Heihachi leaned the against the leather back seat of his chauffeured 4 door Lexus. Even in the dark of night, a sense of comfort was offered by the dark tinted windows, enshrouding his aged form from any passer-bys that may recognize him...and ruin his impending surprise.

With tired eyes, the older man took in the sheer mass of the Zaibatsu building, as the back of his knuckles kissed the cool, air conditioned glass. Power passes from generation to generation, Heihachi mused. The Corporation was begun as the brainchild of his father, Jinpachi Mishima when Heihachi himself was no more than a boy. Young as he was, he could recall the pride in his fathers eyes at his great accomplishments and growing reputation for fair business and acquisition after the devastation of World War II. A devastation Heihachi could never let himself forget...for which the world would eventually pay.

Jinpachi taught Heihachi the ins-and-outs of the business world, promising that someday his business would be a contending power in the competitive markets in the United States and United Kingdom. An odd pair the two countries had made, a Father and child at bitter rivalry in a time long past, uniting for a War and hell-bent on destroying the German army with her sister allied Japan. Wincing slightly, Heihachi could still hear the bombardment of air raid shells ringing through the blackened night, leading to the unforgivable drop of the two most powerful weapons on ground point zero that would change his life forever. The atomic bombs. How they nearly destroyed an entire civilization, and eternally altered the very Ki of the people of Japan.

Heihachi had taken over the Zaibatsu when his father could no longer represent the company in his older age. The promise was made to himself on the old mans death bed that someday this Corporation would be the sheer influencing power in the defense markets, the world over.

What would Jinpachi Mishima say to a global scale conglomerate, borne from the humble dirt beginnings of the old mans dreams?

Leaning his head back against the comfort of the seats, Heihachi could taste the bitterness of revenge delivered at the hands of his only blood son. Kazuya never understood the importance of true power, the garnering of ones’ hatred and anger that could be channeled into a weapon far more devastating than the bombs dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. The cliff had been the young boys’ proving grounds. Only a strong son who understood the pain and unyielding nature of the world around him could grow to reason that even the most trusted individuals will destroy you, if given the chance. Heihachi had to know if the boy could withstand the total decimation within and around him and survive on pure instinct, leaving his body to run only on the fuel of hatred and mistrust that would someday build the perfect weapon.

Kazuya had made his way from the long fall in the chasm, his body badly broken, his soul eternally bruised. Heihachi could see the changed look in his sons’ eyes when he first stumbled into the newly built east wing of the mansion, blood drenching the ground as he walked. Kazuya was held upright by sheer determination and hatred for the injury inflicted on him at the hands of his father. Heihachi nodded to him, proudly, crossing his massive arms before his chest. He recalled his own words and the very gleam in his eye as his large hand grasped the bleeding boy by his shoulder. “Now you will learn Mishima Style Karate and bring honor to my Father and the line of our fathers before him.”

That night was perhaps the first night Heihachi was prideful of the words “Father and Son.” For years before that night, his wife, Kazumi had coddled the boy treating him like the spoiled prince of an empire, insisting Heihachi go easy on the boy when they would practice basic Katas in the dojo. Many a time when Heihachi and the young Kazuya would practice basic punching and blocking techniques, the boy would return to his mother with purpled bruises, to which Kazumi would never let Heihachi hear the end of. Though he loved his wife with all the tenderness he could muster he often thought to himself, Better a bruised body than the broken bones the insolent whelp deserved. Kazuya was a quick learning student of the basic forms of defense, but he was undisciplined as any 5year old child could be. His mind often wondered causing him to show a lack of detail in his techniques and Heihachi, as Father and Teacher demanded strict focus and absolute perfection. Kazumi would often remind Heihachi that Kazuya was only a child and part of his growing would be his willfulness and at times, even disrespect. But Heihachi would tolerate not a cross glance from his boy. He had to temper the blade now before his son would grow to be a worthless and weak man bearing the Mishima name.

Kazumi had died only a few weeks before Heihachi brought his then 5year old son to the proving grounds on land he owned and built his home upon. Kazuya’s blood would be spilled onto the earth itself to pay his tribute. Else, Heihachi would willingly sacrifice the body of the boy, laying him to rest to become one with it, if he could not show his strength by climbing from the bowels of the cliff. In a sense, perhaps Heihachi blamed the boy for his mothers passing. After his birth she never regained her strength, often giving to spells of trance-like unconsciousness from which only Kazuya could rouse her. Upon her death bed, Kazumi had begged Heihachi to show patience with him, to raise him with a tempered kindness to which she had imparted with love unto the boy. Kazuya was the very sun raising in his mothers’ eyes. An unnerving attribute to love a son more than the father he was born from.

