edgar, you wanted us to meet. Is there something specific you had in mind?"
"Yeah." Edgar rifled through his deck of cards. "I heard that both of you were participating in the World Collision tournament - despite my best efforts to dissuade you two - so I figured -"
"Yes," Kikoken said.
"Definitely," Chan agreed. Perhaps she might even meet him there.
"Then it's settled. Great! But remember, I don't want the two of you messing around, okay? The people we faced here tonight were poor fighters by any standard - well, Vega wasn't - but you get the idea. At the tournament you can expect to see some of the best warriors show up from around the world."
Chan laughed. "Don't sound so gloomy, Edgar! No matter how strong, all I have to do is breathe sharply and they'll be blown away."
"I'm particularly worried about you, Chan," Edgar replied. "You're not old enough to have faced some real challengers, so, like any undefeated fighter, you're very overconfident. Don't get me wrong, Chan, I'm much better than you, but there was this one time - you remember, Kikoken?"
Kikoken grimaced. "I don't think I'll ever forget. It was a year ago - Edgar and Mason Storm and I ran straight into Dadallent."
"Oh no!" Chan gasped.
"Exactly. The three of us barely got away - Edgar and Mason both ended up in the hospital for a month. Me, I can heal instantly, but I'd lost a lot of vitality in that attack, too. Edgar used up half a deck and still we were all thrashed." Kikoken grimaced again. Being able to summon a Blue-Eyes in the middle of a fight was incredible enough, except that Dadallent had taken it apart and the backlash of Edgar's ill-advised attack had knocked him out. "Edgar, why didn't you just use one of those God cards?"
"I didn't think he was that strong, but he was - stronger, perhaps, than even Obelisk the warrior - and besides, I can't use my power the way you two use yours. I have to obey the rules of the game. Otherwise, my deck loses its power. That's why I never rely too heavily on it, and instead use my hand combat skills when I can. Chan, however, has always refused to learn some basic self-defense that might serve her well. Instead, she fights cheap and dirty with the wind."
"I do not!"
"Of course you do. Just like Goenitz - cut your opponent apart without ever touching him." A small smile hovered around Edgar's mouth. "Cyclone wall, cyclone wall, cyclone wall - finally get close - and your efforts are rewarded by a Hurricane Chan right in the face. Chan, you fight so cheap that even Wal-Mart couldn't make a profit from selling you."
"Why you -!" Then Chan realized that Edgar was simply teasing her as he exploded in laughter. "Edgar! That isn't funny!" She tried to slap him and he gamely dodged it.
"I cannot believe that I'm seeing this," Kikoken declared. "Edgar, you're almost twice her age! Quit flirting around."
"Edgar hits on me all the time," Chan noted. "If he'd be more subtle, he might actually get somewhere."
Edgar grinned evilly. "You said you needed a dance partner -"
"Yeah, but not you. The school that I'm attending has a ball coming up in five days. It's just that none of the guys there wants to go out with the too-tall American foreigner. I'm not going to name names, since I don't want to embarrass Mitsukake!" Seriously, just what did he see in that Sakura girl? "Sometimes I really wonder why I chose to study abroad." Chan sighed. "Well, I should be leaving. The family hosting me is going to wonder if I don't return soon."
"Wait!" Kikoken called. "You mean that -"
"Yeah, Kikoken, I can cross the globe in a mere minute or two." A wind came out of nowhere and blew on all three of them; Chan tilted her head back and enjoyed the sensation of the wind on her face. Always the wind had been her faithful servant - quiet and calm as it suited her, or violent and merciless, again dependent on her mood. Now she called it again. "Arigato, Edgar, Kikoken, it was a pleasure meeting you both. Ja ne."
"Ja ne is my line, Chan," Edgar said, "you can't have it."
"Ri-ight. Well, ja ne!" With that, Chan vanished into thin air and the wind subsided.
"So, Edgar -"
Edgar chuckled. "You gave your word. I wouldn't worry. Chan might appear irresponsible or power-drunk at times, but she's quite mature and will easily understand once she enters the tournament. I look forward to seeing both of you there. C'mon, let's go back to the gym. We have to do this whole scene again."
Los Angeles, USA
Two days have passed
Riiiiiiiiing.
"Hello, Edwards Air Force base, how can I help you?"
"I'd like to speak with First Lieutenant Charlie, if possible. Tell him that Mason Storm called."
"Oh hey, Storm, this is Scott Wagner."
"Scott, you rogue, why didn't you say so sooner?" On his side of the phone, Mason Storm smiled wryly. He was a tall man at six-two, strongly built, and about thirty years old. His hair was black with white strands scattered about it, his eyes deep brown. Mason leaned into his chair; he was currently working a desk job with the Los Angeles Police Department and held the rank of Major. "Things hectic on your side, Scott? The police department here has been running its legs into the ground."
"I'm not surprised," the younger man replied. Scott Kurt Wagner, at nineteen years of age, was an Air Force recruit and unofficially a member of the American Vigilantes. He had sandy hair, ice-blue eyes, and enjoyed immense popularity amongst the young ladies of the armed forces. Like all the vigilantes, he wore a pair of glasses despite his perfect vision. It was their trademark, really. "Did you get in touch with Delta Red yet, Mason? Cammy White swears that this 'M' fellow we've been hearing so much about is M. Bison. Charlie and Guile don't think so, considering that Bison is - well, supposed to be dead, though he isn't - but we've no better lead. Some of the Shadowlaw bases are bustling with activity. What do you think? ... Hello? Mason, you still there?"
"Yeah, but hold up a moment, Scott. Something just occurred to me. Bison's dead - Guile took him down in the second World Warrior tournament. We know that for certain."
"Uh-huh."
"But Charlie killed himself taking Bison down a few years before that. You were too young to remember, but I know. So ... how come Charlie's alive now?"
