Rolling Thunder * Common Threads
CEO Announces King of Iron Fist Tournament
Tokyo Times-Wednesday, August 21.
Heihachi Mishima, CEO of the Mishima Financial Empire announced this afternoon at a press conference, his plans to host the KING OF IRON FIST Tournament, set for the first week of September.
A legendary fighter in the Martial Arts tournament circuit, Heihachi Mishima has extended his invitation to several of the most prominent Tournament fighters competing in the field today, each representing a diversity of styles of Martial Arts. The purse for the winner of the Zaibatsu sponsored Tournament is an astronomical 1 Billion dollars and the title of strongest Martial artist in the world, prompting both support and criticisms from numerous International Martial Arts associations.
When asked by the press why this prominent CEO of the Largest Corporation in Tokyo would host and participate in such a tournament, Heihachi Mishima responded: “My own love and respect for the power and discipline of the Martial Arts has prompted me to focus the spotlight on this challenging and enriching forte. As a trend over the past several years, there have been less and less participants in the International Martial Arts tournament circuit, with a good number of corporate sponsors pulling away from the exhibition scene and pledging money and support into various other sports. I hope to focus the attention of the world back to the traditions and benefits of Martial arts and so I have asked only the most prominent talents in the field to join me for this tournament. The purse of 1 billion dollars comes from my personal coffers and is in no way linked to the Zaibatsu. However, all proceeds from the selling of tickets to the event and other Tokyo Corporate sponsors will be donated back into the martial arts community to further foster the teachings of these various art forms.”
When asked why the 1 billion dollars offered as a purse to the winner of the King of Iron Fist Tournament could not be given as a donation to the martial arts community, Heihachi Mishima responded. “The spot light generated from a tournament of this proportion is worth far more than 1 billion dollars. I hope to reawaken the world to the beauty and traditional sensibilities that can come from dedication and devotion to Martial Arts. The prize money that is offered is a challenge to any of the elite artists invited that could possibly defeat me, thus taking the title of the worlds strongest and most skilled martial artist.”
Following his press conference, Heihachi Mishima could not be reached for further comment. For the share of criticisms from the Martial Arts communities, it seems some of the most affluent cities in the world are promoting their best Competitors with a sense of strong national pride. The Martial Arts associations in Tokyo, Korea, China and even the United States have rallied behind the tournament brainchild of Heihachi Mishima. Now the question remains, who will be the King of Iron Fist? Heihachi Mishima set the paper down, locking his fingers together before his chin. Casting his glance along the feudal decor of the CEO office of the Financial Corporation, The elder Mishima smiled. The wheels were set in motion, it was only a matter of time before this intricate snare would trap his evasive prey. How could one of his blood, feeling the pull of fatal lightning in his veins, resist the thunderous call bellowed from the parting sky itself? The spot had been left open...though Heihachi knew it would not be long now. Eight years was long enough....
Lee Chaolan slowly unpacked his clothes from the multitude of suitcases, placing them neatly in his old, well kept lacquer dressers. His furniture from the apartment he had been renting in New York was already in storage, awaiting the first opportunity to grace his new place of residence, once this business with the tournament was completed. One billion dollars could certainly buy the trendiest loft in Tokyo....and several other cities to boot.
Taking a seat on his bed, Lee ran a hand through his silver mane. It had been six years since he had stayed for any longer than a week at the old Compound he once called home. Sparking a match to life, Chaolan inhaled the sweet menthol tinged smoke, his eyes rolling closed in sublime pleasure. School had been a career for him, shortened from eight years to merely six with the addition of a full roster of summer classes to attain his Masters degree in business with a secondary major in science. Given an endless supply of finances, Lee Chaolan had attained precisely what his father desired...the knowledge...to be his heir.
From long distance, Chaolan assisted Heihachi in planning the public relations aspect of the King of Iron Fist Tournament, guaranteeing himself a place among the competitors who had already accepted, each a Master of Martial Arts in their own rights. Though none had conquered the art of Ninjitsu as Chaolan had. His education furthered in the United States, having met up with Master Wang on foreign soil. Together, for a time, they trained and reminisced of Chaolans younger days in Japan. The old memories made Lee somewhat homesick.
