The Last Command

Chapter 5: Best of Enemies

Even though I'm a loner by nature, I will admit that there are advantages to travelling with company.

Picking an example right now, there's the fact that rather than running through the streets, wearing myself out and staying out in the open until a lucky sniper plants a bullet in my leg, I'm sat down inside a well-armed APC along with five idealistic morons, handy in case I need a meat shield – oh, sorry, I mean 'back-up'. The only downside is, I'm not the one doing the driving, and they're getting me sidetracked solely because their precious commander wants to shoot the breeze with me. Somehow I doubt I'll enjoy that, but at least he's not out to kill me. That puts him slightly above Heihachi, Kazuya, my darling sister and, ooh, most of the world's population right now on my Facebook friends list. If I had one of those.

"So," I venture, "how's life for you guys?" Two of them incline their heads towards me slightly, just to fix me with the weird red stare from their helmets' illuminated optic systems, before looking away again without a word; the other three don't even acknowledge me that much. "Yeah, it's been pretty crap for me too." God, these guys are so dull. Y'know what makes me more of a professional than they'll ever be? I can relax. I can put my feet up, have a glass of wine and share a couple pithy jokes, and yet still shoot more accurately, fight harder, and screw up less than little boy soldiers like these clowns, who waste so much time focusing on making the one task directly in front of them go off without a single hitch they don't even notice all the opportunities and impending hazards flying past in the corner of their eye.

Where are we now, anyway? I crane my neck and peer out through the perspex lens that fills a gap in the vehicle's hull; outside there's a warehouse, another warehouse, a crane...another warehouse. Either we're near the docks or some sort of industrial park. Most companies shut their doors after the war started; with the two greatest earners on the Fortune 500 slinging tanks at each other, there wasn't much hope for their contemporaries to make any kind of profit, so the bosses went home to drink themselves silly, or maybe throw themselves off high towers, and places like this became massive ghost towns. Exactly the sort of place to hide an army, if you happen to have one.

"Home-1, this is escort group Heimdall," comes a voice from the drivers' seat – my god these guys use stupid codenames. "We are on final approach, and area is clear. Pop the hatch." Curious, I push up and out of my seat and peek over the driver's shoulder as the doors swing open on yet another warehouse, revealing its bare-bones interior, scaffolding and covered boxes, coloured by thin streaks of pale light emerging from dirty windows near the roof. There's nobody home. "Somehow, I was expecting more people, maybe something a little more Mission: Im – " My voice catches in the back of my throat as, through the front windshield, the nose of the APC...vanishes. As do the wheel arches, and more and more of the vehicle disappears, like it's passing through an invisible curtain...and then it's inside the vehicle, and passing over me. Oh, wow.

"...Impossible," I murmur as a whole new chamber appears before my eyes in a moment; far larger than the interior of any warehouse I'd expect to find around here, and much more high-tech too, with glossy black floors and sloping walls with minimalist white markings, holding racks of light aircraft in place. Along the floor rests row after row of mean-looking tanks and artillery, the kind of stuff that got me all foamy at the mouth when I was a kid. Every other girl begged their daddies to pay for pony-riding lessons, I wanted to go see air shows and war museums. Oh yeah, and there's him. Waiting for me already, punctual as ever. Goody.

"The captain will see you now." Yes, thankyou, I can see that. Dragging my eyes away from the windshield, I step back through to the passenger area and hop out through the open side hatch, my heels clicking sharply against whatever the floor's made of. Looks like marble. Much like everything else, it's a bit up-market for a guerrilla operation. I wipe any trace of slack-jawed awe from my face as Lars Alexandersson, dressed as usual in red-&-black battle armour and a split cape, approaches me, an expression of slight distaste on his face. "Miss Williams."

Before I go on, there's something you should know: Lars and I have never gotten along. In fact, the very first time we met was when he marched over to me in a hangar not entirely unlike this one and slapped me across the face. Yeah, slapped, not punched. I swear, if Jin wasn't there that day, keeping a restraining hand clamped firmly on my shoulder, I'd have torn this asshole's spiky head off. And you know what had made him so pissy? He'd lost five men defending a communications post from G-Corp mechanised infantry, something which I'd made quite clear in my briefing would cost us a hell of a lot more than five lives if he'd screwed it up. But therein lies the problem, and the main point of difference between Lars and myself; he's got no capacity for dealing with loss. He gets attached to every soldier under his command, taking them in like they're family, then blubbering away like a soap-opera housewife when they die. And they always die. It's war. That's what happens. Apparently, Lars skipped that part of drill instruction. Whereas me, I learned it before I'd finished primary school.