Scott, on his end of the line, simply laughed. "I take it you haven't gotten the news, Mason. The World Collision tournament is a dream match. Don't ask me how, but a lot of dead folk have been resurrecting and coming back - I think they're all participating in the match. You can imagine how surprised Guile was when Lieutenant Charlie sauntered into the room. But, if anyone asks, I didn't tell you this. It's not supposed to be public information yet. I got the tidbit from a source who wants to remain anonymous." Scott frowned. "That's the good news. The bad news is that the bad guys have also revived. Bison's back and badder than ever. Interpol got a tip just a few hours ago - they think that Shadowlaw is reconstructing the Psycho Drive. Where, we don't know ... Mason, are you okay?"
Mason suppressed a scream of fury. Bison - the man who murdered my family in front of my eyes. Still not dead?! "Y - yeah, I'm okay, Scott. Or at least, I will be once I pound Bison into the dirt. LAPD has no leads on who 'M' might be, but now that I have your news, I'll certainly keep it in mind. Anyway, the boss wanted me to ask Charlie about the World Collision tournament, but you seem to be in the know. What do the American Vigilantes know about it?"
Scott frowned. "That's the problem. Despite all the commercials on TV and the radio, we still don't know much. Everyone knows about the World Collision tournament, even those isolated Tibetian monks. What we know for certain is that the tournament is being hosted by 'M' and that whoever this 'M' is has promised that the tournament will hold quite a number of surprises. It's supposed to be a global event, fights held in various places around the world. Charlie, Guile, and I are all participating and I heard that you'd be there, too. Find some friends yet?"
"No, but I'm sure that I can round up a couple. Considering what we're up against, we'll need all the help we can get. I heard that the tournament's really well-advertised. Oh, yeah, Scott, before I forget - two nights ago, Edgar, Kikoken, and a friend of theirs were attacked by Shadowlaw commandos. Drove 'em off, though, and I heard that porcelain face took quite a few scars from that fight."
A string of creative syllables emerged from Wagner's side of the phone. "Pardon my French, Mason. Shadowlaw agents, huh? Still, it's good to hear that Vega got the rough end of the pineapple. Mason, I'm sorry I can't be of more help to you. I have heard that both Demitri Maximoff and Donovan Baine intend to participate in the tournament, however - at least, that's what Interpol heard, and Chun-Li passed the tip along. I don't know just how well this tournament's been advertised, but I'd say pretty darn well considering that Darkstalkers from Makai are participating. You may want to call the IDC next. Their intelligence network is second to none and they'll probably know more."
"I'll try. Thanks for the information, Scott." Which, Mason reflected as he hung up, was actually a lot more than he'd been expecting. He dialed another number; after two short rings, someone picked up and greeted him. "Hi, Samantha, this is Mason Storm."
"Hello, Mason. I was hoping that you'd call. Can I help you?" Cell-phone in hand, Samantha McGrath tossed her blonde hair behind her back. She was the leader of the IDC's ultra-elite Phantom strike force. At thirty-two years of age, she still had a supermodel's stunning good looks as well as the Olympic-class fitness brought on by years of the IDC's training. Her face was small and delicate, with well-defined features, full lips, and sparkling green eyes. She laid her rifle to one side and concentrated on the conversation.
"Yeah, I was hoping you'd know more than I do about the World Collision tournament. Any new leads on who 'M' might be?"
"Well, no. You know that Ernest has been going around the world tracking down various leads, but so far he hasn't found anything. Mason, we're about out of clues. Nobody seems to know - not Akuma, not Demitri, not even Gill. I'm sorry but I can't help you. I suppose we'll find out at the tournament, no?"
"That's what I'm afraid of," Mason replied. "Remember the second World Warrior tournament? That was Bison's doing, gathering all his enemies into one place where he intended to finish them off. And nobody knew that it was Bison, of all people, who was hosting the tournament. I'll tell you, it gave me quite a shock when I found out. I think we're seeing this sort of thing happen again. Delta Red believes that Bison's behind this tournament and we have no better ideas."
"Well, our communications intercepts seem to indicate the exact opposite, Mason," Samantha informed him. "We still have some of Shadowlaw's equipment bugged. It seems that even the high lords of Shadowlaw have no idea who's behind the tournament. The funny thing is, no one knows. You'd think that with a tournament of this size, the logistics would point back to someone, but nope. I'm sorry, but we have no clue. Don't hang up yet, though. I heard about your friend Kikoken two days ago. We intercepted something yesterday that I'm sure she'll be most interested in."
"Okay, let's hear it."
"Alright, I'll play it now and e-mail you a transcript, and you can pass it along to her." Samantha hooked her cell-phone into a memory card and let the conversation play out. Basically, it was a dialogue between Vega and Bison. "But, Mason - technically, you're not supposed to hear this, okay? I'm breaking a few rules here. According to the script, we're supposed to talk more about the World Collision tournament. I just thought that this was more interesting. If the author finds out, he'll delete me for sure. So don't say anything."
"Not a word," Mason promised, and the recording began to play.
"Vega, your pride seems ... bruised." A hint of malicious amusement in Bison's voice.
"My lord, we were ambushed." A light Spanish accent, Vega pleading his innocence.
"I do not tolerate failure." Bison's voice sounded more ominous this time. Then a sigh. "Very well, Vega, you are forgiven. Do get up, groveling does not suit you. And cheer up, those bruises won't be permanent. In fact, I think they suit your girly face quite well." A deep chuckle. After a long silence, Bison continued. "The Lian - humans who can control the elements - who would have thought that they actually existed? And two of them in the same place, no less. Vega, next time, I expect your task to be carried out swiftly and efficiently."
"My lord ... I am not a kidnapper." Just a hint of indignation.
"I don't recall asking for your opinion, Vega." A small pause, and then Bison's inflection changed slightly, indicating that he was thinking. "I want both of the Lian, Kikoken and this Chan girl. As for Kikoken, once I've drained her of her power, you may have her - if you wish, a bit of Psycho power will make her your mind slave. Chan, though, is mine. I have better uses for her than to make her your plaything. I think that both of them would make excellent batteries for the Psycho Drive - don't you agree?"
"My lord, doing this could kill both of them."
"So what?" Bison asked, amused and sneering at the Spaniard. "Since when did you start caring, Vega? All you want is to be surrounded by beauty - that Kikoken girl should satisfy you quite well, then. I'm certain that you won't complain. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have more urgent matters to supervise than looking at your ugly face." There was the sound of a door opening and shutting.
