Different Animals (Part 2)

Kazuya Mishima. The outcast son, betrayed and thirsting for revenge. Paul Phoenix. One of the most powerful fighters in the world, who needs to prove that claim to himself and to the entire world. They both seem and believe they are different animals. But, as they clash, they realize they share more similarities than they'd care to admit.

Notes:

Well, AO3 can't host the entire novel, so looks like I'll have to break it up into approx. 3 parts. Thanks again for reading, and stay tuned to see the dramatic solution to the brutal first fight between Kazuya and Paul.
DISCLAIMER - All work I post was created by me and sole property of mine. I give no consent for anyone to steal or take credit for my work or post them on any other platforms or mediums

Work Text:

Maybe Paul has gone crazy. Maybe he’s gotten a little weak. Maybe, he’s blinded by the need to achieve victory at the end of this whole deal. But, Paul has to admit… this place wasn’t half as bad as Paul expected it to be.

He couldn’t sit still in the office chairs for too long though. They were too small for his frame, and there were too many suited people wandering around, shooting curious, and questioning looks his way. Plus, he just had a brutal set of mid-afternoon spars over at the dojo, well after his morning ritual of getting his ass kicked by Lee.

Paul decided to go to that flashy ass coffee machine sitting on that reception desk. Paul did so, ignoring the obvious stare from the older suited guy beside him. Paul approached the machine, grabbing a plain paper cup from the dispensary. Hey, no shit.

Paul turned the cup around in his hand. No fucking shit. Even the coffee cups have the Mishima Zaibatsu logo on it. Damn. They’re taking their expansion to America seriously enough then. Money to spend on that nice paper, cut from them fine logs, y’know, the good shit? Nah, Paul doesn’t have a clue about trees or paper manufacturing. He knows this cup feels like it’s premium shit, though.

Paul pulled the cup under the machine, and scrutinised his options. What the…. Americano. Cappucino. Espresso. Latte. What the fuck is this, little Italy? He just wants a straight coffee. The pictures weren’t too clear either… well. Paul glanced over his shoulder. There were some scattered guys all over the reception area. They were all dressed in the same plain suits, white shirts and black ties. Paul glanced over to the large office in the corner.

From what he could make out behind the blinders, he was still in his meeting. Pauls eyes scanned over to the door. Of course, the label was not in plain writing. His title was in plain writing. ‘COO of Technology, and Vice President of American Operations’. But, beneath… it had been completely stylised. In large, bold, purple writing, his name was printed clearly on the door. ‘LEE CHAOLAN.’

Well, Paul sure as shit ain’t giving any of these corporate fools an opening for any small talk whatsoever. So, deciding that the faint black picture beside ‘Americano’ was a good sign, Paul clicked the button beside it.

The machine began to whir loudly, and bubble. Paul watched as the brown liquid shot out the end, looking very syrupy, and over produced. It ain’t natural, but it’s probably loaded up the wazoo with the caffeine.

Paul turned away from the machine. The sound effects of his specially machine made coffee is a bit too much as it is. He doesn’t need to watch the whole thing happen.

Paul placed both thumbs in his belt buckle, crossing his legs again. This place is so… it’s so fucking by the numbers. I dunno, but with all the rumours, and all the hearsay and all that shit, Paul expected something a little more extravagant when it came to the Mishima Zaibatsu.

Especially, since Lee seems to be the man in charge of the Stateside stuff. But, it’s all just plain Jane.. the same shit you’d find in any office, any brokery, any banking chain.

“Excuse me?” Paul turned his head slowly. He titled his head, looking at the young, pasty man. He ran a hand through his short brown hair, a smile painted on his face. Painted, not grown. “Mind if I squeeze in?”

“Be my guest, pal.” Paul mumbled, shifting to the side slightly. The young lad quickly moved into Pauls spots, his hands flying away at the machine next to Pauls with urgency, as if the damn thing owed him money. Within a couple of seconds, he had his… whatever-chino pouring into the cup.

The same people you’d find anywhere else too. The kind looking for the next best Rolex, the next custom calling card, the next pretty model with the brains of a peanut and the heart of a snake. It’s kinda empty that’s how these people get their thrills.

You never tried riding a bull in the backarse of Montana, for a rodeo competition? Bombing through San Francisco at four in the morning, nothing but the roar of your engine to greet you? Talking to a bartender, a waitress who’s a little more human, a little more relatable than Barbie doll number six? Fighting in your home town?

Paul has only tried one of those things too, but the rest are on his bucket list. You know, the little things bucket list everyone tries. Everyone has their big goals, but the small ones you wanna accomplish, to see if those little things make the big difference everyone says they does. Maybe Paul is the only one who has a list that specific.

Paul shrugged, turning away from the young employee. I dunno, man. Paul just doesn’t get this. Lifestyle suits Lee anyway. Suits his eccentric, ravenous way of life to a tee. Paul crossed his legs, his eyes narrowing towards the door.

Well, it wasn’t Pauls choice to be here. It was his idea, sure, but it took a lot of scratching and clawing for him to actually go through with it. Sometimes, you gotta do what’s necessary sometimes. Doesn’t mean it’ll always feel right to you though.

Paul snatched his coffee up, before the machine was even finished. It only took him a few moments, peering down at it to start judging it. “Hey, buddy.” Paul turned back towards the young man. “Where’s the milk at?” The nervous young guy raised his eyebrows, that smile returning to his face. “It’s-right there.” He pointed towards what looked to be a silver dispenser.

Another silver chunk of metal, right beside the coffee one. “You boys have a machine just for milk?” Paul looked over to the young man, in mild surprise. Paul exhaled. “How bout that.”

Paul stuck his cup under the dispenser, and jammed his finger into the machine. Well, it was fairly generous in its milk giving anyway. Still, any real need for that?

Probably costs the same amount of money to invest in a fridge, and throw a few cartons of milk in there. You could keep other shit in there too. Few apples, some protein bars, maybe even a dinner or two…

“Alright, Mr Chaolan!” The voice exploded from behind the door. Paul turned around slowly, taking a sip of the coffee. Little hot… well, look. Give it a minute or two. He doesn’t need one of them stupid covers anyway.

A blonde haired man, with a thick jawline and a… an accent Paul couldn’t place, lifted his hand. “Thank you anyway. I appreciate the thought, I do. I’ll get back to you, sir. All the best.” Paul watched the exchange silently, taking another careful sip of his coffee. It’s like if Pinocchio decided to talk shop with the Mad Hatter.

The visitor was quick to leave Lee’s office, striding off with his boots clicking against the office floor. Paul turned over to the receptionist, raising both his eyebrows. “Mr Chaolan should be ready to see you, Mr Phoenix.” “Thanks, Ma’am.”

Paul stood up silently, walking towards the office. He turned back towards the man, still perfecting his coffee. Paul opened his mouth for a moment… Paul closed it. He nodded politely, before turning into the office. He could already hear Lee’s voice murmuring… well, not murmuring. Talking quite loudly, and proudly. Like there’s someone else in the room. Looks like Paul is intruding then… yeah. He’s intruding on some shit.