So, in summary, Lars is exactly the sort of person I have no time or respect for in this world. An optimist.

"Oh, we're not on first name terms yet? Or is this just your way of getting me to call you 'Captain'?" His scowl deepens at that. I don't care; making peace with this dweeb isn't high on my 'to do' list right now. "So why the snatch-&-grab in broad daylight? Didn't think I'd be such a big deal with Jin out of the picture. And how did you find me, anyway?"

"Hardly a 'snatch-&-grab', Nina, it was just a request. I told my men to leave you be if you didn't want to come. As for tracking you, well..." At that moment, a shrill whine of powerful engines fills the air, and a small, impossibly cute pink-haired girl, looking like she got dressed in the dark by a blind tailor, zips down from somewhere near the roof and lands gently beside Lars, smiling faintly as long steel air intakes fold into her back. Alisa Bosconovitch, the wacky robot girl. Of course. Must've been flying above me for the past hour or two. I give her a curt nod.

"Hiya, tinface."

"Greetings, miss Williams, N. You appear to be suffering acute stress at this time. Would you care for some tea?"

Gritting my teeth, I shake my head 'no'. Whilst I wouldn't say I hate Alisa per se, she can be a little hard to take sometimes. Most times, in fact. Typical of scientists, they focus all their energies on creating the perfect humanoid body for their robot – which just so happens to be the body of a well-proportioned teenage girl, to the surprise of absolutely no-one – and only spend about two hours on trying to give it sensible, human speech patterns.

"Anyway, miss – " Lars tries to smile, and fails. "Nina. Care to walk with me?"

"Not much else to do around here..." I let him lead on, noting that Alisa follows behind me at a distance and angle where she's out of both my eyesight and my reach, a very astute move on her part – it's the kind of thing I'd do in her place. Another reminder of how dangerous robo-girl can be, just in case I somehow forget the chainsaws in her arms. Focusing on Lars instead, I note the way he swings his arms and keeps his shoulders square as he walks, occasionally reaching back to give his cape a little tug, or looking over his shoulder to see whatever I'm looking at. I just stare back blankly, refusing to play this little game. He's trying to send me a message, probably something like 'look at how small you are compared to everything else here', maybe a 'you're in over your head', or even a 'check out my awesome hardware, girl – fancy spending some quality time in the back seat of daddy's tank?' Hopefully not that last one, since Lars already has a girlfriend...

Of sorts.

"I must admit, I panicked earlier when I saw, what was it, 200 or so APCs heading out from Gargoyle Tower," he calls back over his shoulder, "and then nearly had a coronary when their transmissions came through, in the clear, begging for a ceasefire. Have I got you to thank for that?"

"Jin, actually." He stops mid-stride, and even without seeing his face, I can tell he's scowling at nothing in particular, jaw clenched tight. Just like the last time I saw him, back at the temple in Egypt, what did I say then? "It's not for me to judge if Jin was right or wrong. Maybe you're such a saint, if you think you can, but somehow, I doubt it." Oh, he did not take that well.

"Jin's dead. You don't have to follow his orders anymore."

"Maybe, but..." No way am I telling Lars, of all people, how I got suckered into doing this. Too much like a sign of weakness. "This was pretty much his last will and testament. It'd be rude of me not to see it through."

"Uh-huh." Don't think he's buying it. He turns to fix me with a scrutinising stare – okay, he's definitely not buying it. "And you'd do that for any dying man you happen across on your travels."

"Most of the dying men I meet are my victims, not my employers."

"And that makes a difference?"

"As a matter of fact, yes it does. Got a problem with that?" Of course he does. Lars wouldn't let anyone die, or at least try not to, and then have a histrionic fit when he realises that decision's out of his hands. Makes me wonder if he's ever lost anyone truly close to him. Maybe then he wouldn't be so quick to judge me.

He snorts dismissively, folding his arms across his chest with what he probably intended to be nonchalance, an effect spoiled by the effort needed to get his plated forearms around that incredibly dumb sculpted lion's head bust sticking out of his breast. "Arrogant as ever. Nevertheless, although it did take some quick emergency re-positioning so this base's location wasn't compromised by any arrivals touching down here, we now have the largest army in the world ready to deploy. An army consisting for the most part of men so thoroughly 'conditioned' they're little more than robo – " He blinks, and shoots a nervous glance over my shoulder, no doubt to Alisa, " – than zombies, mindless drones. I don't think they'd even remember to eat without someone telling them to."