A moment later, Vega hurled something against the wall and it hit with a metallic clang. "Ugly face," he fumed, "Bison, you're just ... just ... jealous! ... is all!" A string of Spanish curses followed, then Vega shouted a war cry and made some swipes at the air. "First you try to kidnap Ryu, then you betray Cammy, and now you want to ruin the lives of more innocents!" he grounded out through clenched teeth. "As if the Dolls hadn't been enough! How many more lives must you destroy before you realize what you are!" A sigh, and then in a calmer voice, Vega reasoned with himself. "I should assassinate him tonight - but, if I fail, my life is forfeit. All I can do is try to protect the girls if they are kidnapped. Bison will make his move before the tournament, no doubt of that. He isn't man enough to fight by his own strength and has to rely on the Psycho Drive instead." Vega's voice dripped with contempt. "But Bison is becoming suspicious - if I try to sabotage the Psycho Drive again, he'll catch me for certain. Ah, Vega, you coward ... too afraid to risk your own neck for what you know is right." He paused and sniffled. "I ... I'm ... I'm so ashamed of myself!" And with that, he wept openly.
"So, what do you think?" Samantha asked.
Mason whistled. "I don't know how your operatives managed to get hold of this one, but I'll contact Edgar and Kikoken immediately. Edgar can probably get in touch with Chan. Thanks for bringing this to my attention, Samantha; I owe you one. Is there anything else I can do for you, anything at all?"
"Think nothing of it. Yesterday we already assigned two BEAT teams, one to watch over Edgar and Kikoken, the other to shadow Chan. But don't tell them what we did. The BEATs have orders to engage any Shadowlaw special forces that try to make a move. Edgar and his friends will be safe, at least for now. What I'm more worried about is the tournament. Anything could happen; Interpol feels the same way. The fact is, we know too little and we're up against too many enemies, we can't keep track of all of them at the same time. I just wish that the author would tell us who 'M' is."
Author's Notes: I don't own any of the Capcom characters, nor do I claim to. All original characters are used with the permission of their respective creators. Thanks, everybody! (But I took artistic license with the character if you didn't provide me some specs. So no complaining, you had your chances!) English names are used: Charlie instead of Nash, Akuma instead of Gouki, Balrog is the boxer, Vega is the Spaniard, and Bison is the lord of Shadowlaw. The only exception is to this rule is Sodom instead of Katana.
Chan Yoruyamatiha: You liked it, huh? Anyway, here's the next chapter, posted before you decide to shear me apart or something like that. I hope you enjoy it, just don't mind some of, ah, Edgar's comments. And McGrath's cute connection? I've never thought of any connection with Akuma being cute. I'll have you know, storylinewise, McGrath is very badass. See, haggling does get results! (Not that I'm implying anything ...)
Kikoken: (Sweats nervously) Um, will you still like it after this chapter?
C. Nash: The Rugal connection was one that I had in mind when I designed this story. Occasionally, I'll be dropping hints and clues to help the reader identify M., although I expect very few people to find out. Canon-wise, this story occurs after SF3, but I've made many special exceptions for it.
Blue-Eyes Knight: And Mason is in the story! As are you ... unfortunately, you have been assigned the morally downtrodden task of looking after Kikoken and Chan. What's with all these people asking me for updates, anyway?
DeNice: Got your mail just tonight. Thanks, buddy! Rest assured that I have some very big plans for ... well, just about everyone in this fic, really. (Glances nervously at Chan.) Um, that's really all I can say without giving away too much. But if you think I'm going to up and tell you who M. is, you'd better think again ...
Atlanta, USA
One month has passed
"So, what's all this about, Edgar?" Kikoken asked. Slinging a duffel bag over her shoulder, Kikoken slid into step alongside Edgar. She was exactly five and a half feet tall, slim and pretty, but a discerning eye could easily identify the sleek, toned muscles that came from years of training. She wore a loose, comfortable set of blue exercise pants, a drying black T-shirt, and a pair of sneakers from some company which Edgar had never heard of. Kikoken herself had flaxen-colored hair that went down to the small of her back, but it was tinged with streaks of natural, brilliant blue. Her eyes shone a bright, icy azure.
Edgar, for his part, wore loose denim jeans, a gray undershirt, and a vest one size too small in order to accentuate his muscular frame. He was taller than Kikoken by half a foot. Underneath the jeans were traditional Chinese shoes. His hair was brown and cropped close to his skull, his eyes a dark brown hue. He might have been intimidating had it not been for the smile that played about his lips and the fact that his eyes fairly gleamed with merriment or mischief. Laughing and smiling, Edgar and Kikoken jaunted down the street in lockstep. It was past midnight, but the heart of Atlanta gleamed brightly thanks to various streetlamps and the headlights of the ever-present, ubiquitous car.
"Well, since you said that you were participating in the World Collision tournament, I thought you might want to meet a friend of mine," Edgar said. He, too, had made no secret of the fact that he was joining in the competition. A media blitz had already begun and the phrase "World Collision" was on everyone's lips. The fact that one was only allowed to join if invited, however, had drawn protests from all quarters. Two days ago, Edgar had read an article in a prestigious newspaper speculating on the identity of "M." He himself was quite curious.
"A friend of yours?"
"Yes, she was also invited and jumped at the opportunity. I tried to talk her out of it, but when she gets an idea ..." Edgar shrugged, his movement saying more than his words. "She's - let's see, fifteen this year - and can handle herself in a scrap well enough, but at a level of this tournament ..." Edgar himself was twenty-five, Kikoken nineteen. "She's currently an exchange student studying in Japan, but she agreed to come here tonight on my invitation. Her name is Chan Yoruyamatiha and she loves dramatic entrances. I think even you will be impressed."
"You know how much it takes to impress me, Edgar?" Kikoken queried. "Where are we going?"
"Shortcut back to my dojo," Edgar replied. "Anyway, where was I ... oh, yes, Kikoken, I've been meaning to ask if you had a clue as to the identity of M." It was actually a random thought designed to keep up the flow of the conversation.