“How can something so good go so bad? How can something so right go so wrong?”

Paul stopped dead in his tracks at the sight he saw. His grip around the coffee tightened, as he furrowed his eyebrows. He’s not sure what he walked in on. But, Paul is pretty sure he should have turned on his heel, and walked the other direction.

Lee was standing up from behind his trinket decorated desk, his suit jacket ordained neatly around his extravagant chair. His purple waistcoat was buttoned perfectly around his white shirt, as his eyes glared out the window. All of this was a little strange, but not really concerning. Paul was more concerned about the handgun that Lee was pointing out the barely concealed window, out towards the reception.

He was…. Singing all the while to himself, his gun slowly moving across the length of the window…. tracking his last visitor, Paul could only assume. His hips were slowly moving to some invisible beat, that Paul could barely see any rhythm in. “Well, I don’t know, I don’t have all the answers. How many times can I say I’m sorry?”

Lee continued to point the gun for several moments, one eye closed… the other wide open, silver hair scattered wildly all across his sweaty forehead. “You can run, and you can hide. But, I’m not leaving unless you come with me. We had our problems, but I’m on your side.” For once, Paul wasn’t sure he had something suitable to say here. Still, he decided the least offensive thing to do right now with the unhinged fighter with the gun was to not move. “You’re all I need… please believe in me.”

“Sorry about that, Paul.” Lee finally spoke, the tone of his voice slightly lightening. He did not rush to lower his gun, or even turn towards Paul. He lowered it slowly, his other eye slowly opening as he deeply exhaled. “That was a personal moment. Maria sent you in a little too early.”

Lee eventually placed the handgun on his desk, turning towards Paul with a flourish of the hands.

“As you can imagine, the most unpleasant part of my job is dealing with many of these people. On occasion, I like to vent a little after dealing with many of these corporate types.” Lee exhaled, a little more jovial, as he dropped the gun back in the shelf. “Do not worry, it is empty. While I flirt with the idea of guns, I cannot fully invest my trust in them.” Lee continued to shake his head, his gaze returning to that window. “I really have grown tired of Mr Salazar and his antics.”

Lee stared out the window for several more moments, and Paul genuinely could not tell if his gaze was faraway, or just getting more intense.

“I don’t have an issue comin’ back again…” Paul began, hand resting carefully against the door frame. Lee clapped his gloved hands together, his head tilting.

“Nonsense!” Lee’s voice had returned to that smooth baritone, that magnetic smile returning. “You are my fighter now, Paul! Any query you have will be promptly answered, and timing is of the essence in the upcoming month.” My fighter. Paul shifted in the doorway, his gaze hardening on Lee. Of course, Lee probably chose to ignore that.

Lee leaned against his desk, his gaze turning serious. “What troubles you, Paul?” Well, the fact my new trainer is a gun toting madman who’s part Mishima is a trouble. But, you know, fuck it. Paul signed the dotted line for Kazuya. I mentally did, anyway.

Paul Phoenix does not fear many things, or many men. He doesn’t fear Lee Chaolan either, don’t get it twisted. But, he’s never treaded around a man with caution like he has to with Lee.

“To be honest with you, Lee, I believe the connection between a fighter and a trainer is a huge part in makin’ a champion.” Paul narrowed his eyes, but Lee did not make any sudden moves. He was looking at Paul, hanging onto every word. “I mean, just look at me and Marshall. I can trust him to do what’s right for me as a fighter, and I’ve had him since the start. Haven’t lost a fight since.”

“You want to know if you can trust me.” Lee bluntly responded, his arms folding. Paul extended both his arms. “Well… yeah. I need to know, man.” Lee was now standing at his full height, that smile gone from his face. “Paul, I don’t believe anything I offer to you now can suddenly inspire an undying loyalty in me, like you have with Marshall.” Lee shrugged. “Frankly, I would be worried if it did. Any man of true moral fibre knows to keep his cards close to his chest at a table full of swindlers.”

Lee paused, his eyes drawing away from Paul. Finally, he clicked his fingers… somehow, a loud snap reverberated out through the gloves. He grabbed his suit jacket, throwing it around him. “What I can offer you, my friend, is a drink.” Paul found himself shaking his own head, the sheer confusion of this entire situation making his brain ache. “It’s lunchtime.”

“And, time is of the essence.” Lee clapped his hands together. “What do you say?” Paul… alright. Paul gets it. A drink is shorter than a tale, right? One of the oldest tricks in the book. Blind, drunkard trust isn’t quite the same as a long-lasting, clearheaded one. Well, Paul can’t be sure what the hell this guy is really thinking, but-

“Excellent.” Lee strode out the room, his shoes gliding across the carpet as he strode out. “Come on! Let us enjoy the daylife!”

This was not a hangout Paul would frequent. The neon letter outside strangely called the venue ‘Carnage’, where Paul could not see any carnage. Well, Paul supposes everybody has a different view of what carnage means. Paul is sure as shit his carnage ain’t this glowing fancy shit.

Paul, believe it or not, does not see a bunch of rich bankers and college frat boys drinking, snorting whatever shit they put into their body in the bathroom, and messing around with struggling waitresses and bartenders ‘carnage’.

Hell, he doesn’t know if the waitresses are struggling or not. But, every time he catches a glimpse of them walking by the bar, the look in their eyes was a little too lifeless for Paul to decide anything else. It’s a tired, old exhausted life, especially if you’re any kind of woman working in those positions.

Paul took another sip out of the Heineken bottle, his gaze extended over to a small group, of two young and energetic couples, over in the dimly lit corner of the bar. Beside the cigarette dispensers, and just opposite the pool table. Yeah, at least it had some features that Paul could get behind. A little like some of his old regular spots.

Paul twisted the longneck in his hand, finding his fingers peeling away at the labels silently. It was non-alcoholic, of course… not even the persuasive Lee could get him to drink before this fight. If it was up to Paul, he’d just be chugging a pint of milk right now. But, even in a place like this, Paul has to keep up the appearances, or ‘the mystique’, of Paul Phoenix. Beer it is.

They all had a hipster feel to them, these people. Youthful, energetic, colourful, jeans and shirts… all that shit. The blonde highlights in their hair, the eyebrow piercings and the odd lip piercings.

Maybe, Paul has grown too accustomed to it being around him, but he is fairly used to be surrounded by this scene. But, being a part of it was a beast he wouldn’t tackle. Then, now or forever. Just cause he was always surrounded by those people doesn’t mean he’d ever understand them.

Paul took a swig of his beer. “Didn’t think you’d like a drop like this.” The tall glass gently tapped against the bar, as Lee lifted the glass of wine to his lips. The yellowish liquid swirled as he did so, his nostrils twitching.

“I go where the energy takes me, Paul. It’s an unique beast, energy. It would lead us places we never thought we’d go. It will help us tolerate places that we’d never dream of staying. It will make us admire people we would never believe we would admire.” Lee tilted his glass to the side, and Paul could feel his intense gaze fix on him. “It can also change the tide of any confrontation, whether it’s a verbal spar or a physical fight.”