"No, they won't. You'll have to organise some sort of alarm to summon them to the mess hall."

"Please tell me you're joking."

"Nope. It's your legacy for turning renegade, Lars. You reap what you sow" That is how you use that phrase, right?

"There you go again..." He raises one hand to his face and – he facepalmed me? Rude bastard. "Why did you even bother to come here, Williams? Is aggravating me that important to you?"

"Nope, just an added bonus." Still, that 'bonus' may be growing old. About time I got down to business. "I need to get to Russia without Heihachi's goon squad noticing. Figure you'd have access to transportation that's a little more discreet than an Air-Asia jumbo jet."

"I might, but why should I help you?"

"Self-preservation. If I get caught, your newfound military advantage goes down the drain, and all your precious moral values won't be worth shit when Kazuya starts making a serious move against you. And don't tell me you've been doing well so far – you've survived this long purely because your little gang hasn't been enough of a threat to warrant the full attention of either the Zaibatsu or G-Corp. That's all changed now. Kazuya's going to be breathing down your neck by the end of the week, and if Heihachi finds me, the Tekken Force'll be back under his control. But if you can get me to Russia, quickly, I can make the change irreversible. So it's either help me, or wind up imprisoned. Or dead." My cheeks feel flushed with the emotion I put into those words. When it comes to convincing people to see things my way, I prefer to just hold a gun to their head and say everything quietly and calmly, looking them straight in the eye and making it very clear that I am a woman they do not want to fuck with. Sadly, taking that option with Lars wouldn't work so well because...well...because he's fucked with me before and gotten away with it. Not like that, I mean; just that, not so long ago when he was trying anything possible to get to Jin and I was equally determined to not let him or anyone else get close, we had a fight, and he kinda, maybe, sort-of possibly beat me.

Barely.

My fault, really. A couple days earlier, Jin and I had been watching the video-feed of Lars' confrontation with Heihachi, during which Lars revealed Heihachi to be his biological father, thusly making the bastard yet another goddamn Mishima spawn. Jin didn't seem to be all that surprised, but me...well, up 'til that point I'd put Lars' survival down to mere luck, or the sheer stupidity of the opposition he'd come up against. But if he was a Mishima, the skill of his opponents wouldn't have mattered. It never does, not against them. And I stupidly kept telling myself that, right up until I threw my first kick at the back of his head. If I hadn't let my nerves got to me, if I hadn't been so weak, he'd have been down and out before he knew what hit him, and Jin would never have had to rely on this idiot post-mortem. Instead, I fluffed my shot, got pounded into the dirt, and now this guy's trying to make me beg. Screw him.

Lars continues to stare at me for another few moments, like he's waiting for my composure to suddenly break – not gonna happen – before jerking his head back, indicating the far wall, where a line of small, single-pilot interceptor jets, a model I can't recognise, are mounted on heavy industrial racks from the floor to the ceiling. "One of those will suffice. The F-58 Sky-Sweeper."

"Cute. Did you have to pay for those, or did Lee throw them in as freebies after he handled the decor in here?"

"How'd you know it was him?"

"Minimalist and trendy, yet still ostentatious. That's so Lee." I smirk, more at surprising Lars than any memory of Lee – memories which I'd rather have excised from my brain with a rusty spoon, god that guy's a creep – and walk away towards the jets...or, maybe I only take two steps before Lars speaks up again.

"Why ask?"

Ask what? What's he dribbling about now? Putting my hands on my hips, more for effect than anything else, I turn back to face him, preparing some withering sarcasm and...he's offering me a gun. "What the hell are you doing?"

"You could've just walked off that transport, put a bullet in my head, dealt with Alisa somehow and stolen one of the planes before anyone else could lift a finger to stop you. And if my measure of your character – or lack thereof – is on the money, you'd enjoy it too." The gun remains outstretched, while Lars continues to stare at me, almost like he's daring me. "Feel free to take the chance now. I won't stop you – "

Ch-chik.

Don't. Don't do it, girl, it'll make all the effort you've put into this job so far a complete waste, will get another large-scale military outfit chasing you across the globe, and is just the sort of immature, over-emotional bullshit move Dad taught you never to succumb to.