She was about to shrug before remembering that she was carrying a duffel bag, so Kikoken settled with a mere shake of the head. They were wandering through a dark portion of the city that spanned a number of back alleys. A highly trained part of Edgar's mind noted every shape and shadow, mentally cataloguing the situation with every step. Despite his size, his tread made less sound than Kikoken's. Once they were accosted by a number of cockroaches, each one the size of a half-dollar coin. Edgar ignored them, Kikoken made a face but said nothing.
Edgar's dojo was a nondescript building wedged between a pair of restaurants. The storefront was about twenty-five feet wide and big words in the windows proclaimed "Edgar's School of Ninjutsu." A more accurate phrase might've been "Edgar's School of Butt-Kick." To Kikoken's knowledge, Edgar was well-known for producing fighters more than capable of handling themselves against multiple opponents - if they endured the grueling training, that is. Usually only half a dozen students graduated any given year. The school was always hovering on the edge of bankruptcy without actually folding. At twenty-five years of age, Edgar was easily the youngest officially recognized Ninjutsu teacher.
Edgar opened the doors and consulted his watch simultaneously, noting the condition of both. "We're about ten minutes early. Can I get you some tea, Kikoken? Or maybe you'd like to have a game of cards?" She politely declined both. When Edgar disappeared around the back to sort through an extra deck of cards he'd received in the mail, Kikoken got her first good look at the dojo.
It was a plain, simple room, hardly worth noticing, if it weren't for the fact that it was actually quite a large room - enormous in the heart of Atlanta. The plaster had begun to peel off the walls in multiple places, small cracks had appeared, and the mats that Edgar used looked a dozen years old. The mats were tan, the walls a dirty white, and the entire dojo looked badly run down. A few old-fashioned lightbulbs completed the scene. Kikoken brushed a strand of blue/gold hair out of her eyes as Edgar returned to the room, sorting through a deck of cards.
Kikoken smiled to herself. Though she had never trained under Edgar - her instructor was an old Karate master who had died years ago - Kikoken knew Edgar very well. They'd attended the same school back in the old days and Edgar was the one who always stood up for any person who happened to be the target of a random bullying attempt. It was one such situation that had convinced Kikoken to learn rudimentary self-defense; she couldn't always rely on innate abilities. Edgar, on the other hand, despite the fact that he was a master of Ninjutsu, had built his fighting style around the power of his playing cards. Kikoken caught him slipping an Imperial Decree and a Blue-Eyes White Dragon into his main deck. Stars above, how many of those dragons did he have, anyway?
"Enough to earn the title 'Blue-Eyes Knight' from my students," Edgar replied with a wink. Kikoken belatedly realized that she'd thought aloud. He held up another card, this one something that Kikoken couldn't recognize. "I won this at the national tournament a few weeks ago," Edgar explained. "It's Ra, last and arguably deadliest of the God cards. Costs a lot to play, though, which is why I hardly ever use it."
Kikoken arched an eyebrow in a skeptical fashion. "That card? Edgar, it has a bunch of question marks for its attack and defense power. How could that be so powerful?"
"It's attack and defense are equal to the cards sacrificed to play it," Edgar explained. "And when you consider how many cards have to be tributed in order to bring Ra into play - well, you get the idea. It's kinda hard to keep up a strong deck when you're sacrificing so many good cards." He disappeared into the back room again, then emerged without his deck. Edgar looked around the room, glanced at his watch. "Another three minutes. Well, until Chan gets here - how's the family, Kikoken?"
"Same as always."
"And how's school -" Edgar abruptly cut off, tensed, and whispered, "Did you hear that?" Kikoken nodded.
A moment later, the ceiling tiles caved in and four black ropes dropped down. Before Edgar or Kikoken could react, four black-suited commandos slid into the room on the ropes, each one armed with brass knuckles and stun prods. Their would-be victims moved, Edgar going high and Kikoken low. Another four commandos dropped in; from the storefront, the doors flew open and more commandos piled into the room. There was no time at all to talk before the fight degenerated into a free-for-all.
Each commando wore a ski mask and a black fighting suit. Edgar slipped beneath a punch and brought his fist up, hard, glancing as he did so at the back room. Too many commandos between him and it, though; without his deck, his fighting power was severely compromised. On the other side, Kikoken fended off a jab but was kicked in the shins. Edgar winced, but in sympathy for the commandos - in a situation like this, a pissed Kikoken was a virtual death warrant. Edgar blocked another jab and dropped on his back, pulling his opponent over his head and landing him neckfirst into the mat in a classic circle throw. Then the room suddenly shone with a strange bluish light for an instant. Edgar instinctively ducked; a moment later, Kikoken flung her right hand out, a razor-sharp blade of water materializing from her palms and slicing cleanly into a commando's body, where it splashed and drenched his whole uniform. Kikoken followed the attack with her left hand, flinging a meter-high wave of water through the entire room. A series of inventive curses informed both of them that the stun prods, now wet, had been turned against their users.
Coast clear, Edgar sprinted for the back room, reappearing a moment later with his Yu-Gi-Oh card deck in his vest pocket. He hastily drew a card, glanced at it, then glanced at the commandos regrouping in the front of the dojo, and made his decision. A moment later, the card disappeared in a puff of smoke and a large, rectangularly shaped portion of the floor began to glow. Edgar braced himself for the attack to come.
Had any of the commandos known the rules of the game, they surely would not have tried to cross the patch of glowing light. One of them did; a moment later, the glowing rectangle erupted in a blaze of color, a gigantic mouth appearing beneath the man. With a quick scream abruptly cut short, the commando was swallowed whole and a huge insect sprang up, jaws slavering in anticipation. Once again surprised, the commandos shouted, cursed, and tripped over each other in their haste to get away. Edgar grinned. "How do you like my Man-Eating Bug? Automatically devours an opponent when activated, fools."
