The Last Command

Chapter 2: Don't Mention The War

One hour without trouble. Didn't see that coming.

Didn't take me long to hail a taxi, since all the traffic near Gargoyle Tower had frozen to the spot whilst the APCs moved out. I know, I know...ultra-smooth hitwoman and superspy uses public transport, that's not very Double-Oh-Seven now, is it? Well, I had a company car – and a company bike – but they're microchipped, so as soon as I put the key in the ignition, their movements will be logged by Zaibatsu surveillance, which Heihachi has full control over. No go. And it rarely pays for someone like me to actually own a vehicle, so it's either theft or hitch a ride, and right now, I'd like to attract as little attention as possible, so no stealing.

The driver wasn't that cooperative – and his rapid-fire babble didn't make him easy to understand – but he clamped his trap when I handed over the whole contents of my wallet. Hope I didn't give him my passport by accident...anyway, he's taking me to the city outskirts now. The streets are quite clear these days, with many people afraid to go outside in case they get caught in the middle of a fresh skirmish. Suits me just fine; civilian casualties just complicate things.

The driver's now mumbling to himself; I can only make out every third word, think it's something about last night's TV that bothered him. Turning around in my seat, I check out the back window for signs of pursuit, and find nothing – just like I did two minutes ago. Probably shouldn't be getting my panties in a bunch so much...

"Oh hai!" the driver bellows abruptly, snapping my attention back to the front. "You hear this?"

He's pointing to the radio, but at the current volume it's all just meaningless dribblings. I make a little spinning motion with one hand, and he obligingly turns it up...

"...for that, Miro-chan. And now the main headlines again: it has been confirmed by Mishima Zaibatsu representatives that Jin Kazama, the company's CEO, is dead. No details have been released as yet, but it has been made clear that the Zaibatsu will continue to operate under former CEO Heihachi Mishima, who was considered dead himself over the past year..."

And silently, the floodgates open. The driver grins back at me in the rear-view mirror, giving an enthusiastic thumbs-up, which I return dishonestly. Suppose I shouldn't be surprised that Heihachi wouldn't beat around the bush with the announcement, but I'd been hoping for a delay; the longer people thought Jin was still around, the longer it'd take for them to focus all their efforts toward finding me. Not that everyone knew I was Jin's...minder, I suppose – this cabbie sure as hell doesn't – but word got around quick after G-Corp sussed it out.

The car's slowing down. Up front, the driver shakes his head at the sight of at least five tail-backed vehicles ahead of us. "Ai, damn traffic jams!" he exclaims, slapping the wheel in frustration.

"That's no jam," I murmur to myself, feeling the subtle vibrations that shake the car's entire frame, just a hair too violently to be the engine alone...then I hear the screech of a thousand-pound shell in mid-flight, and my stomach lurches. Trusting my gut instinct is something I've never questioned; daddy taught me too well for that. So I yank down the handle and throw myself out of the car, taking long, running steps as the driver calls out from behind me, and the sound gets louder and louder, three – two – one JUMP –

...

For a moment, I remember the old saying – 'you never hear the one that gets you' – and I nearly panic, before rational thought reasserts itself, reminding me that I wouldn't be making that thought, never mind feeling hot ash and rubble sprinkling across my back, if I'd just been killed. So I push myself up, dust myself off, and take a look around.

The taxi didn't take the shell full-on, but it can't have been more than ten feet from the detonation point; most of its right side is melted and torn to shreds, with only the rear's remaining yellow paint serving as a reminder of what it once was. The driver didn't make it out, and he's taken enough shrapnel to kill an elephant; whatever's left of him is burning along with his car, leaving a sickly-sweet smell in the air that I'd rather not hang around to savour. So of course, I do the one thing nobody would expect me to do, and run straight towards the impact crater...time it right, and up – onto the hood of the taxi, then I hop from one vehicle wreck to the next, quick enough that my leggings don't catch aflame, and pretty soon I'm beyond the fire and climbing over a fallen telephone pole to find...oh.