Paul chortled at that, taking a swig of his own beer. “Yeah? Energy’s gonna help me beat Kazuya, is it?” Energy of the crowd is powerful, but it doesn’t stop you from getting a punch in the fuckin face.

“Energy is the most valuable currency you can earn.” Lee warned, and Paul eventually turned to meet Lee’s intense gaze. “Your desire for becoming the best is admirable, but without the right energy, desire can lead to obsession.” Obsession. Paul shook his head, brushing it off. “I’ll remember that next time I find myself obsessed.” Paul responded, taking another swig of his beer.

If there was one good thing about this place, is that he’s not being barraged by fans. Don’t get him wrong, he likes the attention. But, it has to be in the right place. With the right energy. There you go. Well… hell. There it is. This place is playing the Crows. Paul raised his head, a small smile crossing his face. ‘Anna Begins’. Brilliant.

“Where are you from, Paul?” The sudden question jarred Paul a little, and he turned to give Lee a confused look. “Omaha.” Paul narrowed his eyes. “Why the sudden interest?”

Lee pursed his lips. “Just innocent curiosity.” He swirled his glass around for several more moments, and his gaze had returned to the deep lengths of wine. “Omaha. I have only ever lived in the cities of the United States. I struggle to imagine anything else but the stereotype of southern redneck culture in places like Omaha.”

Paul snorted. “Thanks.” Paul had ripped the labels fully from the bottle, until all was left was the white remnants left of the stickers. He continued to tear.

There was another pause, as Paul turned to look at him with interested renewed. “You born in the Mishima dojo too?” Paul asked, breaking the extended silence. Lee smirked. Paul watched his gloved hands, as they slightly tightened around the long neck of the wine glass. “I was born in the Beijing United Family Hospital. I could not inform you of the details, but I imagine it was an ungracious and terribly messy affair in a busy waiting room.”

Beijing? Paul ain’t no Asian expert, but he knows his basic geography. Lee was born in China, yet he’s a Mishima. But, his last name isn’t Mishima. It didn’t take too long for Paul to connect the dots, but he figured that their ‘friendship’ wasn’t close enough to open up that can of worms.

Paul pursed his lips. “Y’know, I was apparently born out in a barn next to ol’ Frank, the family pitbull.” Paul grinned. “My momma loves that one. Any time you go near her, she always says ‘I swear, by the Lords hand, we thought the third coming of Jesus had popped right outta me…’” Paul shook his head. “’But, nah. It was just Paul.’”

Paul lowered his eyes to the now empty bottle, his smile managing to linger, as Lee took another sip of the wine. “Well, as a non-religious man, I can promise you, your revelation of being Jesus Christ would not surprise me.” Lee raised his wine glass, peering into the remnants of one final sip. “Although, call me blasphemous, but I think you are a much more interesting man than Jesus Christ ever was. ”

Paul raised his eyebrows at that. “What the hell would surprise you?” Lee smiled. “At this point, very little, my friend.” Lee’s tense grip on that wine glass loosened slightly, the leather gloves sticking to those particular fingers like rubber. “However, I have no doubt something out there would catch me off guard. I am firmly against the idea of absolutes, Paul.”

“The hell does that mean?” Paul asked, feeling his old accent creeping back in. Is this shit really got 0% alcohol in it?

“Nothing in life is set in stone.” Lee sat up straighter. Paul could see he set the silver haired demon into a monologue, that he has probably recited a good few times. “Facts, the actions of others, concepts. Fates, destinies, heirlooms. Societies. I think they can change…” Lee raised his hand, and gently slid his thumb and forefinger together. “Like that.”

Paul gently swivelled around in his barstool, his bottle forgotten about. “I’m not so sure bout that one. What about opinions? Some people are stubborn. They’ll never let their opinions of other people change. It’s why some people are always trapped in the same old shit life, running around the hamster wheel.” Lee’s half smile remained. Paul could see that dancing in his eyes… he’s enjoying this. His eccentric trainer is revelling in these deeper conversations.

“That could be true.” Lee faced his glass of wine again. “I can tell you, that some older gentlemen and women are absolutely set in their ways, and their opinions of certain kinds of people. As a result, the influence those older gentlemen have are bound to spread to others, like a bitter, aggressive bacteria. But, at the same point, all it could take is one surprise…” Lee opened up his gloved hand. “There we go. Just like that, all their staunch believes would evaporate.” Lee’s half-smile remained. “One sudden, shocking surprise. An excellent remedy to stubbornness.”

Paul’s smile slowly faded, as his eyes narrowed at that. Paul wasn’t sure he knew what they were talking about anymore, and he didn’t like the unknown direction it was taking. “Paul, I see a group of at least four young ladies sitting in the far corner over there.” Lee did not move his gaze, as Paul peered over his shoulder.

Sure enough, there was a group of four women, all of which a variety of races, and different levels of beauty. There was one alright, that looked a little exotic to Paul. Caramel skin, bright eyes, long flowing brown hair… Paul shook his head. He can’t. Is this some kind of test?

“Paul, you are welcome to join me. But, I am going to get myself acquainted with these young beauties.” “Am I allowed?” Paul asked, before realising how fuckin stupid that question sounded out loud. Is he allowed? Like what, Lee is his fuckin father? Fuck me. Guy’s his new trainer, ain’t he meant to be keeping him away from potential distractions like this anyway?

Lee’s half smile had not left his jaw. “I would welcome your company. Of course, as long as it does not affect your training or performance in any shape or form.” Right. So, this guy has all the answers, and he can bang four girls at once, and still fight as good as Paul? Get to fuck, brother. Even for a Mishima… half-Mishima.. whatever you are, there has to be limits. He ain’t a better fighter than me. For now, anyway.

Paul shook his head with another derisive snort. Lee stood up, adjusting his violet waistcoat carefully. “If you’re interested, I believe that young bartender has a keen eye on you.” Lee turned around once more, tilting his head.

“An old friend, perhaps?” Lee swivelled on his toe, and with that distinctive flourish, he began to walk towards the group of models.

Fuck, they may as well have been. And, this guy just walks up to them willy-nilly, not a care or worry in the world. I swear… Paul shook his head. As much as he would like to see this encounter, he is a little curious…

Paul turned around, to see that bartender was eyeing up. That curly hair was tied up in a ponytail, but it was so distinctive Paul would recognize it anywhere. Oh, she was eyeing him up alright. With those round, chestnut eyes, she was staring at him with a strange reluctance. Paul was far more than reluctant, and was way past hesitant too, realising how close he was to her… and how long their eyes had been locked.

“Elizabeth.” Paul greeted, his mouth opening and closing several times. She approached him carefully, a cautious smile painted on her face.

Paul welcomed the smile, although he could see beneath it. He could see the trepidation, the… the slight hints of dread hidden beneath it all. “Paul!” Elizabeth welcomed, in that breathy, sunny voice of hers. Her voice was always sunny.