Home sick for Japan, I thought that would be the day. Lee snickered to himself, laying back on his bed...his boots kicking the suitcases from the teetering edge as he placed the ashtray on his firm, muscular abdomen. Leaning his head back against the wall as he flicked errant ashes into the receptacle, Chaolan could barely believe he had ever been born and raised in a backwater country like Korea.
In college, Lee had been exceptionally popular, which came as no surprise to the Silver Devil. His dashing good looks, his slightly Asian accent...his knowledge of martial arts...all made him stand out amongst his peers, drawing them in like a moth to a flame. With the exception of being summoned home twice during the year for a week long meeting with Father, Chaolan over indulged himself in American Lifestyle. In New York, Lee was not the adopted son to a respected, wealthy empire...but the primary heir to a vast company building itself into a World Wide Conglomerate. Now, Chaolan had the knowledge he needed to lead the Zaibatsu into the 21st century. Now...it was Lee Chaolans time to shine.
With narrowed eyes, Kazuya Mishima stared almost blankly at the newspaper before him. CEO ANNOUNCES KING OF IRON FIST TOURNAMENT. Like an old ghost reaching cruel fingers from the distant past, the rolling thunder deafened the cries of wind outside his modest Downtown Tokyo apartment. The rain beat heavy fists of ancient pain along the streaking windows...as if each bead sought to decimate the glass barrier of protection from the harsh outdoors. In the dying summer, the storms raged hardest....a viable electric current echoed through his rippling Ki.
Slamming his fist along the bare wood of his kitchen table, Kazuya felt the shiver of the surface threaten to give way. It had been years since the young Mishima had last thought of his namesake, only to feel the hatred writhe like bile along his tender throat. Why now? Why after all these years did the rage and hatred burn like wildfire for the ghost of his long forgotten sire?
Drawing himself to a quick stand, Kazuya paced the floor in the living room, brushing a hand through his thick obsidian mane. Glancing around the patchwork of second hand furniture, the young Mishima searched for the cold chill of memories phantasmic fingers shivering down his spine. It was only at that moment, Kazuya realized how dismal and humble his surroundings happened to be. One could hardly tell he was bred from a life of affluence. I am barely home, he tried to reason, suddenly overwhelmed with a sense of filth and squalor akin to the days spent in the charred, fire hazard building he and Lee had inhabited. Why should I care anyway, business keeps me busy. I am only here to sleep, half the time.
From the early morning Kazuya had left the compound he had been welcomed into the arms of the Japanese Underground Mafia, the Yakuza, first as a errand boy. Once trust was gained, the young Mishima from a wealthy family was granted privileges within the sub order of the “family” as a strong arm. With Kazuya’s knowledge and skill at martial arts, topped with his physical strength and intimidation...not to mention his ambition, becoming a strong arm seemed only natural. At first the idea made Kazuya somewhat ill. Roughing up individuals for money they did not seem to have was almost meaningless....and cruel. Until the young Mishima realized what scum the majority of these individuals really where. The underbelly of the Tokyo streets...pimps, hustlers, drug addicts...each one filthier than the next. Kazuya made the transformation after just a few weeks of pity...to one of merciless collection....cleaning up the filth of the Tokyo Streets.
The young Mishima’s job as strong arm lasted for nearly two years, bringing in a good deal of money and information to his new family. From their, the Japanese Mafia gave him the privilege of becoming the first not of their blood to handle daily street operations. Kazuya earned tremendous respect from the strong arms under him for his ruthless and ambitious dealings with the street. Though the life he was living was seamy at best, Kazuya was afforded a nicer chunk of the profits and more control as time wore on. The Downtown Tokyo streets were never safer than during his nearly 3 year reign at the helm of operations for the Yakuza.
Thrilled with his performance, the Underground gave the young Mishima a chance to really grasp a piece of the pie. Weapons dealing. The Yakuza connections were expanding it’s grasp into new markets outside of Japan, setting Kazuya at the head of arms smuggling, giving him new insight into the dark world of shadows the real world operated in. On a never ending budget, Kazuya made the deals...supervised the shipments and got the goods to the hands of the consumers with undetectable accuracy. In almost eight years, the young Mishima had clawed his way through the ranks of the Japanese underground Mafia with a sense of stunning ambition and power.