"Any bug can be crushed," a new voice interrupted. Edgar and Kikoken both spun and looked upwards; a moment later, a masked man with a wickedly gleaming claw on one hand dove down from the ceiling and impaled the bug on his claw. He elegantly backflipped, avoiding both the bug's corpse and Kikoken's abortive attempt at nailing him with a burst of water. Edgar's bug disappeared in a spray of multicolored light, stunning him. The commandos charged again; before Edgar could pull out another card or recover from his shock, the masked man had a claw to his throat. Kikoken, rushing over to help, was waylaid by the commandos and instantly stunned into submission. A minute later, both of them were securely tied.
The mysterious man removed his mask, revealing a beautiful, refined face. Unlike the commandos, he wore a silk shirt and silk pants, tied with a long red sash around his waist. His hair was brown, every strand tucked perfectly in place. He was an inch over six feet tall, but most disturbing was something about his eyes and manner that screamed insanity. He bowed elaborately to Edgar and Kikoken. "Forgive my rudeness. My name is Vega."
"The famous matador?" Kikoken asked.
"None other, beautiful lady," Vega answered. He shifted his gaze to her and Kikoken wished that she'd never spoken up. "Now, if you'll be so kind as to come back with me, my boss has taken interest in you."
"I don't know who you work for, but no thanks. I'm not one of your showgirls." To emphasize her point, Kikoken transformed into a puddle of water, instantly slipping out of the confining ropes and reforming herself behind Edgar. Unfortunately, she had been preempted by Vega and instantly felt a claw on her throat. The commandos had a number of stun prods all over Edgar. "You are most remarkable, my dear," Vega said conversationally, "but try that stunt again and your friend will have the shock of his life."
"Don't listen to him, Kikoken," Edgar spat through gritted teeth. "Get out of here, now!"
Vega rapped him on the head. "Quiet, fool. You don't have a line at this point and the script says that neither of you are supposed to escape."
"Oh, right," Edgar grimaced. "Sorry, Vega, I forgot about that. Go on."
Vega put a hand to his chin, stroking thoughtfully. "Um, where were we ...? Oh, yes! Anyway, Kikoken, my boss wishes to see you. So, if you'll quietly come with me, we can avoid further ... unpleasantries." Heartbroken, Kikoken glanced despairingly at Edgar, then at Vega, who seemed to be enjoying the whole scene tremendously. Inwardly, though, she was seething at Edgar. If the author decides to do this scene again because of that screwup, I'm going to beat Edgar to a pulp.
The commandos tied Kikoken up again, securing her hands behind her back. Vega strode over to her and whispered in his exotic Spanish accent. "Come, my dear, it will not be as difficult as you believe." Kikoken closed her eyes. A small part of her was attracted to the gorgeous man, but her body screamed with suppressed revulsion when Vega leaned over and planted a quick kiss on her cheeks. I specifically asked him to take this part out in the last revision. Who kept this in the script?! Face burning, Kikoken felt an almost uncontrollable urge to show Vega the full force of her mastery over water. Edgar, for his part, was straining hard against the ropes and struggling to get his hands on Vega.
Everybody looked up when a mysterious wind began to blow through the room. Kikoken's eyes automatically fixed on the doors, but they were tightly closed. And the wind was certainly not coming from above; instead, it seemed to circle around the room, growing stronger and stronger with each repetition until even Vega had to struggle to stay on his feet. Kikoken noticed a tangible wave of fear spreading through the commandos; she herself felt ill at ease. Only Edgar seemed to remain calm in the midst of the storm. As the wind strengthened, it gradually started to become material, darkening out the incandescent light bulbs. Now at hurricane level strength - more than half the commandos had been blown over already, and Vega was shouting something incoherent - the wind whirled around the center of the room and began to collect there. The center darkened into near opaqueness, but Kikoken's sharp eyes made out a human form gathering itself together in the middle. Glancing at Edgar, she caught him mouthing some words at her: I told you Chan loves dramatic entrances.
In a moment, all sound instantly died out and left the room dead quiet, the wind stopping in an instant. Vega made a few ineffective swipes at the shape in the center of the room. Kikoken concluded that the commandos were positively spooked at this point, many of them glancing longingly at the entrance to the dojo. Then, in the deadness of the air, a single question was whispered. Sou desu ka?
The commandos screamed as the air suddenly turned lethal, instantly changing from stillness into a razor-sharp whirlwind that tore flesh from bones. A massive spray of blood ensued as they banged frantically and ineffectively against the glass; the wind took them off their feet and began to shear them apart. Kikoken shut her eyes, but after a moment realized that the air was curving around Edgar and herself. Vega, too, seemed unaffected. The whirlwind, now crimson, raged violently in the center of the room; suddenly, both doors burst open and the wind rushed out, taking the mutilated bodies of the commandos with it. As the darkness dispersed, a lone figure remained where the storm had centered and Kikoken had her first impression of Chan Yoruyamatiha.
To her surprise, Chan was Caucasian. She measured five-eight, making her taller than Kikoken, though not by much. Underneath her fancy yellow/black robe she seemed slender and small. As Kikoken's eyes focused more, she saw that Chan wore a black undershirt, black pants, a gold vest, and a dark yellow tunic that came a little bit beneath the knees. Chan also had black fur-trimmed boots. She kept all of this in place with a unicolored black belt. Her eyes were deep black, and whereas Kikoken's hair was gold tinged with blue, Chan's was shoulder-length and midnight sable except for a pair of blonde bangs stylishly pulled down to the side of her head, perfectly emphasizing her oval face. She looked a couple of years older than fifteen.
Vega, much taken aback, could only step backwards in alarm, claw raised defensively. "Wha -?"
Edgar grinned; Chan fixed her eyes on Vega and Kikoken inwardly shivered. She'd seen career assassins with gentler eyes than the kind that Chan was turning on Vega. Chan snapped her fingers; a powerful wind came out of nowhere and instantly had Vega suspended in the air, legs dangling a foot off the floor. That same wind quietly sliced through the bonds confining Edgar and Kikoken. Rubbing his wrists together, Edgar checked his cards. Untouched.
Chan glared at Vega. "I don't know who you are. But I'm in a good mood, so I'll let you weep or quiver -"
"Spare me, I can't believe I'm hearing this," Vega groaned. Kikoken facefaulted.
