Street Fighter: Destiny Wind
Original Fanfiction by: Ichabod Crofte

Chapter Three: Old Blood

Bangkok, Thailand
Chinese Consulate
January 6, 2001

Simon Kwok was a twenty five year old field operative for Interpol's east Asian department. His cover was that he was a college student studying abroad to pursue a career in the restoration of ancient and historical artifacts. Though his official assignment was to hack government mainframes in Thailand to expose corrupt officials, for the last five years, he had secretly been working on a shadow ops project codenamed Lyra. Though Interpol did not officially endorse or recognize the project's existence, it was whispered throughout the upper echelons of I.C.P.O. that measures were being taken to locate, identify, and eradicate the remaining cells of Shadowlaw following its destruction after the catastrophic battle with M. Bison.

Having broken almost every cipher that lead to the downfall of Shadowlaw, Simon Kwok was an invaluable asset to Lyra. He'd even cleverly named the project after the constellation of which the star Vega was a member. Vega had always been one of Interpol's priority targets, but when Shadowlaw crumbled, all efforts to apprehend him were terminated as were the rest of the attempts to chase down the routed members of the crime ring.

Simon Kwok's younger sister, Lai, who had been studying under Chun-Li's tutelage, had been murdered by Shadowlaw's associates. He was clearly motivated by an intense hatred for the diabolical camarilla that had been responsible (under Bison) for the slaughter of innocent thousands. Now he was so close to unearthing the final scheme that would put the crime lords of Shadowlaw in the public spotlight once more.

Leaving the consulate for the day, Simon took a cab to his loft apartment in downtown Bangkok. The red, phosphorous glow of the neon street signs and advertisements pulsed like blood through capillaries. Rain crashed to the uneven streets mercilessly, pounding the undulating tide of umbrellas that snaked up and down the narrow alleys and roads like a harlequin serpent. The baleful growl of thunder crescendoed to an earsplitting crackle in the yellow-green skies above. Simon, exhausted after a long day's work, dozed off in the cab to the euphoric symphony of tempestuous dissonance.

A half an hour later, he reached his apartment building. Simon awoke as if on cue and paid the driver. He took the elevator to the twelfth floor and went to his room.

"Time to shower," he sighed to himself as he locked the deadbolts behind him.

Simon slipped off his suit jacket and tossed it carelessly upon the arm of the leather couch in the living room. On the glass table just beyond the island of stainless steel, black marble and glass that comprised the ultramodern apartment kitchen, was Simon's stay-at-home laptop computer. As he passed, Simon hit the power key. The machine acknowledged Simon's command with a bleep and a duteous hum. Kwok made for the shower.

As Simon closed the door to the bathroom, a few friendly computer chirps indicated that he had new email. The subject line read:

URGENT

The email itself read simply:

Cover conceivably compromised
Commence immediate egression
Rendezvous with contracted agents at designated safe house
Priority alpha

The hot water of the shower felt like the hands of angels were personally massaging his skin. It had just been one of those long, rainy days. Faulty intelligence had been responsible for an important mission going to complete shit. And of course, tomorrow, the agency would be wondering what had become of hundreds of thousands of dollars had disappeared from the special projects account. Someone would have to answer. Heads were definitely going to turn. The problem was that Simon was the only one who could really explain what was going on without getting his tongue cut out and blowing the thing wide open. There were reputations to protect and assets to conceal. The blame game had started up again.

So he'd have to write a report tonight after his shower, and the vaguer he could be, the better it was for everyone. Now, Interpol was damn well aware that shadow ops projects were going on all the time without the proper authority and processes being accounted for, and it was for that reason that everyone high enough to know about it turned a blind eye to the special projects account. It was routine "don't ask don't tell." But when something went wrong, like it had today, and there was a trail of collateral damage from Bangkok to Shanghai, the agency would have to cover its ass from here to kingdom come. And to do that, the who's who of I.C.P.O. would demand they know what was going on. And Simon knew he couldn't allow that for two reasons. First, all Shadowlaw investigations had been terminated for good and the agency had officially forbade its departments from pursuing the matter further. Secondly, for some time now, certain members of Lyra had suspected Shadowlaw still had Interpol agents on their payroll. It was a Machiavellian shadow-dance of lies, cover-ups and deception.

"Five agents dead," Simon muttered irritably as he wrapped the towel around his waist. "Three agents missing, half a million dollars in payoffs, technology and information acquisition gone with nothing to show for it, and the department's requisitioning all data files and tapes from the surveillance crews." He left the bathroom, drip-drying. "This is pretty damn bad."