The Yakuza had new plans for Kazuya Mishima...but apparently so did the pathways of fate. Glancing back toward the bold black headline of the newspaper on the kitchen table, Kazuya could not help but grimace. Heihachi Mishima was placing One billion dollars on the line for this King of Iron Fist Tournament but Kazuya could not see the dollar signs. He could only see revenge.
Though your new family has harnessed you, the power has always been from within. Your ambition and ruthlessness stems from the dark seeds planted over twenty years ago...finally brought to culmination. Before the world our promise may be kept. Before the world you will bring Heihachi Mishima to his knees.
The ever graceful hiss of the Devil slithered along the edge of his shredded soul, forcing Kazuya to draw a long, slow breath to calm the inner rage threatening to consume him. “I will let the Family know tomorrow. Until this tournament is finished, I will be unavailable to conduct my usual business. Considering what they know of my situation, I am sure they will ask if I would like a hit placed on the old bastard should I lose. Should I lose?” Kazuya laughed demonically, grasping the newspaper with his violent, anger trembling fingers. “I will not lose.”
The question remains, Kazuya. Do we waltz into the front door and demand to be added to the competition? Surely then we will be denied the fight of our life....
“There will be no need to secure a place. I am sure Father has all the details written in stone upon the Sepulchre he has no doubt prepaid for, in my name. This is by no act of chance. Only the weak leave their designs to chance.”
Lee yawned with a slight shiver, awaking from his impromptu nap. The jet lag from his flight home to Japan had worn him out more severely than he had previously remembered. Stretching his muscles, Chaolan sauntered down the stairs, one hand resting comfortably in his black khakis, the other brushing the stain of fallen ashes from his dark blue cashmere V neck sweater.
Opening the front door, Lee was greeted by the blaring light of the late afternoon sun. Shielding his eyes with a cup of his hand to his brow, Chaolan squinted, stepping off the front porch. In sheer amazement, Lee felt his jaw fall slack. Father was standing in the long circular drive, leaning against a brand new white sports car. Honda S2000.
“Congratulations on attaining your Masters Degree in Business Administration, my son. This car is my present to you, the only one of its kind as of right now. These have not yet gone into full scale production, though by the end of next year they should be available off the line.”
Lee rubbed his eyes, brushing long tendrils of his silver mane from his sight, the smile falling along his angelic features. “I do not know what to say Father...accept, thank you...” Chaolan extended his hand as if to shake Heihachi’s.
Heihachi grasped Lee in for a quick hug, patting him on the back as he handed over the keys. “Welcome home, college graduate. With this competition beginning the end of next week, it is time to see if school has softened your physical prowess. Do you feel ready to compete?”
Lee smiled despite himself, sliding his hand into the pocket of his black khakis once more. “Confidence has never been an area of need. I would say it is all in the bag but then I would risk sounding arrogant.” Chaolan pondered a moment, turning to meet the never aging fire behind the eyes of Heihachi Mishima. “Well, I am arrogant. It IS all in the bag.”
Heihachi pat Lee on the back once more before breaking contact with the silver haired youth. “Excellent my boy. Now, if you are ready, we have some planning to discuss. The dossiers are on my desk and the tournament rounds need to be decided based on the acceptance we have already received. Deadline is midnight tomorrow night, I trust by then all our competitors will be in need of scheduling and information.”
Chaolan nodded. “Not a problem. We can get to work on that immediately.”
Heihachi smiled as Baiko opened the door for them. “Welcome home, Chaolan. It is good to have you back where you belong.”
Lee turned, glancing over his shoulder as the door seemed to slam closed in perfect time with the strength of Heihachi’s words...filling the silver haired youth with a sudden, forboding sensation.