"What?" Chan demanded, carelessly dropping Vega to the floor. He landed with a thud and a muffled oath.
"Um, Chan," Edgar ventured, "according to the author's script, that line is supposed to be 'I'm in a good mood, so I'll let you keep your liver.' Do it again."
"Oh, right. Sorry, Vega." Chan lifted her left forearm and the ghost wind hung Vega in the air before he could voice his protest. "Okay, the line was ... right - I don't know who you are. I'm in a good mood, so I'll let you keep your liver. But I will give you something to remember me by." Chan closed her eyes; before Vega could protest, she pointed right. The Spanish matador went flying on a ghostly gale, ramming into the wall of the dojo. Impassive, Chan then pointed left and Vega went flying in the opposite direction, banging headfirst into the left wall. Still unmoved, Chan pointed in various directions and Vega tumbled past her, shouting as he did so. "Chan! This - isn't in - the script!"
Chan's eyes snapped open and Vega screeched to a halt, halfway to Edgar's floor. "I know," Chan replied softly. "I lied when I said that I don't know you - of course I do, and script be damned! I've always wanted to do this, and now that I have the chance ..." Vega was about to say something else, but Chan introduced him to the ceiling. "Oh, cheer up, Vega, if the author doesn't include this in the story, at least we can laugh about it later when we watch the bloopers edition of Colliding Worlds." So saying, Chan opened her fist and Vega dropped from the ceiling like a brick, landing hard at her feet.
"I'm gonna shpeak wisth my agenth about thish," Vega threatened. He abruptly shut his mouth when a wild wind blew from behind him, fanning out Chan's hair and clothes in a manner that made her look like a vengeful Greek goddess. Deciding that wisdom was the better part of valor, Vega scrambled from the dojo, his face and arms black with bruises.
"Hey, wasn't he a Shadowlaw assassin?" Edgar asked.
"Um, we're not supposed to know that, Edgar," Kikoken replied. "The script -"
"Forget the script, we screwed up this scene already." Edgar paused for a moment. "But where are my manners? Kikoken, this is Chan Yoruyamatiha; Chan, this is Kikoken." The two women shook hands cordially. "Although, Chan isn't her real name, it's actually -"
"Ah, shut up, Edgar!" Chan leaped at Edgar; he caught her and they tumbled onto the mats, scuffling playfully. "Never ..." - thwack! - "... ever ..." - slap! - "... say my real name ..." Edgar blocked another slap and righted himself. Chan got up by vanishing into a wind for a moment, then reforming herself in a standing position. "So ... were you impressed?" Chan asked Kikoken.
"Definitely," Kikoken replied. "Chan, you have such a flair for dramatic entrances."
Chan looked down modestly. "It's nothing. I did enjoy owning Vega, though."
"Pwn," Edgar corrected. "It's pwn. Get your geekspeak straight, Chan."
"What's the difference?" Kikoken asked.
Chan rolled her eyes. "There is no difference, not unless you ask Edgar. He says that 'own' is just own, while 'pwn' stands for 'power own,' which is more painful than mere own." She paused. "Which, when you think about it, is more appropriate when you think of what I did to Vega. That was fun!"
Edgar sighed. "I never understood you two. You both have such great powers, why not use them to fight for justice?"
Chan turned to Kikoken in a professionally curious manner. "Oh, so you're also one of the Lian, Kikoken? Which element do you control?"
"Water. Chan, I have to say, I admire your precision with the wind."
Chan dismissed the comment with a wave of her hand. "Thank you, but I'm sure you're no less skilled, Kikoken. Poor Edgar, having to sit there listening to us gossip! Did you inherit your power from your parents, or were you part of the ritual, like me?"
Kikoken looked down. After a suddenly tense silence, Chan quietly ventured, "Did I say something wrong?"
Edgar glanced at Kikoken and then at Chan before giving the explanation. "Kikoken doesn't know her true family. The people she's living with right now adopted her when she was twelve. But her memory doesn't go back any further than that - it's like a blank slate where her earliest years should be. Kikoken is rather sensitive about this."
"I'm sorry."
Kikoken shook her head slowly. "No, it's not your fault. Edgar, you wanted us to meet. Is there something specific you had in mind?"
"Yeah." Edgar rifled through his deck of cards. "I heard that both of you were participating in the World Collision tournament - despite my best efforts to dissuade you two - so I figured -"
"Yes," Kikoken said.
"Definitely," Chan agreed. Perhaps she might even meet him there.
"Then it's settled. Great! But remember, I don't want the two of you messing around, okay? The people we faced here tonight were poor fighters by any standard - well, Vega wasn't - but you get the idea. At the tournament you can expect to see some of the best warriors show up from around the world."
Chan laughed. "Don't sound so gloomy, Edgar! No matter how strong, all I have to do is breathe sharply and they'll be blown away."
"I'm particularly worried about you, Chan," Edgar replied. "You're not old enough to have faced some real challengers, so, like any undefeated fighter, you're very overconfident. Don't get me wrong, Chan, I'm much better than you, but there was this one time - you remember, Kikoken?"
Kikoken grimaced. "I don't think I'll ever forget. It was a year ago - Edgar and Mason Storm and I ran straight into Dadallent."
"Oh no!" Chan gasped.
"Exactly. The three of us barely got away - Edgar and Mason both ended up in the hospital for a month. Me, I can heal instantly, but I'd lost a lot of vitality in that attack, too. Edgar used up half a deck and still we were all thrashed." Kikoken grimaced again. Being able to summon a Blue-Eyes in the middle of a fight was incredible enough, except that Dadallent had taken it apart and the backlash of Edgar's ill-advised attack had knocked him out. "Edgar, why didn't you just use one of those God cards?"
"I didn't think he was that strong, but he was - stronger, perhaps, than even Obelisk the warrior - and besides, I can't use my power the way you two use yours. I have to obey the rules of the game. Otherwise, my deck loses its power. That's why I never rely too heavily on it, and instead use my hand combat skills when I can. Chan, however, has always refused to learn some basic self-defense that might serve her well. Instead, she fights cheap and dirty with the wind."
"I do not!"