“Here you go.” Pauls gaze, on quiet side alley, was roused as a glass was passed over to him. His reaction turned from surprise to a polite smile in a moment, as he carefully took the glass off her. The scenery in the alley was hardly in any way ideal or romantic anyway, and the shit he was holding in his hand was far from that.

“I appreciate the thought, but not anymore.” Paul placed the glass on the small table. Elizabeth tilted her head to the side, with that half-smile. “Really? Paul Phoenix saying no to a glass of Old Sam?”

Paul stared at her for a few moments.. he looked away, turning back towards the back of Jimmy’s Pizzeria. That was a much safer option to look at. “I figured out a while back that Old Sam is more like an abusive uncle than a reliable friend.” Paul placed his hands in his pockets, as Elizabeth exhaled at that. “Wow. Always the charmer.”

Paul glanced over at Elizabeth. The light out in the sheltered smoking area wasn’t great, but he could see enough of her face illuminated by the lighter. She had barely changed a touch. That face, with barely a hint of makeup on it, still glowing and maintaining that same beauty. Those eyes, that hide a lot that Paul could get lost in, but find a lot more to do. Paul could. Paul has.

“You put on the Crows, huh?” Paul glanced over at Elizabeth, with a smile. Elizabeth raised her own eyebrows, that smile of hers glowing again. “It is on the bar playlist, but I do enjoy many of their songs.” Paul leaned against the guardrail, his gaze fixing on her “What’s your favourite?” Elizabeth exhaled slowly, folding her arms. She began to rub her arms quickly, turning towards the alley. “I’m not sure.”

Paul turned frontways, and put all his weight against the banner. “How’s Conor?” Paul couldn’t help but ask. Elizabeth looked at him, those eyes getting a little defensive within moments. “Not that it’s your business… but, I don’t know.” She doesn’t know.

Well, that’s a tell-tale sign. And… to be honest, an expectant sign. It’s been a couple of years, and Elizabeth… well. Like a knife through butter.

“But, I’m back in San Fran.” Elizabeth extended both her arms outward, her eyes closing in that… Paul took a swing of his beer, looking away from that sight. Still non-alcoholic. “Hard to stay away from it all. I’m sure you’d know.”

Paul nodded in resignment of that. He ran a hand over his growing blonde stubble, suddenly all too aware that he hadn’t shaved since yesterday. He glanced over at her, smelling a strong odour that indicated something a little more potent than the old fashioned in her hand. “I know you mightn’t believe me, but I had no clue you worked here.”

“Well, it might surprise you to know I’m not surprised.” Elizabeth turned around, that beige scarf draped over her neck slightly slipping. “That friend of yours has become a regular.” Paul followed her gaze. Paul wasn’t sure what he expected.

But, exceeding even Pauls high (or low, depending on your perspective) expectations, Lee was still there. Maintaining the attention of all four of the beautiful women, flashing that white smile from time to time, with his gloved hands flourishing, his intense eyes animated.

“Eh. Friends a strong word.” Paul eventually turned away. “He’s my new trainer.” “Oh, wow.” Elizabeth crossed her arms, and was staring at him again. “A new trainer? Well, I believe you now. You have changed.”

Paul couldn’t help but smile. But, something squirming in his stomach didn’t allow him to accept that smile fully. Elizabeth exhaled, her cold breath condensing in the wind again.

Paul’s lack of a reply, if one could ever come, prompted Elizabeth to continue on. “Marshall too busy with the family?” “Yeah, I reckon that’s part of it.” Paul leaned over the barrier himself, peering into Jimmy’s Pizzeria with absentminded interest. “I think he’s just got a lot on his plate right now.” “I’m sure.” Elizabeth took another puff, and once again, that deadly silence took control over their entire narrative. That seemed to be the defining factor in the end, Paul supposes. You don’t really think about though, do you?

“Paul, what do you want?” Elizabeth suddenly turned to him, her brown eyes suddenly piercing him. Paul turned towards her, his smile growing a little wry. Blunt, and to the point? That’s very unlike you, Miss Elizabeth.

Paul shrugged, leaning further out the barrier. “I dunno.” His eyes drew behind the Pizzeria. He could see that bush slightly tremor, with the cage beside it rattling. He caught a glint of rustic orange, before it faded behind the bush. Is that a fox, already? It’s barely 2 in the afternoon.

Paul cleared his throat, his eyes studying that fox. “Do you remember when we were walking through the estate, and we were talking about life meaning something different to every person?” Elizabeth tilted her head to the side, her brown eyes. “Yeah…”

“I remember I said fighting, and you just… “ Paul raised a hand, that slowly clenched into a fist. “You just couldn’t wrap your head around that. It was so far gone for you. Then, you repeated it on Halloween, after my contenders fight. When me, you and Conor were heading to 49^th street. You said it there with such… disbelief. As…” Paul paused, considering his next words carefully. That care got tossed the wind with a sudden surge of resentment. “As if it was the stupidest thing you ever heard.”

Paul shook his head, another smile rising in his face. Elizabeth still did not speak, staring at him attentively. Paul glanced over at the bush again… yeah. There it was. It’s back turned, rifling through the garbage without a care in the world… hungrily, yet still jumpy. The fox was desperate for that meal, but it was still ready to run at a moment’s notice.

“I guess what I’m saying…” Paul began again. He stopped himself once more. He had to make sure he got the words right this time. “I can see why you wouldn’t understand it. Passion can be… it can be a scary thing, right? If that passion turns into obsession, it can be real scary to other people. I mean, fighting? If you ain’t involved with that, having an obsession with that might seem insane.”

Paul began to spin the empty bottle around in his hand, his eyes still fixed on that fox. There goes a little beer over his palm. “Suppose I never considered myself to be an obsessed person.” Paul locked eyes with that fox once it stuck its head out.

A slice of half-eaten pizza was fixed in its mouth, and it was frozen to the spot. Paul briefly wondered, for only a moment, would it leave if he was still looking at it. Or, would he have to wait until he turned away. Fox aren’t really creatures of conflict though, are they? They’re scavengers. They sure know how to defend themselves against other critters, though.

Elizabeth fixed up her scarf, but Paul continued to stare out at that fox. “I guess, Paul, a lot of people don’t see that side of you. You’ve always been good at hiding that. But, you..” Elizabeth only paused for a moment. “You’re the most obsessive person I know.”

Paul turned away from the fox at that. He stared at Elizabeth dead in her eyes, but for once, those brown eyes did not dance. There was no flames there, there was no passion there, there was no malice there. Paul stared back at brutal honesty, that he thought he would never find in those eyes.

Paul knew it was pointless to try find the fox again.

Session 1, Marshall Law

Jun: Testing, one… sorry… two. Sorry. I should probably move over here. It’s not… okay. Here. Here?

Marshall: There should be good. It’s lovely and fresh here. You can smell the gasoline and the piss. Hell, I can almost taste it.

Jun: I am sitting here today with accomplished Jeet Kune Do Champion, world class trainer, best friend of Paul Phoenix, and of course, chef, Marshall Law.

Marshall: World class chef as well. Wait, has all this been recorded?