Heihachi set his reading glasses down on the antique rosewood of the desk in his library. Rubbing his eyes with the tips of his fingers as he yawned, the planning he and Lee had done over the course of several hours had been exceptionally taxing. Though the silver haired youth had a good deal of excellent suggestions, Heihachi found his endless banter about college campus nerve wracking. Not to mention his attention to Detail. Chaolan seemed to harp on the unnamed slot, left open at the CEO’s behest. No matter the answer, the Elder Mishima could not seem to quelch his endless tirade of questions.
With the phone calls placed, Chaolan had secured the upstairs floors of an Uptown Tokyo Hotel as the main residence housing the competitors. To have all competitors in one hotel allowed the comings and goings to be closely monitored for the sake of fairness...or so Heihachi had said to Lee. The reality was somewhere in the realm of control. To know where the enemy sleeps is to have power over that enemy.
The first draft of the rosters had been created for the round of 16 for those who had already eagerly responded. There were still a few more entries awaiting RSVP, though they had till midnight tomorrow evening to do so. As per tournament guidelines, Heihachi himself reserved the right to compete only as the final Master, the barrier standing before a competitor and the one billion dollar cash prize. Though the talents he queried for entry happened to be as varied as the arts they represented, there was only one person who could possibly work through the ranks to reach the place where Heihachi stood, waiting.
Kazuya Mishima. The prodigal son. For nearly eight long years, Heihachi had searched the world over for even a trace of his errant child. The last time the elder Mishima had seen him, Kazuya was demanded to make a decision as to his college education from the choices Heihachi had given. By the next morning he was gone, not to be seen again.
After the first few months, all trails ran ice cold. It was as if Kazuya had disappeared from the face of the earth, swallowed by a dark, yawning chasm...never to climb back out. Even Chaolan had no ideas as to where he could have gone. Perhaps, in hindsight, the CEO’s machinations had worked too well to split them apart...though he had not anticipated this. Rumors had abounded due to the large cash sum offered for the information leading to the “safe” return of the Zaibatsu Heir, though none turned fruitful. Hence it became Heihachi Mishima’s obsession to find his son.
Raising his snifter of brandy to his lips, Heihachi took a long swig. The early morning hours were dawning, a time for rest was at hand. If you are alive Kazuya, by now my headlines have captured your attention. If you are alive, Kazuya, come to me. I am waiting.
Kazuya sat in silence, his head bowed reverently before Akio Genji, Master of the Yakuza, awaiting the final decision. Each breath the young Mishima drew fanned the flames of inner torment, threatening to consume him within his own rage.
Master Genji sat before Kazuya, his fingers interlocked before his chin, observing the face of the young man he had taken under his wing nearly eight years prior. Skilled, Intelligent, Resourceful and Ambitions, Kazuya had proven to be one of the most valuable assets the Underground Family had ever known. The young Mishima had risen through the ranks no other borne outside the blood of the Yakuza could have ever have hoped to see. And now it seemed after years of service, the call of destiny was reclaiming the teenager he had helped to mold into a man.
“You are asking to be released from the family, Kazuya....” Akio Genji spoke, instantly causing the Young Mishima to abruptly break the reverie of respect, meeting the eyes of his mentor.
“No, Dono Genji...I do not seek to be released from the family, merely a reprieve to handle this personal business....” Kazuya held Master Genjis’ gaze, forcefully holding back the raging flames threatening to consume him from within.
“I understand your request, Mishima, though to seek the vengeance you so justly deserve you must do this unfettered. You have been a vital resource for the family but if you are to win this King of Iron Fist Tournament, you must hold no ties that will impede your retrieval of the company.” Genji sighed softly, watching the bewilderment take hold of the young Mishima’s eyes.
“What would I want with the company, it has no use to me. It is only the death of my father that I seek, by my own hands.” Kazuya dug his nails into his palms, feeling the dull ache of broken skin soothe his nerves.
“When you kill your father, the company will naturally pass to you, as his heir. The Zaibatsu is a company on the verge of domination in financial markets, you can not have dirty hands if you are to stand at its helm. Any links that are found to the Yakuza will only destroy your reputation and thus the company with it. Now, listen to me, Kazuya. You have been as a son to this family and I as it’s father will be sad to see you go.” Akio held the young Mishima’s eyes with strong intent. “I will hereby release you of your stations within the Family to pursue that which is destined. I do this on one condition.”