"Of course you do. Just like Goenitz - cut your opponent apart without ever touching him." A small smile hovered around Edgar's mouth. "Cyclone wall, cyclone wall, cyclone wall - finally get close - and your efforts are rewarded by a Hurricane Chan right in the face. Chan, you fight so cheap that even Wal-Mart couldn't make a profit from selling you."
"Why you -!" Then Chan realized that Edgar was simply teasing her as he exploded in laughter. "Edgar! That isn't funny!" She tried to slap him and he gamely dodged it.
"I cannot believe that I'm seeing this," Kikoken declared. "Edgar, you're almost twice her age! Quit flirting around."
"Edgar hits on me all the time," Chan noted. "If he'd be more subtle, he might actually get somewhere."
Edgar grinned evilly. "You said you needed a dance partner -"
"Yeah, but not you. The school that I'm attending has a ball coming up in five days. It's just that none of the guys there wants to go out with the too-tall American foreigner. I'm not going to name names, since I don't want to embarrass Mitsukake!" Seriously, just what did he see in that Sakura girl? "Sometimes I really wonder why I chose to study abroad." Chan sighed. "Well, I should be leaving. The family hosting me is going to wonder if I don't return soon."
"Wait!" Kikoken called. "You mean that -"
"Yeah, Kikoken, I can cross the globe in a mere minute or two." A wind came out of nowhere and blew on all three of them; Chan tilted her head back and enjoyed the sensation of the wind on her face. Always the wind had been her faithful servant - quiet and calm as it suited her, or violent and merciless, again dependent on her mood. Now she called it again. "Arigato, Edgar, Kikoken, it was a pleasure meeting you both. Ja ne."
"Ja ne is my line, Chan," Edgar said, "you can't have it."
"Ri-ight. Well, ja ne!" With that, Chan vanished into thin air and the wind subsided.
"So, Edgar -"
Edgar chuckled. "You gave your word. I wouldn't worry. Chan might appear irresponsible or power-drunk at times, but she's quite mature and will easily understand once she enters the tournament. I look forward to seeing both of you there. C'mon, let's go back to the gym. We have to do this whole scene again."
Los Angeles, USA
Two days have passed
Riiiiiiiiing.
"Hello, Edwards Air Force base, how can I help you?"
"I'd like to speak with First Lieutenant Charlie, if possible. Tell him that Mason Storm called."
"Oh hey, Storm, this is Scott Wagner."
"Scott, you rogue, why didn't you say so sooner?" On his side of the phone, Mason Storm smiled wryly. He was a tall man at six-two, strongly built, and about thirty years old. His hair was black with white strands scattered about it, his eyes deep brown. Mason leaned into his chair; he was currently working a desk job with the Los Angeles Police Department and held the rank of Major. "Things hectic on your side, Scott? The police department here has been running its legs into the ground."
"I'm not surprised," the younger man replied. Scott Kurt Wagner, at nineteen years of age, was an Air Force recruit and unofficially a member of the American Vigilantes. He had sandy hair, ice-blue eyes, and enjoyed immense popularity amongst the young ladies of the armed forces. Like all the vigilantes, he wore a pair of glasses despite his perfect vision. It was their trademark, really. "Did you get in touch with Delta Red yet, Mason? Cammy White swears that this 'M' fellow we've been hearing so much about is M. Bison. Charlie and Guile don't think so, considering that Bison is - well, supposed to be dead, though he isn't - but we've no better lead. Some of the Shadowlaw bases are bustling with activity. What do you think? ... Hello? Mason, you still there?"
"Yeah, but hold up a moment, Scott. Something just occurred to me. Bison's dead - Guile took him down in the second World Warrior tournament. We know that for certain."
"Uh-huh."
"But Charlie killed himself taking Bison down a few years before that. You were too young to remember, but I know. So ... how come Charlie's alive now?"
Scott, on his end of the line, simply laughed. "I take it you haven't gotten the news, Mason. The World Collision tournament is a dream match. Don't ask me how, but a lot of dead folk have been resurrecting and coming back - I think they're all participating in the match. You can imagine how surprised Guile was when Lieutenant Charlie sauntered into the room. But, if anyone asks, I didn't tell you this. It's not supposed to be public information yet. I got the tidbit from a source who wants to remain anonymous." Scott frowned. "That's the good news. The bad news is that the bad guys have also revived. Bison's back and badder than ever. Interpol got a tip just a few hours ago - they think that Shadowlaw is reconstructing the Psycho Drive. Where, we don't know ... Mason, are you okay?"
Mason suppressed a scream of fury. Bison - the man who murdered my family in front of my eyes. Still not dead?! "Y - yeah, I'm okay, Scott. Or at least, I will be once I pound Bison into the dirt. LAPD has no leads on who 'M' might be, but now that I have your news, I'll certainly keep it in mind. Anyway, the boss wanted me to ask Charlie about the World Collision tournament, but you seem to be in the know. What do the American Vigilantes know about it?"
Scott frowned. "That's the problem. Despite all the commercials on TV and the radio, we still don't know much. Everyone knows about the World Collision tournament, even those isolated Tibetian monks. What we know for certain is that the tournament is being hosted by 'M' and that whoever this 'M' is has promised that the tournament will hold quite a number of surprises. It's supposed to be a global event, fights held in various places around the world. Charlie, Guile, and I are all participating and I heard that you'd be there, too. Find some friends yet?"
"No, but I'm sure that I can round up a couple. Considering what we're up against, we'll need all the help we can get. I heard that the tournament's really well-advertised. Oh, yeah, Scott, before I forget - two nights ago, Edgar, Kikoken, and a friend of theirs were attacked by Shadowlaw commandos. Drove 'em off, though, and I heard that porcelain face took quite a few scars from that fight."
A string of creative syllables emerged from Wagner's side of the phone. "Pardon my French, Mason. Shadowlaw agents, huh? Still, it's good to hear that Vega got the rough end of the pineapple. Mason, I'm sorry I can't be of more help to you. I have heard that both Demitri Maximoff and Donovan Baine intend to participate in the tournament, however - at least, that's what Interpol heard, and Chun-Li passed the tip along. I don't know just how well this tournament's been advertised, but I'd say pretty darn well considering that Darkstalkers from Makai are participating. You may want to call the IDC next. Their intelligence network is second to none and they'll probably know more."