"Crap," is all I can think to say. It's the beginning of the motorway, but nobody here's interested in driving on it; instead, it's turned into another warzone. On one side, down at ground level with me, are a bunch of grimy types in home-made 'armour', sporting stolen firearms – the same underground resistance movement Gordo and I encountered in the docklands a month ago. Apparently we didn't kill them hard enough. And up above, on the elevated road, a squad of guys in dull green armour with shiny sunglasses – G-Corp soldiers. Presumably they're the ones with the artillery backing them up; probably weren't trying to get me, either. Their aim is just awful.

Mind you, with direct line-of-sight, and me standing out in the open, even morons like that stand a chance, so let's just move on. Keeping my head low, I sprint for the nearest chunk of upturned asphalt and hide behind it, craning my neck to gauge the movements of the resistance boys. I could probably kick all their asses at once in a straight fight, but they've got guns, and I've only got my knife on me, so it'd be best to just slip by quietly. Looks like...there's three of 'em between me and that tollbooth over there; I just need something to keep them from noticing me –

"You guys, get your asses outta that hole! We got nothing to lose but our lives here!"

That voice, it's...the Korean kid? Yeah, he's right there, on the front line, bellowing encouragement, dust coating his stupid carrot-top haircut, making him look so much older. Never would've thought of him as a soldier in even the loosest sense of the word, but I can't fault his technique; he's swinging that M16 around like a pro. At his command, the three guys before me vault over the crumbled masonry ahead of them and form up by his side, leaving me with a clear run. Thanks for that one, boy.

I give the G-Corp guys a few seconds, waiting for them to re-focus their aim towards carrot-top, then make my move, darting forwards and scurrying along towards the tollbooth, keeping one eye turned up towards the elevated road, just in case. Bullets zing through the air all around, but most miss me by miles; nobody ever believes me when I tell them, but this suit, the purple camo, it actually does blend in pretty well, at least in urban areas.

Sk-tang! Okay, that one was a little too close; I swear I felt a rush of air across my thigh as it passed me. C'mon, just five more steps – and I'm there, up against the wall. My fingers wrap gently around the handle, then twists; the door opens with barely a creak, not that anyone would hear it over the gunfire and screaming anyway. Slipping inside, I resist the urge to cough; the broken windows have let the dust and dirt kicked up from the furious shelling inside, and now it hangs in the air like thick fog. Whatever, the walls are still holding up, so it's a reprieve from the bullets, at least for now. What I really need, though, is fresh transportation, something that'll get me away from here discreetly, or at least quickly...something like a bike. Like that bike right there. Laying propped against a wall by an owner too lazy or hurried to bother with the stand, its buffed engine parts gleaming to an almost mirror-finish. Not my style at all, it's trying a little too hard to be macho (okay, a lot too hard) but it's a gift horse, so there's no use in complaining.

Kneeling down beside it, I locate the starter key slot easily enough – no key, but that's no problem. With a sharp tug, it'll come off, and I'll have this baby hotwired and purring like a contented kitten before you can say –

"And what do we got here?"

...That wasn't me. Neither was the metallic double-click of a rifle cocking, coming from about two metres behind me. Couldn't hear them approach over the sounds of the battle outside. Dammit, woman, that's just – no. Save the chiding for later. Right now, just figure out how you'll get out of this.

"Keep your hands high, chica, and we won't need to make a mess," the stranger continues in his droll Spanish accent as I stand back up, leaving my palms at head height. 'Chica'? Really? "Now turn around..."

I oblige him, steadily rotating on my heels until we're face to face. I wasn't expecting a soldier, and I'm not surprised by what I see; a tall, brawny Hispanic, heavy-lidded eyes, unkempt hair, stubble – maybe a beard, just – probably quite the muscular body beneath the flowery shirt, leather coat and embroidered pants. The kind of guy that most other girls would call 'dreamy'. Not for me, though – these swarthy lothario boys make me sick with their insincerity. Plus, he's holding me at gunpoint. Major turn-off right there. He's also looking at me real strange; eyes widening, like he...knows me?