“Anything, Dono Genji...” Kazuya bowed his head once more. “When you have been established in the throne of your forefather for enough time to quelch suspicions, you will remember your ties to the family and honor them accordingly. Our contacts are your contacts. Your standing within the Yakuza will not suffer in your departure, but you must promise to remember from whence it is you have come.”
Kazuya nodded softly, reading into the subtle context of Master Genji. “My loyalties are with the Yakuza. The Yakuza is you, Dono Genji.”
Akio Genji rose, bowing to the young man standing on the precipice of fate. “And our loyalties are with you, young Mishima. May the sword of your ancestors be sharp before your awaiting fate. Bring your family justice, strike at the heart of the demon.”
Kazuya rose, bowing in humble respect before Master Genji, closing the door behind him.
Akio Genji slowly slid into the comfort of his leather chair, tapping the intercom to the awaiting secretary just outside the door. “I am in need of a special service. Get me in touch with Miss Nina Williams, ASAP.”
“Yes Sir...” The secretary chimed, disconnecting from the intercom.
Drumming his fingers along the desk impatiently, Akio Genji smiled. Kazuya Mishima will take the Zaibatsu, with a little help, if necessary.
“Well you GQ motherfucker, has it been six years already?” Sachi Gushigen laughed, drawing Lee Chaolan in to his embrace.
“Heh, it feels like only yesterday Sachi. How the hell have you been?” Lee smiled, draping an arm around his best friend of high school years, walking him toward his gleaming new Honda S2000.
“I’ve been pretty good...but holy shit, it looks like the states have been very good to you. Sweet fucking ride! The old man must have spent a pretty penny on this bitch!” Sachi admired Chaolans brand new sports car.
“Yeah, a little graduation present. Though I would have preferred he hand the keys to the Zaibatsu over instead. All in due time, my man. All in due time.” Lee gave his most charismatic grin as he leaned along the side panel of the car, lighting a cigarette.
“What are you dreaming Chaolan. You will have to pry the deed from his cold dead fingers and you know it.” Sachi smiled, taking Lee’s cigarette from his lips to light his own as they stood in the long driveway of the Gushigen Estate. “Yeah something like that. But hey, I’m going to be competing in the King of Iron Fist Tournament and when I beat him I think Heihachi will be too fucked up to be CEO of anything but the IC unit at the hospital, yanno what I’m saying?” Lee chided.
“Yeah, I feel you man. So, you taking me for a ride or what? Lets open this bitch up and see what she can do...” Sachi grinned widely, hoping into the bucket passenger seat.
“Alright man, but it is your funeral. In the meantime lets grab some lunch.” Lee flicked his burnt down cigarette onto the driveway before hopping in. “Downtown good for you?”
“If your looking to get this car stolen, sure, I’m game.” Sachi grinned, slapping his hands along the dashboard like a drum.
“Aw man, show some respect. I just waxed this car down, don’t go smudging your greasy ass fingers all over it!” Lee shook his head, shifting the car into drive.
“Whatever man, your such a bitch.” Sachi laughed.
“Some things never change.” Chaolan peeled out of the long driveway, squealing the tires as he pushed the accelerator...feeling the wind whip through his silver mane.
Kazuya stepped out of the small downtown Tokyo dojo, his gi bag slung over his shoulder as he ran a hand through his damp, sweat soaked mane of obsidian hair. Flushed from hours of endless forms and combinations, the young Mishima felt at the very top of his game. The only thing left to do...was to secure his place among the competitors of the King of Iron Fist.
Walking along the streets, Kazuya stopped at his usual lunch spot, a small sidewalk cafe. Leaning in along the take out counter, the young Mishima waited for his order, placing a toothpick along the line of his molars as he turned to survey the large assembled crowd enjoying their delectable lunches. The downtown area had changed dramatically since his days as Head of Street Operations. The microcosm streets had become somewhat safer, more prosperous for shops...in turn creating jobs for the previously impoverished community.
Suddenly, a glint of silver amidst the strong mid day light caught the young Mishima’s eye. No...It Can’t be....Kazuya felt his own thoughts shiver. Unable to break his gaze from the angelic, more adult features than he remembered....Kazuya realized the patron having lunch at the sidewalk cafe....was Lee Chaolan.