But you could get away with it. Alisa's fast, sure, and she's already on standby judging by the worried expression on her plastic face, but she's not faster than a bullet, and I've seen her fight enough to know how to avoid those saws of hers. There aren't that many other soldiers in this hangar, certainly not enough to even make you break a sweat. And it's Lars. You want to squeeze the trigger, you want that bullet to fly straight and true into his brain, you want him to die just for looking down on you because you don't meet his high-and-mighty moral standards...go on. Do it. You'll never get a chance this good again.

"Tempting offer, Lars..." Beyond the thick red fog of bloodlust swirling through my mind, I can hear my voice straining through a throat instantly turned dry. My inner turmoil seems to be showing all too clearly through my mannerisms, even Lars, thick-skulled, unobservant moron that he is, has his eyes widened and brow knotting in concern, like he's...afraid what I might do next...

And suddenly, the fog lifts. Letting go of a breath I didn't feel myself take, I turn the pistol around in my hand and pass it back to him, letting my eyes drop away from his gaze as I do. "Not today." I suppose I could point out that Lars being dead would leave a massive hole in Jin's plan for the new world, but really...all I needed was to see that look on his face. To know that he knows every breath he takes is a gift I've permitted him. To know that, behind all the bravado, he's a little bit scared of me. That'll do.

"Target blood pressure and respiration returning to within normal levels," pipes up Alisa in her chirpy teenager's voice, "muscles and tendons relaxing. Thankyou for not terminating Captain Lars, subject Williams, N. This unit expresses its relief and happiness." She tilts her head to one side and smiles with such sweetness I can taste sugar.

"Is she supposed to sound like that?"

"No, but she took some nasty hits back in Egypt, and I think something came loose in her head. Probably should send her back to Chaolan for a check-up." Lars seems to be purposefully avoiding my gaze as he fumbles with the handgun, replacing it in its holster on his belt, before turning sharply on his heel and quick-marching towards the jets. "So, yes – Alisa, prep one of the Sky-Sweepers, please." I hurry after him, and hear Alisa's dorky shoes pattering along the floor behind me as a klaxon starts to blare from somewhere overhead. Within moments, a single jet is pulled free from the wall, carried by hydraulic arms that had previously laid flush with the floor panels, and placed gently onto its landing skis barely twenty feet away. Despite what I said earlier about Lee, I'll give him some credit now – the guy knows how to make a cool plane. The canopy stretches almost the full length of the cockpit, allowing for greater visibility without spoiling the aerodynamic shape of the hull. Massive air intakes power equally large engines, which look capable of driving a far larger craft but doubtless allow this one to go like hell. The wing-tips fold up nice and tight against the intakes so it stores more neatly, not to mention can land in tighter spaces. And it's packing two .50-cal machine-guns and six of the new Starfire missiles under the body. Painted in sky blue, too. Matches my outfit nicely.

"Engine warm-up commencing, please stay back from the vehicle's afterburners." Alisa drones through her pre-flight checklist as I leave her behind, reaching out to run my fingers across the jet's hull – it's so new it actually squeaks under my touch. "Armaments check complete, no faults. Fuel check running...fuel check complete, tank 98% full. Electronics check..."

"The navigation system can guide you to almost any destination on the planet without any problems, or so Mr. Chaolan has assured me." Lars reaches into the now-open cockpit and removes a helmet, which he casually tosses my way. I catch it carefully, noticing how heavy it feels in my hands. "Just say 'location' then the place once the HUD is ready."

Slipping the helmet over my head, I'm almost immediately – "Gah!" – blinded by the staggering volume of gibberish text that skims across the visor, too fast for any of it to be legible. "It's not gonna look like I'm running a virus checker the whole time I'm flying, is it?"

"Give it a minute and it'll clear up. Are we all set, Alisa?"

"All checks complete and cleared. Lift-off is approved!"

"Well, that sounds simply optimal, doesn't it?" I smirk to myself, confident that Alisa either didn't hear me or can't figure out how sarcasm works, then get one leg up on the jet's steering fin and pull myself up into the cockpit, shifting around in the seat until the padding feels comfortable – and lo and behold, the visor's cleaned itself up nicely. Now it's just saying 'WELCOME. DESTINATION?'.

Lars' hand tightens around my arm. Knew he wouldn't let me go without a little more bullshit. "You were saying before, about Heihachi – if his coming after me is a bad thing, why is it so much better for him to be chasing you?"