Jun: It has. Many of this will have to be crossed out in the editing process… I don’t mean to be a burden, Marshall. We could just reschedule this for another time.

Marshall: You’re no burden, Ms Kazama! If anything, your presence here is a welcome distraction from the ugly meatheads I always see.

Jun: Jun, please. Well, you certainly seem to take pride in your meals. The Peking duck with soy sauce was exquisite.

Marshall: That’s our delicacy, Ms Kazama. Exquisite, huh? That’s a new one, alright.

Jun: A delicacy where I am from, Yakushima, is tobiou. It is a local form of flying fish. I am a vegetarian, so I can no longer enjoy it, but I would recommend it all the same.

Marshall: Tobiou? Yeah, I’ll jot that one down… we need to start adding a bit more international flavour to our menus.

Jun: Well, speaking of international.. not a lot is known about your involvement in the huge international bout between Paul and Kazuya. I am just curious, now that Lee is Pauls head trainer, what is your role in Pauls preparations for the fight?

Marshall: My role is to sit back, and relax unless I’m really needed.

Jun: So… you are not involved at all?

Marshall: When I’m needed. But, there’s not much I can offer Paul at the moment.

Jun: Forgive me, but I find that difficult to believe.

Marshall: As a trainer, Jun, it’s important you know when to step back, and let a fighter learn for himself. Let him slip on a few stairs, bruise his elbows and knees a couple of times, bust up his nose and forehead once or twice. It’s part of the process. I’m also not going to step on Lee’s toes either. He’s got his own ways, and I say just let them at it.

Jun: And, you’re not privy to those ways?

Marshall: I can vouch for them. Just stay tuned for the fight. Kazuya’s in for a shock.

Jun: Marshall, I don’t mean to intrude here. But, may I make an observation?

Marshall: If this is about the peking duck, we only deep fry it on request. That’s not standard fare.

Jun: No, I have just noticed… you seem very detached from this fight. Dare I say, you seem detached from fighting in general.

Marshall: Like I said before. I keep tabs on Paul. We’re still friends, you know. Well, most the time. But, I’ve got other things to worry about.

Jun: Such as?

Marshall: For starters, I got a son at home who’s barely out of nappies. That keeps myself and Laura, my partner, busy most days.

Jun: Congratulations. What is his name?

Marshall: Forest.

Jun: That’s an unique name. What is the inspiration?

Marshall: Me and Paul once went camping once, and we were attacked by a swarm of hornets. Paul got stung in the ass, and for the rest of the journey, couldn’t even squat properly to do his business. He couldn’t even straighten his legs. The guy was walking like a praying mantis for the weekend, and shitting like a cow too.

Jun:

Marshall: Sorry. A little inappropriate.

Jun: That is… a strange inspiration for your first child’s name.

Marshall: I’m just kidding. Laura is the one who named him, because her dad was a fire fighter out in the woodlands, up in Alaska. That Paul story is true though. Keep that on the record.

Jun: Well, I do not think many people could doubt how close you and Paul are. You met each other at a tournament, correct?

Marshall: Yeah, at the Under 16 karate tournament in South town.

Jun: Really? I did not know Paul lived in San Francisco at such a young age.

Marshall: He didn’t. He travelled for it. We both won that day… I won the under 8s, and he won the under 7s tournament. I remember standing there getting my medal, Paul with his little ponytail next to me.

I glance over at him, see him sizing me up. I paid him no mind though. Till he leans over, a dead serious look on his face, and whispers to me: ‘my medal is bigger than yours.’

Jun: That sounds characteristic.

Marshall: I swear, we almost got into a fight then and there. But, that became the foundation for our relationship, I suppose. The amount of times we’d get frustrated with each other, fight, ignore each other… but, we just seemed to grow closer when all the crap blew over. Smooth seas never make for skilful sailors, so they say.

Jun: Almost like a married couple.

Marshall: So, my wife reminds me. Daily.

Jun: I find it quite endearing. It’s rare that friendships can last for such a long time, especially since you met as children.

Marshall: Of course it is. You change so much over those years. Like, the crazy changes you make in your teenage years.. people get so lost, you know? Almost like they can’t figure out who they are now, without this set identity they had as a kid, or a teenager. There’s a certainty you have when you’re some little punk kid. You don’t have the experiences in your little head to question anything. But, I definitely think those friendships that stick it out that long are the ones you make for life.

Jun: Do you believe that any of those changes you mentioned have changed the dynamic your relationship? For you and Paul?

Marshall: Well… damn. This has gotten deep all of a sudden. Wasn’t prepared for this.

Jun: The best conversations come without preparation, in my opinion.

Marshall: Yeah. I mean.. I’m sure there are some changes we don’t talk about. I mean, we spend so much time around each other because of fighting. Y’know, before Lee took over, anyway. I genuinely think martial arts has kept us together for so long.

Marshall: But, you know… life happens. I got married a couple years back. Had my first kid in January, on the 15^th. Everything shifts a little when you realise family is such a huge part of your life now. It’s like if your own heart came out your body, and start walking around, doing its own thing. Sure, it might piss you off some of the time, but it’s still your heart. Shitting in nappies and crying 10 hours a day.

Jun: Well, it does seem you are the mature one in their relationship. You are often the one calming Paul down if he gets too riled up.

Marshall: Well, hey… that’s Paul. I love Paul to death, but he’ll tell you himself that’s a mean temper he has on him. Something like that is going to come with advantages and disadvantages.

Jun: Apart from a motivator, what advantages do you think it brings? It seems rather counterintuitive to lose ones temper in a high stakes fight.

Marshall: I’m not gonna get into too much detail, because I know Mr Mishima is a good friend of yours.

Jun: I am just an unbiased journalist. Every interview I record is confidential.

Marshall: Better safe than sorry. All I’ll say is I think drive is all he needs. That anger shows how emotional Paul is, and I think emotion is what’s gonna help him beat Kazuya.

Jun: Emotion? What do you mean by that?

Marshall: He puts so much feeling into his fighting. Sometimes, it’s almost unhealthy the pressure he puts on himself. But, that emotional connection is the x factor. He lets the losses get to him, but not the wins.

Marshall: I dunno how to explain it… it’s like a constant mental warfare you play with yourself, your body against your emotions every second, every day. Paul has done that his entire life now. He loves it all, and there’s nothing he loves more. That’s what will give him the edge over Kazuya.

Jun: Have you ever put yourself through that?

Marshall: Of course I have. All fighters who want to be the best have. I had the same dream Paul had once upon the time. I wanted to be the best in the world. Love is complicated, and love is hard. Sometimes, when you love something that much, you’re bound to hate it. That’s what love is about, all the ugly shit with all the glorified, happy moments. Being the best in the world means you’ll take it all to the extreme. And, I did for such a long time. Right beside Paul. But then… life happened.

Jun: Marshall, have you lost your passion for fighting?

Marshall: I haven’t lost my love for fighting. But, I’ve lost my love for competing. I don’t know when I can rekindle that passion, but for now…… I’m happy cooking, and training when I’m needed.

