DISCLAIMER: Did I not bother putting this in before? Oh. Well, I'm not Katsuhiro Harada or any other member of the Tekken development team, so I don't own any of the characters presented in this story. Okay?

The Last Command

Chapter 3: Get Your Head Checked

"Hit me up again, Yuji."

So I found my way off the motorway after about thirty miles, and although that leaves me still inside Tokyo, it's enough of a head start that I feel comfortable stopping to get my bearings. Picked up – well, stole, really – an atlas from a tourist gift shop nearby, and now I'm in a bar, with the map pages spread out across my lap and the scrap of torn paper clutched in one hand. Of course, I say 'bar'...it's not a real bar. Nothing alcoholic in the bottles, no cigarette butts stamped into the floor, no burly guys having a violent argument over the football in the corner – not like back home. No, this is a watered-down, PG-certificate kids' play-park sort of bar, and what I just ordered wasn't a gin & tonic, but an apricot & pineapple smoothie. The bartender – I don't know if he's actually called Yuji, that just seemed like the name most suited to him – slides it along into my waiting hand, and my stomach quivers at the thought of enduring more of this soft, milky piss. If it wasn't for the dry-mouth riding without a helmet got me, I'd never touch this stuff, and no way in hell am I paying for it. Can't believe I forgot how to say 'mineral water' in Japanese...

The little bell above the door rings as another couple customers walk in. I don't bother looking up at them, though the pause in their footsteps tells me they've clocked my outfit and the rifle slung over my shoulder. Everybody else in the bar did the same thing when I came in, but nobody's panicked, or threw themselves on the floor, or called the cops. Seems like everyone's getting used to armed commando types wandering into their lives without provocation, and they're content to just pretend it's not happening and try to work around it, ignorant of the whole 'war' thing. Good for them. Really, I mean that. It's a testament to the will and survival instinct of the human race, something which girls and boys in my line of work overlook most of the time.

Okay, enough schmaltz, let's double-check these numbers. Just like I figured, they're co-ordinates, and unless the Japanese write these things down back-to-front or something, then the network node gizmos are found in...Sydney, Australia. London, England. Some random bit of Siberia I don't recognise, Russia. And New Mexico, USA. All adds up to a hell of a lot of frequent flyer miles...speaking of which, I'm gonna need to procure a plane for myself somehow. Heihachi's probably already circulated my face to the bought-and-paid-for security staff at all of this country's public airports; even in the off chance I broke through whatever traps they'd spring on me in the terminal building, they'd know exactly where I'm heading, and right now, the fact that they don't know my destination(s) is one of my very few advantages. Choking down a mouthful of smoothie, I try to dredge up enough basic Japanese from memory to ask 'Yuji' if he's got a phonebook laying around, when someone squawks behind me.

"You bitch!"

I catch a reflection in the mirror above the bar; parted brunette hair, melodramatic pointing finger – Anna? No, it's that other girl...Asuka, that's it. Asuka Kazama. The cousin Jin never knew he had until she turned up at the last tournament looking to stamp on his neck. Hot-blooded little twerp never did get far enough for that, though. She's glaring at me with fury beyond her years, and I think I know what the problem is.

"Sorry, I'm not French, or 16, no matter how much I want to be. You've got the wrong girl." Little miss Kazama here has some sort of problem with this other Iron Fist newbie, an immensely irritating rich girl that I deeply regret never getting the chance to kick the crap out of. She was blonde too, so –

"I know you're not Lili," she retorts, still speaking much louder than necessary – I'm only two metres away, for Christ's sake! "You were with Jin right up 'til he died. You twisted him with your lies and turned him into the monster that destroyed the world!"

The bell above the door jingles as the customers – and 'Yuji' – make what was probably supposed to be an inconspicuous exit. Can't blame them for running; Asuka's making a scene, and I have a growing suspicion I'm not going to be able to calm her down by talking. Still, it's worth a shot. It's what Jin would want me to do.