"Because, Lars, so long as I can make myself dead before he gets the chance to capture me, he still loses. If he kills you, everyone loses. According to Jin, anyway. Plus, y'know..." I throw him a smile which I hope looks as crazy as I feel for saying this. "I just love being the centre of everyone's attention."

He shakes his head with a chuckle, then pulls the canopy down over my head until it clunks into place, sealing off the rising whine from the engines. I look away as I strap the breathing apparatus across my face, and wrap one hand around the control stick, mentally ticking off the functions each and every plane ever made has, power, pitch, yaw and roll...I'm as ready as I'll ever be.

At the far end of the hangar, the door my previous transport entered through slides open to its fullest extent, the edge of the hologram field shimmering beyond it. A quick tap on the green switch highlighted in my HUD and the wings fold down into place.

'WELCOME. DESTINATION?'

"Location, Yakutsk." Nice little town. I pretended to work at their Academy of Sciences for a few months back in the day, purely so I had a plausible reason to hang around while I flirted my way into the trust of a particularly sleazy dean of studies, who'd been getting awfully close to a student thirty years his junior, whose father happened to be a bigshot with the Mafiya. Oh, happy days.

'DESTINATION ACCEPTED. PLOTTING COURSE NOW.'

Twin dotted lines fade into view before my eyes, pointing the way straight out through the open doors. I look out the window and give a quick thumbs-up, returned by Lars, who I'm suddenly hoping doesn't expect me to return this baby in one piece. Gripping the throttle with a grin, I give it a gentle push forwards and whisper, "let's see what you can – "

And the rest of my words are forced back down my throat as the jet takes off like a greyhound, pushing my head back against the seat with the power of more g-forces than I can count. The world blurs into an impressionist's painting around me as I pass through the hologram and streak into the bright and cloud-free sky, and it's all I can do to keep this pint-sized rocket staying true to the guideline still painted across my visor.

So long, Heihachi. Next stop, Icebergsville, Russia...

Author's Notes

Blah, that took some doing. I'll be up-front and honest with you, folks – this is not my favourite chapter so far. Possibly my least favourite, in fact. I'm not sure how well I sold the tension between Nina and Lars, and beyond that it was just a big protracted excuse to get Nina some form of transport that could plausibly take her to Russia from Japan in fairly little time. Also, not much action, which makes two 'slow' chapters in a row. Not a great trend. On the plus side, the next one should be more exciting.

Lars is a character I'm fairly ambivalent about, mainly because he's so damn manufactured. Really, there's no good reason for his existence beyond the fact that T6's Scenario Campaign needed a central good-guy character and they couldn't use Jin. Ergo we get Lars, who fits much the same mould that Jin used to; seemingly flawless goody-two-shoes, pretty enough to make fangirls swoon at thirty paces, silly hair, and of course he's a Mishima, because sadly, nobody would ever believe he could conceivably beat pretty much every other character in the game if he wasn't part of that bloodline. The fact that they made him amnesiac and it didn't make his personality any different at all speaks volumes, I believe. Still, he can make for an interesting supporting cast member. Alisa, on the other hand, is a brilliant, brilliant character that I wish I could spend more time with here. She's probably the only 'cute girl' in Tekken that is actually cute, and her mix of dainty mannerisms and uncomfortable killer robot speech patterns cracks me up.

Anyway – reviews! I got two more, so let's go over them.

MrsJinKazama – Love your work, by the way. I know I've posted a couple of reviews on some of your stories that seem awfully critical, but please don't let that get you down. Also, wow! That's some mighty big praise right there! And again, it's nice to hear that people like the way I've been writing Nina thus far. Hope this chapter lived up to your expectations!

Aegis Khaos – What are you, my stalker? Heh. Yeah, I'm running out of things to say back to you, too. But it's good to know you didn't think I went too far with the last chapter – at times, I did feel that I'd maybe softened Nina up a little too much. Still, I do stand by my belief that Nina won't automatically react with violence to every situation, and is capable of being kind and sociable, at least when in the right company.

Also, if you've read this far without falling asleep (good for you!) and you're wondering when your favourite character is going to appear, if they haven't already, do feel free to ask! Yes, that is a rather cheap attempt to get more reviews posted. Don't judge me.

Next time: Progress at last! Nina finally tracks down the first of the Zaibatsu computer nodes within the barren wastes of Siberia, but she's not the only cold-blooded killer stalking through the snow tonight! Guest starring – to no surprise whatsoever – Sergei Dragunov!