Jun: And, keeping Paul in check when needs be.

Marshall: Of course. Who else will?

Jun: Thank you Marshall for your time. This was surprisingly enlightening.

Marshall: Before you finish up Jun, I want to say one more thing.

Jun: Be my guest.

Marshall: As a Japanese native yourself, you probably believe many of the stories, and the tales about the Mishima family. I know I have, and Paul is obsessed with them. But, sooner or later, they’re both gonna get beaten. Not by each other either.

Marshall: Paul is our guy. Everyone in the city can feel it, all the fight fans want it to happen. Nobody has ever come close to being as good as Kazuya… apart from Heihachi Mishima himself. I’ve been there for it all.

Marshall: I’ve watched Paul train six days a week, every week, and take fights as much as they were offered to him, despite all the politics in this fighting world. Paul was right there when I opened up my dojo, and spent his free days helping to clean it up and furnish it for over a month. All Paul does is grind, and it sure may not seem healthy, but nothing about Paul has healthy as a priority. It’s raw work ethic, and no Mishima can match that.

Jun: He must be a man possessed to challenge Kazuya so openly.

Marshall: I think this fight between Paul and Kazuya may be the greatest fight since Ali and Frazier. Heihachi better watch closely.

Little seemed to concern him. Kazuya would be able to recognize a carefree attitude anywhere, but certainly not in this line of work. However, any time Kazuya caught a glimpse of Bruce Irvin, he did not see any cause of concern crossing his eyes.

Searching someone’s face is simple. That is the most simple part of the equation. Their mannerisms, and their actions are a more complex layer. But, you cannot train the eyes to lie. It is instinctive for the eyes to tell the truth of a being. Bruce Irvin was ignorant of the trouble he was about to be entrenched in, and he seemed to be content with that reality.

Kazuya clasped both of his hands together, looking back at the vast crowd meeting them. It was a crowd that was much rowdier than usual, with an English person who seemed to very popular. Again, Kazuya did not think much of Western music, so these Genesis people did not mean much to him, with their junk food music and infectious melodies.

However, gazing upon the entire arena, Kazuya could see Genesis had a power over these people. He was a showman, revelling in twisting and controlling their energy to his every movement, every word he sung. Music is intoxicating. Almost as much as fear. And, laughter. Laughter can be too. Please do not start this.

Kazuya stepped forward, lifting a gloved hand to shove back an overeager young woman, who almost had one leg over the barrier. When the woman’s eyes widened in shock, and her mouth began to open, one look from Kazuya silenced any complaints she may have. That false mask of beauty you wear does not entitle you to anything. Not with me. If it were me, Kazuya, it would lessen her rights even further. Will you stop?

Kazuya turned back to Bruce, had swiftly hopped the barricade, and was revelling in the duties of separating another altercation. This Hong Kong issue cannot plague them. Kazuya may be well accustomed to a life alone, but for this fight, he does need another to train with. You must protect him until the fight.

Kazuya curled his lip, as Bruce managed to restrain both of the culprits, one dark, meaty arm vice like around both their necks. Until the fight. No. Kazuya has a duty. Bruce Irvin extended a hand when nobody would dare even look Kazuya’s way. He made that gesture, and has not expected anything in return. He trains, he talks fighting…. But he never asked past that. He never pried into business that has nothing to do with him. That was something Kazuya would always appreciate.

Kazuya has little in the way of sway or control, but he will protect Bruce Irvin as much as he can. This Detective Wulong can fade away into the background. In the face of your families meddling? Kazuya locked eyes with Bruce, who nodded his way with a grin. All the more reason to protect with more ferocity.

Kazuya lifted a hand, and tightened the glove around his right hand. There were various strobes, and flashing lights that accompanied Phil Collins singing about his invisible touch. They were irritating enough to deal with, and even in spite of that, it did not do his rapidly fouling humour any favours. Kazuya craned his neck, a sudden pinprick rising up his neck. He is here. Kazuya’s gloved fist immediately clenched, his lip twitching as he stepped forward.

Kazuya’s eyes immediately knew where to go to search for him. He would not be in the cheap seats, up in front. Of course not… He would be up in the stands. No doubt having a section of seating reserved for himself, to flaunt the family emblem with pride, with arrogance. As if it meant something. Bastard.

Kazuya’s dark eyes were deliberate with every movement, scanning every inch of the darker, upper seating blocks… until, he locked eyes with one seating section. It was alight from above, with all manner of pinks, purples and the dull lights of silver. Several women surrounded him… all of them sharing that same fraudulent masks of plastic, gloss and weak displays at confidence. Kazuya has no doubt that the man they blindly follow, and associate with simply for appearance will do wonders for their confidence. What a brave choice you all make.

There were cold buckets up there… the ice buckets that they would often prepare before the show. That Kazuya had to prepare before the show. You handed him a platter of wealth. Two tall, green bottles of champagne peeped out the top of the ice bucket, one steaming slowly at the head.

At the foot of it all, there he was. Wearing his extravagant chain, with an unbuttoned black shirt, and a glimmering golden watch around his wrist. Of course, the chain around his neck had that damn logo that haunted Kazuya’s family.

Kazuya’s cursed family. Not his.

Kazuya’s lip curled into a silent, vindictive snarl, as he locked eyes with his… with his self-professed brother. The bastard needs to suffer. Kazuya stared Lee down, his rage.. it was a slow burner. It was taking its time, but it was bubbling up slowly, gaining more and more momentum with every passing moment.

Of course, Lee was in his stride… soaking it all up, enjoying it all with that serpentine smile and those careless glances. This is where you were made to reside, Lee Chaolan. Soaking up the labours of others, and living in the empty moments of dance, of partying… of false, primal interactions. This is you.

Kazuya locked eyes with Lee Chaolan, hidden behind his wine and women, clouded by the distracting rhythm of song, with thousands of people separating them. Lee, no doubt, could feel that resentment from below here. He is many things, but he is no fool. He is a mutt. You must put him down, Kazuya. Stay quiet. Yet, all Lee did was smile.

All he did, was put on that insufferable, arrogant smile. Why would he not wear that arrogance? He knows nothing but the life of resting on laurels.

With a tilt of his head, he raised his glass of champagne, that smile echoing his true, malevolent nature. This moment… this is one that could stretch on forever. Kazuya clasped his hands together, shuffling as he stared up. Forever can feel like home in some moments, but in others… it can define some aspects of one’s life. Kazuya hates the fact that this moment, which dragged on forever in Kazuya’s mind, seemed to define something that Kazuya would never accept. It was a sickening reality that Kazuya could never run away from. I must keep fighting it.

Kazuya hopes for anyone’s sake they decide not to be the star of this show. Make him suffer. You promised us, Kazuya. Stay out of this.

Kazuya truly does hope that anybody does not cross that barrier, and ventures within a breath of Kazuya. Kazuya may be helpless now to strike out against Lee, but anyone can be that scapegoat. Anybody can be a lamb.