Feeling the strong gaze studying him, Lee Chaolan turned in the direction of the stare, breaking from pleasant conversation with Sachi Gushigen. Drawing to a stand, the silver haired youth lowered the line of his designer sunglasses to the bridge of his nose, studying the muscular form leaning along the take out counter. Shredded blue jeans...a form fitting white tank top...thick obsidian hair, upswept in an unmistakable dramatic and severe style with a gi bag slung over one muscular shoulder....It has to be him. It has to be...Kazuya.
“What’s Wrong?” Sachi looked over toward the take out counter, speaking mid bite. “Somebody fucking with you?”
Lee felt his breath catch in his lungs...his heart swelling with a sense of wonder and longing to see his adopted brother once again. “Kazuya?” Lee yelled out, withdrawing his sunglasses entirely, momentarily blinded by the strong light of the mid day sun.
Once his eyes adjusted to the glare, Lee ran up the row of outdoor tables, toward the Take out Counter. No one was there. The figure was gone...swallowed by the glare of the blinding radiance overhead.
“God damn it!” Lee growled, kicking at the counter as Sachi ran up behind him.
“Are you flipping out or something, Lee? What the hell was all that for?”
“I thought...I saw someone.” Chaolan glanced to the ground before a smile fell along his lips. “Sachi, grab the waiter and have him wrap up the rest of my lunch. I will be right over, alright?”
“Yeah...alright?” Sachi shook his head, wiping his mouth of hastily swallowed crumbs before turning in the direction of their table.
Turning to the take out counter, Lee smiled to the young lady holding a lunch order, glancing around the sidewalk cafe, confused. “I am here to pick up lunch for Kazuya Mishima, but I lost his address. There is an extra $50 in this transaction if you can give me directions to his apartment...”
Kazuya stepped out of the bathroom, toweling his hair dry as the knock came to his door. Caught amidst the possible situation developing at the sidewalk cafe, the young Mishima decided it best to leave the scene...rather than cause one. Of all the damn places to have lunch, why did Chaolan come downtown?
The knock came once again. “One Minute.” Kazuya hissed, settling the towel along his water beaded upper body, brushing whet tendrils back from his cheeks as his thick obsidian mane hung long against his neck. “Who is it?”
“Your lunch, Mishima-sama. You left quickly, we bring it to you...” A thick Japanese accent spoke back from the barrier of the front door.
“Thank you so mu....” Kazuya stopped mid sentence as he opened the door to find Lee Chaolan standing before him, a brown bag held in his extended hand, his sunglasses pressed low on the bridge of his nose.
“It has been a long time, Kazuya.” Lee half sighed.
“How did you find where I live?” Kazuya nearly growled.
“I brought you lunch, brother. Aren’t you going to invite me in?” The silver haired youth smiled in triumph. “Come on, I got here in 30 minutes or less, that should warrant a warm, cozy invite...don’t you think?”
Kazuya said nothing, walking away from the door with a shake of his head. Lee stepped in, closing the portal behind him. “Surprised to see me? Not half as surprised as I was to find you...after all these years...at some dingy sidewalk cafe in downtown Tokyo. I guess the Yakuza has been good to you?” Lee set the lunch he carried on the kitchen table, taking in the humble apartment.
“What is it you want from me, exactly, Chaolan?” Kazuya hissed through narrowed eyes.
“Is a warm welcome too much to ask, brother?” Lee smiled, clipping his sunglasses along his tailored shirt.
“Adopted brother Chaolan.” The young Mishima’s voice was cold.
“I find it odd to think, Father has been looking for you for years...I am back in Tokyo for one day and I find you. Is it fate or just dumb luck?” Chaolan tapped his cigarette pack along his palm before withdrawing a gleaming white cylinder. “Mind if I smoke?”
“You have until you finish your cigarette to get out.” Kazuya slid a clean shirt over his muscular form, brushing his hair back with his fingers.
“You look good, Kazuya. I didn’t think you could make it on the streets but then again you have been known to surprise me. How have you been?” Lee inhaled slowly, letting the menthol taint tingle the roof of his mouth before exhaling.