A cold draft caused a chill to race up Simon's spine. He gazed across the dim room to where the sliding glass door to his balcony had been blown wide open.

"What the hell?" mumbled the young hacker as he crossed the room, tossing the towel for a pair of shorts. "How on earth did you get open?"

Simon walked out onto the balustrade. He looked up into the dark, stormy sky. The evening showers poured down upon him, causing him to squint. Next he bent over the banister, peering down the twelve stories below him. Far below, like a swarm of glowing insects, cars slowly persisted through rush hour traffic in noiseless reproach of ill-devised transit networks.

Odd, Simon thought, returning inside and throwing the latch to the door closed. The computer continued to beep urgently as Simon walked back across the room. As he passed his bed, he froze. He blanched, his head turning with the alacrity of a tortoise. His eyes locked to the gleaming object sitting atop the comforters.

A white mask, austere in its simplicity, the smoothness of its surface interrupted only by two symmetrical hollows for eyes to peer through and garnished with a simple, lavender decoration on the left cheek. Simon backed away slowly, wordlessly, to the desk with his laptop. Finding the leather holster cradling his trusty Walther P22, he quickly procured the gun and looked around his apartment.

His arms trembling, he advanced down the steps into the living room, eyes scanning the shadows for any signs of movement. The computer continued to buzz loudly.

Simon worked his way over to the laptop. Smart enough not to put the gun down, with his off hand, he turned the machine to face him. He turned, quickly reading the message:

Cover conceivably compromised
Commence immediate egression
Rendezvous with contracted agents at designated safe house
Priority alpha

"Oh shit..." Simon whispered. Suddenly, from behind him, Simon heard soft, maniacal sniggering.

"Vega..." said Kwok, whirling around just quickly enough to witness the flash of the steel claws before they buried themselves in his flesh.

Guile peered out the window of the airplane. The silver moonlight bathed the clouds in a sea of ethereal sparkles. The lagoon of mist and stars was a beautiful sight to behold. It reminded him of the days when he used to fly the F-16s back at the base. He missed the thrill of soaring far above humanity. The feeling that raced through one's veins was magnificent; soaring above the world in tranquil silence, one could feel totally free. Guile thought of his old comrade, Charlie.

Charlie was the one man that had ever taught Guile had to really see beyond himself. To Guile, Charlie was a real hero. The sort of hero whose very name is a beacon of humanity's triumph over evil, a genuine paragon of virtue. Charlie had taught Guile everything he knew--how to channel his ki, how to focus his mind to resist the soul searing effects of the psycho power, and how to trust his heart. And he had lost him, like he'd lost so many others. Someday, Guile thought to himself, I'll find your dogtags, old friend. Someday, you and I will be free together. But not yet.

Passing through a bit of atmospheric turbulence, Guile was jolted back to the present. The lights in the cabin flickered.

"That was something, wasn't it Chun-Li?" Guile chuckled. "Chun?"

The ex-air force pilot glanced over at the girl who snored raucously beside him. Guile grinned. For many years, Guile and Chun-Li had done so much together. They'd stuck it out by each others' sides through thick and thin, but only in the last few years had Guile begun to feel differently in her company. In the past, she'd drove him nuts with her steadfastness and bullheadedness. She'd just been a tough, battle-hardened Interpol warrior to him, a good friend, and little more. But now, his eyes beheld her with newfound adoration. The soft lines of her face, the plum-colored eye shadow that made her eyes sparkle day and night, the gently sloping curves of a body made only more beautiful in its attempt to repulse an immaculate femininity that flourished beneath its hardened exterior. Guile began to wonder as he thought more and more about Chun-Li on a day-to-day basis just how deep his affections for the girl really went. And Guile hated himself for it. He thought of his own, beautiful wife, Jane. He loved her deeply, but not with the same forbidden ardor and admiration he cherished for Chun-Li. This love was an exotic flower that had blossomed secretly within him over the passing of many long years.

Without warning, Chun-Li's head nodded and tipped, falling to rest upon Guile's shoulder. Dreaming, Chun-Li snuggled against him, smiling broadly. Guile flushed an uncharted shade of crimson.

"Um, uh, hey," he stuttered.

One of the flight attendants strolled by and grinned warmly at them.

"A remarkable thing," said the stewardess.

"W-what is?" Guile choked out.

"Love," she answered, before continuing down the aisle.

"B-b-but it's not...we aren't...I don't..." protested the major, beads of sweat forming upon his temple.

We will be landing in ten minutes, an electronic voice announced over the intercom system.

Guile sighed. "Here we go again," he thought aloud. "Back where it all began. Where old blood will be spilt anew."

The plane began its initial descent into Bangkok.