Kazuya removed his dark shirt quickly, almost throwing it in the locker. He placed his gloved hand against the locker, his breathing a little.. too strained. He purposefully waited until the others were changed, including Bruce, before he even considered it. He just looked direct at the ground. Kazuya just sat in the bench for several agonising, furious moments… allowing his stewing rage to fester into something more, that went into the territory of numbness, yet also sheer resentment. Kazuya only stared at the ground.

This is what that bastard wants. He’s playing the same mental games he always tries to play, and he’s succeeding. It is not enough he sticks his nose in, in that infuriating intrusive manner he always has. But, now he must stand up there, and try to act as if he places any high ground upon him.

Trying to draw out that damn side of Kazuya he is so adept at summoning…..Let him. Damn him if he believes there are no consequences, Kazuya. Kazuya lifted the golden locket out from his locker, and placed it carefully in the pocket of his jeans. He inhaled slowly… and exhaled.

Kazuya had little respect for Paul Phoenix as it was. But, he thought that Phoenix had some sense of dignity. Stooping this low, to employ a rat, a mutt, a two faced, honourless, spineless worm like Chaolan… You are awfully judgemental yourself, Kazuya. Perhaps she is right. But, aren’t we all judgemental? She says what you want to hear, Kazuya.

Kazuya slammed his palm into the locker, feeling his breath quickening. That distinct sound of boots clacking against floor, along with a quiet chortle, was not what Kazuya should be hearing right now. Restraint. To hell with restraint. He should have known Lee would not just let it be. He never knows when to just let sleeping dogs lie. This is the damn wicked game that Lee excels at.

“Excellent show, was it not?”

Kazuya’s hand remained against the locker, his breathing still quickening… as he made out the appearance of the bastard. Kazuya did not turn around, but he could make out Lee’s hands were now gloved. He still wore that dark shirt rolled up, with a purple waistcoat now shrouding it. What is that waistcoat hiding? “I have to say, I was not a fan of the latest Genesis album. But, they included the classics in their sets, so an avid fan cannot complain.”

Kazuya did not dare open his mouth, even if it was a much safer alternative to what he was imagining in his head. Why only imagine? Do it. There is nobody here. No… it had become instinct. Kazuya remained silent.

Lee folded his arms, his gaze fixing on Kazuya. Kazuya could see that his static nature was irritating Lee.. “Our dear father has been asking for you.” Lee posed, but immediately took a step back as Kazuya spun on his foot. His nostrils flared, as his fists clenched… he has not taken his gloves off yet. What is to stop him doing it now? Silencing this loud mouth once and for all? That would surely solve so many issues, so many demons that tear at his soul. Maybe, that will finally get his father’s attention. It will.

“Now, Kazuya…” Lee brushed back his waistcoat, his face compromising, negotiating. But, there was no fear in his eyes. Not yet. A handgun rested in the waistcoat, and Lee, with a swift motion, unholstered it. “I do give my word, I have not come to fight.” Kazuya did not move, his breath heavy as he glared at Lee. Your word. You may as well spit at my feet, you jackal.

Kazuya could feel his chest tingling, and slightly burning… he was unsure, but he would hope his scar was not burning. I am coming close, Kazuya. You will shut up, and remain silent.

Lees compromising hand finally lowered, as a smile crossed his face. “I’m sure you can imagine my presence here has more to do with Paul. Or, even Heihachi, believe it or not.” Kazuya still did not trust himself to speak, but on instinct… he did flinch at the sound of that name.

Lee’s smile did falter, as the silence reached on further. In Kazuya’s eyes, it did not drag, it simply lingered… it simply clouded the truth. But, in Lee’s eyes, Kazuya just knew that silence dragged. For him, it always would.

Lee extended his hands. “I’m still wondering why you weren’t up in that skybox with me. You have Mishima blood after all… you should be reaping the rewards of your bloodline.” Kazuya’s face immediately turned back into a snarl. Lee raised his hand, that smile remaining. “Are you listening to what I’m saying? You may think I am being provocative, but I mean it, Kazuya. After all, no man is an island.” You are not an island, Kazuya. We have each other. Just shut up.

Kazuya almost snorted. This is your new tact? You are going to kill me with kindness? The insincerity drips from you like wax when any flame of determination is held towards you. You are a fraud of an individual. Kazuya’s pact of silence faded in a rare, regretful moment of impulse. “You will not undermine me with your puppet.” Kazuya finally spoke, his voice a low growl.

Lee’s smile faded then, his eyes rolling in derision. “Puppet? Really?” Lee shook his head. “Paul is my friend. You may not know what it means to have a friend, Kazuya, but it goes beyond using someone for personal gain.” Lee extended that hand. “Now.. wait, Kazuya.”

Kazuya was shaking his head, as he turned away. Personal gain. These are the unbelievable indiscretions that this worm gets away with, daily, weekly. He thinks he can twist everything around… he thinks his words, his mockings, his bellows, his screams have no consequence. The hypocrisy is disgustingly bitter, Kazuya. He believes his authority was earned when it was merely handed to him.

Kazuya is convinced that Lee lies on such a frequent basis, he has convinced himself of his own fanciful tales. Lee has convinced himself the power he holds weighs more than it actually does. Kazuya remained silent.

“I’ll be honest, I think you’ve met your match with this gentleman, Kazuya.” Lee continued, lowering that gun again. “I had my doubts at first, but I’ve grown rather faithful in his abilities. Paul is a strong ox, and his work ethic is unmatched.” Kazuya does not doubt that. He would doubt Paul Phoenix’s pride to even associate with worms like you, if those are the lengths he is willing to crawl to for merely an opportunity to defeat Kazuya. Tell him that. Then, rip his throat out.

Kazuya remained silent. Kazuya watched Lee’s eyes, and he could see that the silence was… twisting at him. Twist. Drive it even further.

Lee shrugged, his eyes hardening. “Alright, I will stop my jabs. I shall get straight to the bone marrow, so to speak.” Lee was slow in placing his gun back in his belt, but as soon as he did… Kazuya’s lip curled. Again, though, Kazuya did not move. Lee paused, his eyes hardening again with that stare. “I understand extending an olive branch might not mean much to you now, Kazuya.” Lee lifted both his hands, with a flourish. Mock surrender. Not for long. “But, the way the situation stands… I am the beneficiary.”

Lee took two steps forward, until he and Kazuya were eye to eye. That arrogant sneer was still painted on the mutts face… Kazuya’s lip twitched. “When the old man dies – whether it’s by your hand or another’s – I take everything.”

Lee raised his gloved hand slowly, until it was an inch away from Kazuya’s face. “The billions.” One finger raised. “The land across Japan, the United States, Australia.” Two fingers raised. “The Zaibatsu.” The entire hand was fully extended. “Everything that old miser has built up over the years, is my inheritance. For me. And, Marshall. Of course, Paul… I shall distribute the wealth healthily among all my friends.”