"You...you're Kazama's little bitch of a lap-dog, ain't ya?"

I'm not even going to dignify that with a response, beyond raising one eyebrow archly. I can see the barrel of his rifle shaking from here...and with that, a plan suddenly takes shape. Staying silent, I invite him to continue, and he takes the bait, almost frothing at the mouth as he rants onwards.

"Kazama turned the happiest day of my sister's life into my own worst nightmare when his jets bombed Madrid, and for what? A strategic advantage? All those lives, just to move another pawn across your giant chessboard?"

"Pretty much, yeah," I quickly respond, doing my best to sound utterly unconcerned in spite of the situation. If this guy's half as impulsive as he seems to be, this'll be easy. One last prod, perhaps? I smirk, and add, "But I wouldn't go blaming Jin for everything. Aerial operations were always a little beyond him, so he left them under my command."

The blood drains from his face, making the erratic twitching in one of his eyeballs all the more pronounced. "You..."

"Yeah – me. I ordered the attack – hell, I led the attack!" I sneer as best I can, like I'm savouring his misery, trying to distract this loser whilst I shift my centre of balance, waiting for him to do the man thing and flip out. "I peered down through my jet's canopy as the bombs blasted your town to scrap, and I laughed and laughed and laughed – "

He screams suddenly, cutting me off, and lunges forward, letting his rifle drop to the floor – good man! – and throwing all his power behind a right hook that'll take my head off if I don't duck – right – now, then bring the heel of my palm straight across his chin; after throwing all his weight forwards, the force of impact causes him to lose balance and fall back on his ass.

"Just like I'm laughing now, in fact." Now I'm just talking to distract him, while he scrambles to his feet, colour now returning to his features as he seethes, and I take one step forward – "HA!" – and lash out with a left kick, aiming high; I feel it connect with something solid without even looking, and twirl around to launch a follow-up right – oh hell, he caught them on his forearms, now –

"Hurrrk - !" His knee, right into my solar plexus; pretty much walked into that one, can't stop myself from doubling over, and now one meaty arm's locked around my head like a vise, whilst this bastard – this lucky bastard – starts hammering away on my spine with clubbing strikes. Each one sends another sharp knife of pain through my chest, and it's only a matter of time until he breaks something vital...if I let him.

Instead, I tuck both my legs in tight underneath me, get a firm grip around the back of his legs and – heave!

"Yaaahh!" He shrieks from surprise as little skinny ol' me throws him overhead – before I come crashing down to drive the point of my elbow into his gut, which cuts off his squealing along with his air supply. Time to press the advantage; snatching his left arm as it flails wildly, I turn him over onto his belly and pin his shoulder to the floor with my knee, then tuck the forearm in my armpit and lean back until – pop! Good luck playing the mandolin this week, pal.

Even after that, he still struggles, spitting and cursing, kicking his legs fruitlessly, trying to reach my throat with his one good arm. I can admire persistence, but there's a fine line between that and stupidity, a line this guy's just crossed. Grasping his good arm at the wrist, I thread it around his throat and pull it tight, before getting back up to my feet and dragging him back up with me, letting the weight of his body aid in his own strangulation. Oh...that old, familiar feeling, that rush...the final moments of a man's life trickling away in your hands. It's been so long since I felt this, what with all the paper-pushing desk work and delegating the dirty work to others...I rest my head over his shoulder and wait for the satisfying sound of his last breath rattling out of his constricted throat before he -

The door just opened.

"Hey, Miguel! This is no time for a toilet break, we need that ammo out front now!" It's the kid, and he's got someone else with him, judging by the footsteps. There's a pillar between them and me, which I quickly drag this schmuck – let's assume this is Miguel – behind, covering his mouth with one hand, keeping my breaths quiet as the pretend soldiers blunder about, kicking over chairs and boxes like they expect to find Miguel cowering under one. With no reason to believe anyone's listening, they don't bother keeping their voices down – handy for me.