Turning around on my stool, I match her gaze evenly and speak in a slow, measured tone, keeping my hands down and my temper in check. "You weren't there, little one. All your views on what your cousin did are based on second-hand sources, none of which are even close to the truth. And as for me, all I did was help him carry out his own plans. I'm a mercenary, I don't – "

"Don't treat me like a dumb kid!" She rants, keeping her irony blinkers firmly in place. "Nobody from the Kazama family would ever fall to the darkness – not unless they were led there by some two-faced whore like you! And now you're gonna pay for it – with interest!" She raises her open palms as her feet spread further from...wait...that stance, I've...

...I've seen it before, haven't I?

***HOKKAIDO, JAPAN

***THE IRON FIST TRAINING GROUNDS

***23 YEARS EARLIER

Not fast enough –

Thwurck. "Ugh!"

Something catches the back of my legs, and I topple gracelessly to the sand underfoot, but it's the sudden burning explosion where my nose should be that's the bigger distraction right now. Raising one hand gingerly to my face, I feel dampness seep through the tips of my glove – man, that one's gushing like a fountain. "You god me good...I mean, got." Dammit, I'm sounding all nasal – must be broken.

"Yeah, sorry, I kind of got carried away there..."

"Dode worry, iz nod as bad as id looks." I push myself up to a sitting position and smile reassuringly across to my sparring partner, who genuinely looks worried, the poor sap. Her name's Jun Kazama, she's some sort of, I don't know, animal police officer (like Ace Ventura?) and she's here, at the second King of Iron Fist tournament to occur in my lifetime, to...actually, she wasn't very clear about that when I asked. She just sort of stared into space and said she 'needed' to be here. Not my business, I suppose – it's just nice to have someone new to practice with. The guys don't trust me – or they're crushing on me, or they're scared, whatever – and whilst Michelle's cool and all, I saw enough of her last time around to know her style inside-out. Jun, on the other hand, is new to all this, and I've never seen anyone fight quite like she does.

Still, though, if she can't take the sight of a little blood, she's in the wrong damn place. And she's still staring at my face like she's being forced to watch open heart surgery. "Are you sure? I mean, if you want, we can stop for a minute – I know first aid..."

"Ha. You wanna see my fird aid?" 'Fird' – I sound like a tool. A quick look around – yep, there's those little reed things growing from the ground; snapping one off, I brace myself and jam one end of it up my left nostril. Jun's eyes widen in horrified realisation a second before I take a deep breath aaaand...push!

Sklutch!

"GOD - !" She's gone so white, her face matches her shirt. I just sniff experimentally – yup, no blockage. Hurts like hell, but I've done this before, so I know it'll pass.

"Works like a charm, if you've got the guts to do it. Now, where were we?" I'm about to get up when, somewhere across the field, a door slams open with authority. My head snaps around, almost completely by reflex – and my heart starts hammering against my ribs when I see him walk out onto the mock battlefield. Kazuya Mishima. The man who won the previous tournament. The man who came back from the dead, apparently, for vengeance upon his father. The man who now runs most of the world, holding the financial and political nerve-centers of all major nations in a crushing choke-hold.

Also: the man I'm here to kill.

He doesn't look my way as he steps out to a space far away from Jun, me and the four or so other fighters practicing, his eyes heavy-lidded and expression apathetic, like he really doesn't care about any of this anymore. Good news, as far as I'm concerned – maybe he'll get lazy enough to drop his guard outside of the fights. Lee Chaolan, ever the underling, comes scurrying out in his wake and takes up position opposite him; even from here, I can see he's got a black eye and a fair few other blotchy, purple bruises on his exposed arms. Clearly, this isn't the first day he's had to serve as his sorta-brother's punching bag. I'd feel sorry if he wasn't such a prick in his own right.

No need to watch this. I turn my attention back to Jun – but her eyes are still drawn towards Kazuya, eyes which look...strange. There's no fear in them, which is the common reaction, and there's no hatred either. It's something else, something I don't have a word for. "You alright?"

She shakes her head wordlessly, still not looking at me, before heaving a sigh and dropping her gaze altogether. "It's nothing, it's...he's just...got a very intimidating sort of presence."