Folding his arms before his muscular chest, Kazuya leaned back against the wall. “Must we indulge in useless pleasentries?”
“You want me to leave, don’t you?” Lee smiled. “Well, indulge me while I smoke this cigarette.”
“I have been well, Chaolan. I trust New York has been good to you?” Kazuya hissed, a tinge of anger resting in his monotone voice.
“New York was tremendous fun, on Fathers dime of course. But you know why I am back...I see you have been doing some reading up on it yourself...” Lee nodded his radiant liquid silver mane toward the day old newspaper resting on the kitchen table, beside the brown bag lunch. “You are the reason Father has left the one slot opened....” Lee was hit by the sheer obviousness of his statement. It all made sense now....
“And what exactly do you intend to do with this information?” Kazuya arched a brow, watching Chaolan closely.
“The question is...what do you want me to do about this information. Surely you did not intend on just showing up at the tournament and pushing your way through. I am running the roster, are you in?”
“That all depends on how fast you run back to Heihachi Mishima like a little bitch, now doesn’t it?”
“Ohh, Hostility. I come in peace, brother....” Lee smiled charismatically.
“And you will leave in pieces if you don’t watch your step, Chaolan. I will be in the tournament and there is nothing either you or my father can do to prevent it. You have the answer you came for. Now, get out.”
Lee slid his sunglasses back along the bridge of his nose, flicking his cigarette into the sink before walking toward the door. Turning to glance at Kazuya from the line of his shoulder, Chaolan smiled almost...angelically. “You may not be glad to see me, Kazuya. But I am happy to see you. I am glad you are alright. The morning you left I paced my room for hours, hoping you would be okay. You have done well for yourself. I can not pretend to know why you left that day, but I have my ideas. For what it’s worth, I am glad to see you.”
“How exactly is one happy to see an enemy, Chaolan? We are as we have always been...as I have always wanted us to be....enemies. Or don’t you remember?” Kazuya hissed, paraphrasing something Chaolan had said to him almost eight years prior, that fateful morning in the dojo after they had been caught by the police and brought back to the compound by their father. The accuracy at which he recalled the statement was almost shocking.
“I remember, Kazuya. I doubt I will ever forget. I doubt you will ever forget.” Lee sighed, turning to face the hallway, the door clutched in his hand. “I will leave the spot open for you. The fighters are set to gather at the Uptown Tokyo Hotel the beginning of next week, a room will be available if you want it.” Lee closed the door behind him, brushing a hand through his hair as he walked down the steps, leading to the outside. Pain was bittersweet....though not as agonizing as betrayal or love.
Kazuya lifted the brown bag lunch Chaolan had brought for him, hurling it against the far wall as the contents splattered with a resounding echo. Too much...Too soon. He had to gain control of his anger....before he lost control over himself.
“This is your target, Miss Williams.” Akio Genji smiled pleasantly, handing a glossy black and white photo of his intended hit to the beautiful, deadly assassin. “I have procured your place in the King of Iron Fist Tournament, beginning next week, should you accept this assignment.”
“I understand this tournament is exceptionally well guarded, however did you manage such a feat, Genji-san?” Nina smiled, studying the picture as her thick brogued accent fell past her ruby glossed lips.
“My influence is far reaching, Miss Williams. As are the tales of your beauty and deadly accuracy in the field of assassination. Tell me, will you accept the assignment?” Akio Genji rested his hands before his chin, watching this seemingly harmless beauty study the target like a jungle cat stalking prey.
“You are offering a handsome package, though I expect half the cash up front, the other half to be paid upon completion. However, I feel you should know that I do intend to make it to the finals of this King of Iron Fist Tournament, where an accident might look more believable...and the cash prize of One Billion dollars would be readily claimed. Regardless, I still expect the remainder of payment....” Nina purred, brushing her hand through her gold silk mane.
“So long as goal is completed, the money will be wired into your personal account. You have the assurance of the Yakuza, Miss Williams.” Akio smiled, charmingly, lifting his glass in toast to his newest employee.