"MIGUEL! Where the hell's he gone now?"

"He could very well be dead," replies another voice, this one also speaking Korean but with the scratchy strain of old age behind it, "and even if not, it won't take two of us to search for him, Hwoarang. You should have stayed with the others."

"Eh, they'll be fine for a minute or two – and who knows, Master Baek, you might be needing your colostomy bag changed soon..."

"The day this old man needs help from a recalcitrant pup like you is the day I give up the arts of combat in favour of gardening. And...it doesn't look like he's here."

'He' is still struggling in my grip; I could bring his life to a sharp halt right this minute if I could use both hands against his neck, but I need to keep him quiet, just for a few more seconds...come on, you bastards, just walk away, nothing to see here...

And in that moment, it all goes pear-shaped. A sharp pain in my foot as this lumbering Latino lummox brings one heel down across my toes; I should've been ready for that, but I wasn't, and the brief relaxing of my grip is enough for him to get his mouth free and choke out a strangled cry – "BAEK, IT'S - !" before I reach forwards and slide my fingers into his mouth, clamping around his warm, slippery tongue as tightly as possible – a pointless effort, since of course they heard that, and one of them quickly steps around the pillar to face me, aiming a rifle that's lowered as soon as he sees Miguel between us. Big mistake; with one foot thrusting against his left ass-cheek, I send Miguel tumbling into his would-be saviour – isn't that one of the guys from the tournament Kazuya held years ago? Damn, he looks old now. Taken by surprise, the pensioner – Baek? – tumbles to the ground, with Miguel rolling over the top of him.

"Master!"

Nice one, kid, telling me where you are...I turn around the other side of the pillar and, yep, there he is; his wide eyes wheel towards me, his gun following after them, but I've already closed the gap between us, and bat the rifle right out of his hands with my left palm, then turn into the step and bring my right elbow around. His nose crumples under the impact, but he doesn't fall, cursing me out in his native tongue as he spins – yeah, like I'm gonna just let you kick me...crouching down, I coil one leg in like a spring, smiling grimly to myself as his wild roundhouse whiffs the air above me, then lash out – "GRAAHH!" – he squawks as my heel catches his jaw, hard enough to life him clear off his feet before letting him drop on his back.

Haven't got much time – the other two are still disentangling themselves, but it won't take long, just grab the gun and – hey...in the boy's pocket, is that...no, I couldn't be this lucky...could I?

"Oh, come to mama..." It's a key, and although it could just be for anything, I just know it's the one I need. Darting across the room, I take a moment to kick Baek in the face before straddling the bike and fumbling for the ignition port, key's in, and...chug, chug, whine. "Fucking hell," I hiss between clenched teeth as I twist the keys again, hearing the unmistakable sound of footsteps behind me – and the engine roars into life. It's truly one of the sweetest sounds I've ever heard.

"Hey, my BIKE!" Actually, the kid's whining is also pretty sweet to the ear, too.

Enough dawdling. I rev the engine, kick the stand up, and let go of the brakes – just barely crouching down into a proper riding position before the machine leaps forward and knocks the back door off its hinges, thundering down a short flight of steps with bone-shaking impact before hitting the mercifully flat road. A few stray rounds dash across the concrete around me, but I pay them no heed as I speed off on my way, leaving the sounds of battle behind me. If I could pat myself on the back right now, I would.

So...holy crap, where am I going again?

Author's Notes

Decided to put this chapter up at (near enough) the same time as the previous one, in case the time between updates from now on turns out to be really, really long. As you can probably guess, I'm trying to fit in at least one other Tekken cast member per chapter; some will be pretty key to the story, others'll just turn up looking for a kicking.

Anyway, it's late right now, so I'll just say thanks for reading again.

Next Time: It was just meant to be a pitstop for Nina...but for the 'Silent Assassin', nothing's ever that easy, especially with the wrath of G-Corporation bearing down on her. Guest-starring Bruce Irvin and Asuka Kazama!