"Uh-huh." I finally push myself back up to my feet, and shake the stiffness out of my knees. "See, now I feel like I should be the one asking if you wanna keep going..."

She blinks, then sends a wan smile my way. "Yes, I'm fine. Just one question, though."

"Mmm?"

"By doing this, you're essentially agreeing to show me your fighting style, before we actually fight."

"And vice-versa."

"Well, yes, but you asked me first, so?"

"I get bored easily," I lie, instinctively, but...actually, why not tell the truth for a change? "Actually, it's...see, my dad told me something once, and it's stuck with me since then: 'Any magician can fool an unfamiliar audience, but a truly masterful magician can show you how he performs his tricks and yet still leave you spellbound.' If that makes sense."

She nods, chewing her lip. "I think I get it. So you think if you beat me, after showing me your 'tricks', it's more impressive?"

"Yeah."

"And vice-versa? If I win?"

"Oh sure, that could happen..." She giggles along with me there, which is a pleasant surprise; most people don't see the difference between me being cocky to maintain my image and me being cocky for the sake of amusement. We sober up and return to our preferred stances, me squaring my shoulders and raising open palms to head level, her spreading her feet and keeping her fists down at waist-height. "Okay, so you're 1-0 up on knockdowns. Let's make it 3 to win, and loser buys first round?"

A frown creases Jun's brow. "First round?"

Seriously? "Of drinks. We're hitting the bar after this."

"Oh no."

"Yes."

"But the tournament starts tomorrow – "

"Oh, everyone fights drunk on the first day. Even that wacko with the sword. Last time around, he stabbed himself twenty seconds into his first match. And he still won." And that was the moment I lost all respect for ninjas. "Any more questions?"

"Nope. And in advance, mine's a tequila sunrise."

"And mine's a Jack and coke. Now, c'mon, baby – show me whatcha got..."

***THE PRESENT

No, I'm not telling you who won. Suffice to say, I never fought Jun in the actual tournament, since she dropped out before our scheduled match. That counted as a forfeit, so I proceeded by default, only to get ganged-up-on by a platoon of Tekken Force goons, who beat me down and dragged me to a dark, creepy underground lab, where Kazuya watched with obnoxious indifference as I was stripped bare, secured to an operating table and lowered into a vat of ice-cold water, and one of the last thoughts I had before the ice took everything away was 'Damn you, Jun, for getting me into this...' Of course, I know now that she dropped out because she figured out she was pregnant, and that...that, I can understand. And of course, her kid was Jin, who's been my main source of income for the past year, so it worked out quite nicely for me after –

"Are you just gonna sit there and let me kick your ass or what?"

Oh, this little bitch did not just snap me out of my internal monologue. "No,I don't think I will, actually," I respond drolly, pushing myself off the barstool, letting the rifle I procured from the Korean clatter to the floor and stepping around Asuka calmly, keeping my eyes locked on hers, just so she won't figure out what I'm up to. "What I will do, though, is make you an offer."

She sneers at me with the kind of venom you only see from people who're just trying too hard. "I'm not interested in the offers of a murderer!"

"Okay, first, you really need to stop shouting. Second, here's the deal – leave now," I say, pointing towards the front door for emphasis, "and you'll wake up tomorrow feeling happy and healthy. Stay, and you'll be damn lucky to wake up at all. Your choice." C'mon girl, surprise me. Do the smart thing, for once...

An enraged, wordless shriek is the only response I get before she dashes towards me. I'm not surprised or disappointed by this, just...annoyed. Luckily, she still doesn't seem to have cottoned on to why I moved around her before starting – I back up a step from her opening left jab, and another, and the hopping front kick that follows, smirking as her face edges ever closer towards a beetroot hue. "Stop running away!" I don't respond, just in case she's brighter than she looks and gets suspicious about my confidence...that said, if she had any intelligence to speak of she'd have already noticed I know how her moves flow, and would change her approach accordingly.