In her final hour, she had held onto her weeping son as Heihachi stood sentry at the chamber door, much as he had done years before in that very room, watching the very bed from which his son had been conceived and born. Kazumi’s soul passed from her body, clutching Kazuya to her heart. Heihachi removed the weeping child from the dead womans arms and once Kazuya had been taken by the house attendants, Heihachi Mishima wept in his own private grief for the loss of his Wife.

For several weeks from that night, Heihachi made peace with himself, often speaking aloud to the departed soul of his wife about the plans she would have protested. He would build the Zaibatsu to insurmountable power and mercilessly train his son in the ways of ancestral Karate...if Kazuya should survive on his fathers proving grounds. Then, Kazuya would be a tempered sword forged in the bowels of hell, at one with his hatred, drawing it’s power and thus worthy to carry on the business and proud family name. If the boy did not survive, Kazumi may clutch him to her breast for all of eternity.

With the edge of his leather gloved knuckle, Heihachi’s adopted son knocked along the tinted glass outside of the black 4 door Lexus. The old man hit the switch to lower the window, nodding to Chaolan. “A good night for a ride, my boy.” Heihachi studied the silver haired Korean youth as his long bangs brushed before his eyes.

“Indeed it is, Father.” Lee paused, glancing over either of his shoulders before continuing. “ Now, my brother is most assuredly at home, preparing for his battle with Lei Wulong, early tomorrow morning. The Zaibatsu is yours to peruse, at your leisure.” Lee opened the door for his Father.

“Excellent.” Heihachi nodded, stepping out beside his son.

Together Lee walked with Heihachi through the quiet halls of the Zaibatsu. Lee had seen to it no one would be there to witness the return of the former and True CEO, if only for this night. Heihachi had built this company from the small business it was, into a mass market corporation. Kazuya had taken it a step further, bringing the Zaibatsu into a global realm.

Stepping through the double doors of the CEO office, Heihachi was inundated with the halogen glow of Tokyo’s night life. Kazuya had remodeled the austere decor Heihachi had once chose and replaced the expanse of the room with a modernistic feel. The back of the office had been completely restructured to accommodate an entire wall of floor-to-ceiling window panels, affording the most impressive view in all of Tokyo. Appropriate for the CEO of the Mishima Conglomerate and current king of the Iron Fist.

Tracing his fingertips along the antique rosewood desk, Heihachi slowly lowered himself into the leather executive chair. Swirling wordlessly to drink in the sights of the city. Lee drew up before him.

“I have compiled some reports for you on the Jack-2 project as well as the current findings of the chemical and biological weapons research facility....”

Heihachi ignored Lee entirely. “Well done, Kazuya.” Heihachi spoke to the resonance of his son, lingering within the room among the fresh cut jasmine like a ghost. “When the Zaibatsu is mine once more I will personally remember your accomplishments, done in our family name. It is almost a shame I have to kill you...almost...”

Lee thought the old man had finally lost his mind....until he caught the very end of his rant. “Father? Kill Kazuya? Surely you mean that more figuratively than literally? I mean to disgrace and dishonor him...humiliate him...but to murder him in cold blood....”

“Silence, boy.” Heihachi barked, swiveling his chair around to meet the horrified face of the Lee Chaolan. “Absolutely not, my son. I fully intend to dispatch of the disrespectful whelp once and for all. A most painful death, I might add, for the grievous injuries he has inflicted upon me. Kazuya Mishima has no honor. In death he will receive no grace from our ancestors. The Mishima line dies with him....”

Lee felt the first twinge of guilt rip through him like an earthquake, kick-starting his thoughts with images of his brother...laying dead in the ground, denied the wealthy and proper burial to befit his ancestral lineage. Shaking his head, Chaolan turned his back to Heihachi, mumbling in disbelief. “Oh god, what have I done?”

“What have you done, my son? You have handed me Kazuya Mishima. If it makes you feel better, the blood will not stain your hands. The death blow will be mine” Heihachi laughed, uproariously loud and deeply staccato. His adopted son had always been somewhat of a disappointment. Regardless of his finer qualities, he was not a Mishima nor would he ever be.