Nina smiled, toasting with Master Genji, her laugh thickly brocaded with Gaelic spirit. “Here is to a mutually beneficial relationship, Genji-san. Cheers.”
Akio nodded, setting his glass down on the desk before him. “Now, would you like that in hundreds or fifties?”
“Hmmm.....” Nina purred, “Better make it hundreds, I wouldn’t want to break an arm carrying around a briefcase with that kind of weight. A girl has to travel somewhat...light. Better make it hundreds.”
Heihachi awaited Chaolans return home, tapping his fingers along the antique wood of the formal dinning room table. Somewhere at the hour of 2am, Lee strolled in, sunglasses still affixed firmly to shield his eyes.
“I trust your friends were happy to see you have returned to Tokyo?” The Elder Mishima smiled impatiently.
“You could say that...” Lee sniffed compulsively, lowering his glasses to reveal swollen, bloodshot eyes. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your awaiting my arrival, father?”
“It seems there are two Williams sisters we have received responses from regarding the King of Iron Fist Tournament. Perhaps it was an oversight on the part of Public Relations. I would like you to look into the error tomorrow and make the necessary changes to the roster.”
“Is that all?” Lee stumbled back slightly, his body shaking with a not so subtle rush of chemical through his veins. “Have you decided to fill the empty slot? We are one short, you realize.”
“All in due time, my son. If necessary I will compete to clear up the error, though I strongly believe otherwise....” Heihachi rose, stifling a tired yawn.
“You are leaving that place open for my brother, aren’t you?” Lee ran a hand back through his taloused mane, unable to catch his words before they fell, unthinkingly from his lips. “Has it occurred to you he might be dead...or unwilling to play your game, on your terms?” Chaolans attempted cover-up was not nearly as clever coming out as it had been as it formulated in his cocaine induced frame of mind.
“If Kazuya is alive, he will compete. He will not be able to resist the chance to defeat me in such a public forum. As for my designs, Chaolan, I suggest you reconsider the words you speak to me...before I am forced to make you choke on them. Are we at an understanding, boy?” Heihachi growled as a dark torrent of anger danced along his ageless eyes.
“Yes, Father...forgive me.” Lee nodded his head.
“I expect you to take care of the necessary changes early tomorrow morning. Until then, do try to sleep off whatever chemical you are currently working under. It is not becoming of a heir to a corporation to be seen in such a disreputable condition.” Heihachi moved passed Lee, shaking his head in disapproval before retiring to the west wing of the Mishima Mansion. When will children ever learn to play by the rules of the adult world?
August 28....
The anger is boiling over inside of me, manifesting in a constant state of battle for a line of control with the demon. The closer I get to fulfilling my destiny, the more I feel as though I am drowning beneath a baptismal of fire...losing myself to the brimstone cries of Tongues I can not speak...and can barely understand. Vengeance is days away and yet it has taken a lifetime of error to meet myself on the dusky road some call fate.
Is destiny seizing me or am I seizing it?
My strings are fine silken cord, wound tightly about my throat. I am a marionette bound to the only way of life I have ever been permitted to know. I can not fight an ocean of tide, the cascade of deadly clarity crashing along the rocks of altruistic change.
Anger, pain...doubt and fear rise like bile, mixing with the acrid taste of old, black blood. My wounds are like the sanctified stigmata of the western Christ, dripping fresh, shredded flesh with a benevolent smile on those who have risen to smite me. There is no kindness left within me, no human, humane salvation promising to rush to the surface in a moment of sacred truth. There is nothing sacred, least of all truth.
Now I make preparation with daggers at my back, right action my only shield; in the name of vengeance....and redemption. The ultimate paradigm unleashed from within the shattered, dispossessed soul...forms in the fingers of bloody triumph.
Destiny is a heartless whore, and I am the Master to which she bows.
~KM Kazuya set his journal down, closing the pen within it’s confines. Stretching out along the couch, the soft songs on his CD player lulling him into a calmer state as the flickering of candles along the coffee table seemed to flicker in time with his breath.
No matter the obstacles, Kazuya Mishima was ready. This battle had been predestined and now after a lifetime of trial, the world was for grasp beneath his fingertips.