Another kick, this one a rather slick cartwheel, very familiar, dodged – and yep, there's the wall pushing against my back. Asuka sees it too, and can't help but grin with triumph as she rears back – gotta time this perfectly, plant my hands firmly against the wall and – NOW!

Thwunk!

I almost felt the air being cut by her last kick as I tucked my head in and rolled to the right, leaving Asuka to ram her foot firmly against concrete. Her composure breaks as her eyes try to follow my movements, her mouth flapping open in silent protest, but as I return to my feet, ducked down behind her now, I feel no desire to stop before my hands dart out like blades, chopping across the calf of her right leg. She screams in pain and outrage as the limb gives way; not broken, but struck in a very sensitive spot, with enough force to pierce through the red mist in her mind, and maybe encourage her to rethink what she's doing.

As she curls up defensively around her leg, I nip back up to my feet and wait, a few steps away, alert but with my arms down and folded across my waist. Jun would never be outmanouevered so easily, but then, this isn't Jun. This little pretender might have inherited her moves, but she clearly didn't get her temperament; a self-defense art demands a clear head and infinite patience. Asuka seems to have neither. Lucky for her, she's caught me when I'm in a merciful mood...

"Little girl, you can't begin to understand just what your cousin did for the world, and I don't have the time to explain it all to you. Suffice to say, every breath that you drag into your lungs now is a gift from Jin, one he never expects to be repaid for – "

"Of course he doesn't," she interrupts me, her face twisted into a mask of agony, "since you got him KILLED!"

"Oh please, you think I'd kill the guy who was signing my paychecks? How stupid are y – "

She tries to take me by surprise, leaping to her feet and making an awkward lunge forwards while I'm still talking. I'm ready for her, though, and unfold my arms to chest height to deal with the punch she's gonna throw – wait, her hand's going high and – she grabs my face? And sweeping my legs out –

"Guh!"

A sharp tendril of black-&-red pain blinds me as the back of my skull collides with the bare floor. Huh – that's a new trick. Credit where credit's due, even as I lash out with a kick from the prone position, connecting firmly with Asuka's back; my vision clears just in time to see her sprawl face-first behind me after overbalancing on her bad leg.

Seriously can't be bothered wasting any more time on this bitch. Before she can push herself up off her hands and knees, I snake both my legs around her already-softened-up one, and catch the ankle with my arms as she reflexively stiffens. She's shrieking something at me in her native tongue, but I don't worry about it, and focus all my efforts on leaning back and – pull!

Something gives way. I'm thinking dislocated kneecap plus a few torn tendons. Oh yeah, and there's screaming. Lots of screaming.

My grip slackens carefully – and Asuka's first response is to clutch frantically at her shredded leg, whimpering as tears run down her cheeks like waterfalls. I know the feeling all too well. Welcome to losing, little girl. Get used to it. Pulling myself back to my feet, I fold my arms and do my best to not look smug. Or not too smug.

"Now, if you'd like to just lay there and listen for a moment, let me ask; have you ever had to make a difficult decision once in your short little life? A really difficult decision, not just what colour bra to wear in the morning, or whether or not to enter the Iron Fist tourney." Because sweetheart, for you, with that attitude and that lineage, it's not so much a decision as an inevitability... "Jin has. He could've ruled the world forever, and I'd have helped him do it without complaining. But instead, he chose to die. You think you could ever be that brave, little girl? Or do you keep lashing out blindly because you're too scared to make the tough decisions?"

I'm not sure if she heard me; she's just rolling back and forth, mewling like a lost kitten. Don't even know if she'd get the message if she was listening.

Enough time-wasting, where'd I put my gun - ? Ah, there. Stooping down to grasp the shoulder-strap, I pretend I don't hear Asuka getting her one good leg under her, or the deep breath she takes in as she psyches herself up for one last, stupid effort. Rolling my eyes, I try to remember a time when I was that young and angry, but...nah. I was never this dumb.