Heihachi recalled in a moments worth of time how he came to find Lee Chaolan on the streets of Korea during one of his many business trips. The older man had come to the country to acquire holdings to expand the Mishima Zaibatsu, when he could not help but notice the silver haired little boy holding his own in a fight on the dirty streets, against a group of boys...each twice his girth. Heihachi stood back, crossing his arms before his chest, taking in the graceful movements of this 8 year old, trained in the style of Ninjitsu.

After the fight, the silver haired boy wiped the back of his forearm along his bleeding lip, taking deep breaths and glancing along the onlookers, ready for the next fight. Seeing no other challengers, the boy began to back away...and straight into Heihachi. Whipping around, the boy looked up in astonishment at the huge older man, his proud pale face smudged with dirt and blood from the fight.

“Impressive victory, little man. What is your name?”

The boy held Heihachi’s gaze with a brazen aura the older man rather liked. “Lee Chaolan” he answered.

“Why were you fighting these boys, Lee Chaolan?” Heihachi raised his highly arched brow.

“I don’t know, they insulted me, I guess.” the young Korean boy wiped the blood away from his lip once more.

“How did you learn Ninjitsu, boy?”

Lee arched his own brow. Heihachi realized the boy was slightly feminine in his youthful appearance, yet there was a strength of character instantly visible in the arrogance of his eyes. “This old man, he teaches me....What are you a cop or something?”

Heihachi laughed, causing the boy to jump back a bit, unexpectedly. “Hardly, little Chaolan. And I trust this generous benefactor provides you with training and care for a price. Hmm judging by your size and skill I would say he has you pick pockets, maybe even a little petty thievery...”

Lee backed away but Heihachi closed in on the distance. “You are wondering how I know this, boy. I am a man who has traveled the world, I have seen this before. You have a natural skill, boy, but no one gives something...for nothing.”

“What do you want, old man?” Lee narrowed his eyes like the arrogant, and indignant child he no doubt was.

“I am going to make you an offer, my dear boy. You see, I am impressed with your talent and savvy and it so happens I have a son at home, perhaps a year or so older than yourself. He is alone quite often and perhaps the thought of bringing home a brother for him will lighten his heavy heart. I am a very rich man who could provide for you quite nicely, should you accept my offer.” Heihachi smiled, offering the Korean youth a sense of warmth. The moment the older man saw this child, he knew this would be the most perfectly designed test for his son Kazuya. Another child in the home would make him feel resentful to his father and the youth, intensifying his hatred to the point that this Lee Chaolan may not survive more than a few months at the Mishima Mansion. Having a “younger brother” might just bring out the qualities in Kazuya that Heihachi had been trying to retrieve through years of cruel and incessant training.

“Well, Lee Chaolan, I do not have all day. I am a very busy man. My plane for Tokyo leaves in 3 hours. The choice is simple, live hand to mouth on the streets like an orphan and petty thief...or return to Japan with me where you will be enrolled in the finest schools, pursue your training and be given the life of a prince with my son Kazuya.”

Lee bit his lip softly, letting his tongue taste the blood welling up at the inflicted wound beneath his teeth. “How do I know you are not going to make me do the things I do here, if I go with you?”

“Well my boy, truth be told, you don’t know. I am a man of honor and little patience. And I am sorry to say this conversation is now over...” Heihachi turned with a smirk on his face, walking away from the street rat.

Lee called out to him, rushing to catch up to him. “Wait, wait. I don’t even know your name or anything...”

Heihachi stopped, looking down at the boy, now at his side. “I am Heihachi Mishima. You may call me...Father.” Heihachi mussed the boys silver hair, walking with him from the back streets with a dark, nearly glowing smile on his tired face.

Heihachi watched Lee Chaolan as the he turned to look to his father over his shoulder, his eyes enshrouded by his long silver bangs. “We really should finish our business here, before the cleaning crew comes in. We would not want word of this visit to leak out to Kazuya...” There was an infinite sadness and a twinge of guilt in the beautiful face of Lee Chaolan. The boy had outlived his youth with Kazuya, much to Heihachi’s dismay. They had developed an interesting bond of both love and hate the old man had never expected. Who would have guessed his initial plan would have been reversed itself? Who would have believed this adopted Korean youth would someday be responsible for bringing Kazuya in for the death blow?