"I'll try. Thanks for the information, Scott." Which, Mason reflected as he hung up, was actually a lot more than he'd been expecting. He dialed another number; after two short rings, someone picked up and greeted him. "Hi, Samantha, this is Mason Storm."
"Hello, Mason. I was hoping that you'd call. Can I help you?" Cell-phone in hand, Samantha McGrath tossed her blonde hair behind her back. She was the leader of the IDC's ultra-elite Phantom strike force. At thirty-two years of age, she still had a supermodel's stunning good looks as well as the Olympic-class fitness brought on by years of the IDC's training. Her face was small and delicate, with well-defined features, full lips, and sparkling green eyes. She laid her rifle to one side and concentrated on the conversation.
"Yeah, I was hoping you'd know more than I do about the World Collision tournament. Any new leads on who 'M' might be?"
"Well, no. You know that Ernest has been going around the world tracking down various leads, but so far he hasn't found anything. Mason, we're about out of clues. Nobody seems to know - not Akuma, not Demitri, not even Gill. I'm sorry but I can't help you. I suppose we'll find out at the tournament, no?"
"That's what I'm afraid of," Mason replied. "Remember the second World Warrior tournament? That was Bison's doing, gathering all his enemies into one place where he intended to finish them off. And nobody knew that it was Bison, of all people, who was hosting the tournament. I'll tell you, it gave me quite a shock when I found out. I think we're seeing this sort of thing happen again. Delta Red believes that Bison's behind this tournament and we have no better ideas."
"Well, our communications intercepts seem to indicate the exact opposite, Mason," Samantha informed him. "We still have some of Shadowlaw's equipment bugged. It seems that even the high lords of Shadowlaw have no idea who's behind the tournament. The funny thing is, no one knows. You'd think that with a tournament of this size, the logistics would point back to someone, but nope. I'm sorry, but we have no clue. Don't hang up yet, though. I heard about your friend Kikoken two days ago. We intercepted something yesterday that I'm sure she'll be most interested in."
"Okay, let's hear it."
"Alright, I'll play it now and e-mail you a transcript, and you can pass it along to her." Samantha hooked her cell-phone into a memory card and let the conversation play out. Basically, it was a dialogue between Vega and Bison. "But, Mason - technically, you're not supposed to hear this, okay? I'm breaking a few rules here. According to the script, we're supposed to talk more about the World Collision tournament. I just thought that this was more interesting. If the author finds out, he'll delete me for sure. So don't say anything."
"Not a word," Mason promised, and the recording began to play.
"Vega, your pride seems ... bruised." A hint of malicious amusement in Bison's voice.
"My lord, we were ambushed." A light Spanish accent, Vega pleading his innocence.
"I do not tolerate failure." Bison's voice sounded more ominous this time. Then a sigh. "Very well, Vega, you are forgiven. Do get up, groveling does not suit you. And cheer up, those bruises won't be permanent. In fact, I think they suit your girly face quite well." A deep chuckle. After a long silence, Bison continued. "The Lian - humans who can control the elements - who would have thought that they actually existed? And two of them in the same place, no less. Vega, next time, I expect your task to be carried out swiftly and efficiently."
"My lord ... I am not a kidnapper." Just a hint of indignation.
"I don't recall asking for your opinion, Vega." A small pause, and then Bison's inflection changed slightly, indicating that he was thinking. "I want both of the Lian, Kikoken and this Chan girl. As for Kikoken, once I've drained her of her power, you may have her - if you wish, a bit of Psycho power will make her your mind slave. Chan, though, is mine. I have better uses for her than to make her your plaything. I think that both of them would make excellent batteries for the Psycho Drive - don't you agree?"
"My lord, doing this could kill both of them."
"So what?" Bison asked, amused and sneering at the Spaniard. "Since when did you start caring, Vega? All you want is to be surrounded by beauty - that Kikoken girl should satisfy you quite well, then. I'm certain that you won't complain. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have more urgent matters to supervise than looking at your ugly face." There was the sound of a door opening and shutting.
A moment later, Vega hurled something against the wall and it hit with a metallic clang. "Ugly face," he fumed, "Bison, you're just ... just ... jealous! ... is all!" A string of Spanish curses followed, then Vega shouted a war cry and made some swipes at the air. "First you try to kidnap Ryu, then you betray Cammy, and now you want to ruin the lives of more innocents!" he grounded out through clenched teeth. "As if the Dolls hadn't been enough! How many more lives must you destroy before you realize what you are!" A sigh, and then in a calmer voice, Vega reasoned with himself. "I should assassinate him tonight - but, if I fail, my life is forfeit. All I can do is try to protect the girls if they are kidnapped. Bison will make his move before the tournament, no doubt of that. He isn't man enough to fight by his own strength and has to rely on the Psycho Drive instead." Vega's voice dripped with contempt. "But Bison is becoming suspicious - if I try to sabotage the Psycho Drive again, he'll catch me for certain. Ah, Vega, you coward ... too afraid to risk your own neck for what you know is right." He paused and sniffled. "I ... I'm ... I'm so ashamed of myself!" And with that, he wept openly.
"So, what do you think?" Samantha asked.
Mason whistled. "I don't know how your operatives managed to get hold of this one, but I'll contact Edgar and Kikoken immediately. Edgar can probably get in touch with Chan. Thanks for bringing this to my attention, Samantha; I owe you one. Is there anything else I can do for you, anything at all?"
"Think nothing of it. Yesterday we already assigned two BEAT teams, one to watch over Edgar and Kikoken, the other to shadow Chan. But don't tell them what we did. The BEATs have orders to engage any Shadowlaw special forces that try to make a move. Edgar and his friends will be safe, at least for now. What I'm more worried about is the tournament. Anything could happen; Interpol feels the same way. The fact is, we know too little and we're up against too many enemies, we can't keep track of all of them at the same time. I just wish that the author would tell us who 'M' is."