"Grrraaah!" she yells, for a half-second, before I step into her charge and drive the butt of the rifle's stock into her midsection. The deep thwock! of the impact is satisfying, but just to hammer home my point, I follow through with a Shockwave Palm, which pushes through her tenderised abdominal muscles with ease; at least two ribs crumple inwards, and something warm and gelatinous is crushed under the pressure. She'll be passing blood for the next week, maybe two. I look up at her face as it looms over me, eyes ping-pong-ball wide and cheeks turning purple – and she spits on me. Why, you...shoving her off, I slip my finger into the rifle's trigger guard and level the weapon towards her forehead as she collapses on her ass, lingering long enough for her to get the point – your life is in my hands now, and I'm a terribly jittery girl with butter-fingers.

I count thirty-two seconds of silence before she starts to whimper like a sick dog. Her spirit's broken, not an ounce of defiance left. It's always so easy with the young ones.

"Stop it, you're embarassing yourself," I growl out, letting all my irritation flow into my voice. God, if I hadn't specifically promised Jin, no force on earth could stop me from squeezing the trigger and watching Asuka's skull split open down the middle. She's done more than enough to earn her just desserts. But I did promise, and I don't betray my clients' trust, even after they're dead. So I lower the barrel and place the rifle down against the bar. Maybe one last plea for sanity before I leave...

"Bet that one's got you wondering, huh? Why doesn't she just kill me? Like I said before, every breath you take, every second you continue to live, is a gift from your cousin – so is this. Next time you open your mouth to talk shit about him, think back to what happened here and – "

The little bell above the door jingles. I roll my eyes. "We're not done yet, Yuji. You can have your cafe back when I leave."

"Who the hell is Yuji?"

American. Rough. Slight Brooklyn accent. Mid-40s. I know that voice. Bruce Irvin. Isn't he with G-Corp? Fuck.

I throw a high kick out as I pivot around to face him – but no, he's already stepped in close, and – "Uah!" – his knuckles strike me beneath the ribs with the force of a sledgehammer, followed by a knee, block the next one, Nina, c'mon –

Crunch!

Through the fog in my mind and the ringing in my ears, I feel my back hit the floor; must've taken a hard strike to the head. Crawling back without really thinking about it, I look up at Irvin's grinning face as he stands over me, hands on hips, clearly loving the authority he thinks his store-bought military fatigues give him. That Kazuya delegated command to a bum like this shows how much he underestimated Jin...and Irvin's lack of weaponry shows how much he's underestimated me. "You should've brought back-up, Bruce."

"Says the ho I just decked." What did he just call me - ? And he jerks his thumb over his shoulder, smile growing even wider. "And who says I didn't?"

With a foreboding hollow feeling in my gut, I peer around past the obnoxious bastard and – uh-huh, he does have friends, to the tune of at least a dozen G-Corp soldiers, standing in the middle of the road outside, rifles levelled towards the cafe – or towards me, even. Okay, so maybe Bruce isn't a complete idiot.

"So the boss, he's been hearing some funny things about you, and now he wants you brought in alive, even after I put so much effort into killin' you all those times – "

"Yeah, and look how well that worked out for you," I shoot back as I steadily get back to my feet, not hurrying any one motion, just in case any of Irvin's friends have itchy trigger-fingers. "Of course, you know I've got no intention of making this easy for you, right?"

He rolls his shoulders and slaps one fist into the other palm, cracking his knuckles as he does so. "I was countin' on it. Figure beating the hell outta you'll go some way to getting back in the boss' good books – " "You mean the same 'good books' you got cut out of after I knocked you out last time we met?" He snarls, and takes a rushing step forward, and here comes the big rising knee, trying to target my diaphragm again – I skip in a semi-circle around it, throwing a sharp slap across the back of his head as I do so. It's enough to make him stumble and curse under his breath but little else – that's okay, all I'm trying to do is piss him off. He glares over his shoulder at me, takes a little skipping step forwards – the kind of obvious tell true professionals don't make – and throws an admittedly impressive leaping left-footed hooking kick, which I catch at the shin (also impressive, that) and twist to – he's not falling?

Looking to the side, I see he's got a firm hold on one of the diner's tabletops, and uses it to keep himself upright – that's actually pretty clever, for him. Wait, what's he – "Whuh!" – kicked with his other leg, caught me in the gut again. Couldn't stop myself from letting his other foot go, but did manage to throw myself to the floor – okay, fall to the floor – to avoid another strike like that.

"Aaah!" That wasn't me – oh, I fell on Asuka. Actually, there's an idea... "C'mere, princess," I grunt as I wrap one arm around her neck and drag her back up with me, holding her in front as a human shield.

Bruce doesn't even seem to notice the change until he's already struck Asuka with two sharp punches to the face, making the girl's head flop around limply. Then he barks a short, sharp laugh. "Aw, what's the matter, did I hit you too hard? Want to cuddle up close with your new girlfriend 'til the bad man goes away?" I don't respond. Let him believe whatever bullshit he spews for now. And of course, he makes no move to stop me as I put a little more space between us, dragging Asuka along – she's like a sandbag in my arms, Bruce's last shots must've knocked her out. "Well, if that's the way you wanna play," he continues, raising one arm above his head with three fingers outstretched, and the soldiers outside turn on their laser designators, flooding the cafe's interior with a dozen probing red beams, all sweeping towards Asuka and I, "then we'll just shoot right through the li'l Jap bitch and nail you, too. Kazuya's just gonna have to settle for a corpse." One finger goes down and I hear the rifles cock.

Lucky I expected this, huh? "Now, Bruce, I realise you're not the sharpest tool in the box, but think this through for a minute; this is a public place, it's broad daylight outside, and I'm not with the Zaibatsu anymore. This isn't warfare, this is G-Corp goons gunning down a couple of civilians. How well do you think that'll go with Kazuya's status as the world's 'saviour'?"

Checkmate, moron. Bruce's jaw twitches as he tries to think of a comeback, but the reality sets in after a moment; he knows I'm right. His arm lowers to his side, and he tilts his head to speak into a radio mounted on his vest. "Okay, so no guns."

"No guns for you, anyway," I add, as my outreached hand finally brushes against the stock of my stolen rifle. Before Bruce can do anything besides look shocked, I've got the rifle up against my hip, and squeezed the trigger – badaba-bang!

I keep watching just long enough to see Bruce fall, two smoking holes in his torso. The other shots flew wide of the mark, and the kevlar probably saved him, but what the hell, it'll buy me time. Dropping the rifle, I stumble back through the diner, keeping Asuka between me and the soldiers, who, stupidly, still don't shoot as they scramble in to give chase, breaking through the glass display windows – I risk a glance behind me, there's the back door – c'mon, get out get out get out –

And we're out, barely. I push Asuka away; she groans as she collapses against a dumpster. "Wha...what happened?" Her squeaky voice wheezes.

"We had a team-up, you did great," I shout back across my shoulder as I climb up over a chain-link fence and drop down the other side, before running...running...hell, I don't know where I'm running, just...away.

Author's Notes

Hey, I thought it'd take much longer before I could put this chapter up! Luckily, I found some sort of muse, and blasted through the end of this one AND the whole of chapter 4 in record time. However, I'll be keeping number 4 to myself until 5 is written. That's just the way I roll.

In response to my first (and so far, only) reviewer, Aegis Khaos: Thank you for the kind words, sir! Glad you liked my spin on Nina; I've always viewed her as having a lot of pride in her skills and her upbringing, and as a direct extension, a great deal of disdain for everyone who doesn't meet her exacting standards. And yeah, I didn't want her to be driven by love or anything sappy like that. I mean, I do usually enjoy JinxNina stuff, but this story isn't the right place for it. And I hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as the previous two.

Oh yeah, and before anyone says anything: no, I don't like Asuka very much. I'd rather not get into the reasons why. I don't have anything against Bruce, though; I just needed a visible G-Corp presence in this chapter, and didn't wanna waste Anna or Kazuya so soon.

Next time: Nina's escape takes her underground – literally – and forces her to endure the one type of circumstance she's never been prepared for...a heart-to-heart chat. Guest starring Ling Xiaoyu and Panda!