Kazuya’s hand was buried deep in his pocket, clenching that locket for dear life. Lee tilted his head, that damn… infuriating, sickening, disgusting smile growing. He continued to stare. But, Kazuya remained silent. Of course, that only prompted Lee to continue. “And, what will you inherit, Kazuya? Your pride. All that resentment you’ve built up over your entire life, because all you do is stew. Surrendering, and allowing that silent hatred consume you.”

Kazuya fingers interlaced with the locket, his hot breath loudly forced out of nose. He could feel Lee’s minted, cool breath on his own eyes, and each one was like a hammered nail into his back. Kazuya did not look away. “Some ideals are more important than material wealth.”

Lee looked away for a moment, with a smirk. Why would you do that? Kazuya hated himself. He fell right into that bait, and he should have just stayed silent.

Lee’s smirk only grew, as his cadence began to slow. “That could be true. But, your ideals will leave you a broken, lonely man, Kazuya.” Lees eyes flickered back up. “You’ll never accept that is your reality.”

Lee’s malevolent smirk morphed into that glimmering, charismatic smile in a moment, that empty smile that Kazuya would love nothing more than to tear open. To expose to anyone willing to watch, to show that Lee Chaolan is a spoiled brat who plays wicked games where he’s not welcome, and pretends his origins of ‘hardship’ give him a birthright to something he will never earn, or never ‘inherit’.

Kazuya remained silent.

Without another word, Lee turned around with that same flourish, and with a wave of the gloved hand, he began to walk away.

Kazuya watched as he took his time, walking away. So, this is the product of the Mishima name. Kazuya should not be surprised. His father would have no problem giving everything to this bastard when it is all said and done, because all this bastard knows is how to play the politics of the world. He has chosen the wrong devil to side with, Kazuya. I’ve always known that.

I’ll take the sin and you take the fame. Kazuya’s just stared at him. That is all you can handle. He exhaled once again, feeling the tingles across his chest turn to a deep burn. All of those thoughts remained thoughts.

Lee licked his lips, turning around once more. “I will see you soon, Kazuya.”

Kazuya has no problem letting the mutt get the last word. This is his fame, these are his moments. He squirmed his way into the family, squirmed his way into being….Heihachi’s golden boy. That is all he cares about. Soon, he will realise his place as the family mutt. Paul is just the scraps that Lee is desperately scavenging on.

Kazuya grabbed his white shirt suddenly, only realising after he had it how close he was to tearing the sleeves straight off. He forcibly loosened his grips on the sleeves, forcing some control back over his breath… his eyes closing for a moment. The locket is still there, and he did not grip it tightly in fear of damaging the cover. When one searches hard enough in this world…

Well, Jun Kazama. Kazuya must work much harder to start searching for what you see. You cannot keep me repressed all this time, Kazuya. You are letting vengeance slip from your hands.

Kazuya always remained silent.

“I don’t… I don’t think we can help him.” She huddled over, the tears streaking her face. Kazuya did not crouch down to her comfort her. In fact, he did not know what to do. He stood there, frozen, over the young woman. He just stood there, aware of the blinding whiteness surrounding him… aware of that violet hand, gently, painfully, resting on his shoulders.

Kazuya finally followed her gaze… she did a fantastic job cradling it, but the vicious remains were enough of an indicator to the young Kazuya. What remained of the rabbit was now a series of unsettling shades, mixtures of reds and pinks that had caked the young girls hands. Kazuya realised how useless he felt, watching as the young Jun sniffled over its mangled, and contorted remains.

Kazuya’s gaze flickered away, and he made out the eyeball rolling away, down the beaten white path. “We have to bury him.” Jun sniffed once again. Kazuya raised his head, his eyes narrowing… for once, he was trying to look past the tree.

The tree could not look past him though. Hulking over him, hiding behind a twisted face and an even more set of wrinkled and shrivelled, curled branches… Kazuya shook his head. He forced himself to look past the tree, until he could make out its silhouette.

Standing off in the distance, he could see it. Its glowing red eyes were a giveaway, its vicious glare striking an unsettling familiarity within Kazuya. Kazuya took a cautious step back. That piercing red glow, those blood red eyes were dead set on staring at him.

Kazuya was sure of that much. Kazuya swallowed, glancing back at Jun. Her bangs shrouded her tear streaked face. But, the subtle swelling, the slight bumps and puffiness gave away just how upset she truly was.

Kazuya inhaled, clenching his fists. “I see the wolf.” Kazuya turned back towards that piercing red stare. He jolted… it had gotten closer, until it was directly behind the tree. Jun raised her head, her brown eyes watering. “Where?”

Kazuya lifted his calloused hand, and with an unsteady, crooked finger, he directed it right behind the trees. Jun sat up a little straighter, her eyes widening a little. Kazuya kept his finger pointed, his gaze fixed on those blood red eyes. He could not make out the colour of the fur, apart from a vague purple. He could not see its mouth, as it was careful in how it bared his teeth. But, those red eyes could be spotted from anywhere.

“Where?” Jun repeated, raising to one knee. Kazuya turned away from Jun. “I will kill it.” He exclaimed. There was no malice in his voice, just a certain bluntness. He knew what must be done. The rabbit once had beauty, but he had no attachment to it. This was not another demon he must conquer. This was just the wolf.

Kazuya began to walk towards the beast, both of his fists clenching as he headed towards it. “Why?” Jun was standing now. Kazuya did not turn around, but he slowed slightly in pace. “It killed the rabbit.” Kazuya paused for a moment, his head still tilted. He waited for Jun to respond. Perhaps, even chastise him. But, she did not. Kazuya turned around for a moment, furrowing his eyebrows.

She was just looking at him. Looking through him…? No. She was staring at him. Those hazel eyes were staring at him. Only, he could not… Kazuya narrowed his eyes. He turned back around slowly, his gaze searching for that wolf again. He stepped into pace again, his eyes once more scanning for that blood red… his gaze become more scrutinous.

The scrutiny turned to desperation. His head swivelled all around, searching his bright white surroundings… but, the blood wolf and its piercing eyes were nowhere to be found. Kazuya came to a stop, his hand resting against the tree.. he rested against it for a moment, his hand pressing against the tree. You will not play any games with me, wolf. Every action requires necessary retribution.

Kazuya lifted himself up from the tree, his fists clenching again…. Kazuya stopped. What was…? Kazuya lifted his left hand. Blood was oozing from beneath his fist, squirming and squeezing out from beneath his knuckles.

Kazuya felt his hand begin to tremble, as he slowly began to open his hand. With every passing moment, his heart slid further up his chest… he could feel it rise, trickle up with the bile alongside it, until it arrived painfully at his throat, where it pounded with far too much ferocity. Kazuya finally opened his palm.

Sitting in the middle of Kazuya’s palm, was a squashed eye.

Wake up. It’s time for more pointless show and tell.

Kazuya opened his eyes. he could feel the sweat on his brow, the stuffy locker-room not doing him in any favours. Kazuya sat up a little straighter, buttoning the top button of his white shirt. These visions may only feature souls he can trust, but they always remind him of those he can’t.

He looked out towards the stage… he could see everything was set up. The tables. The microphones, the hundreds of hungry journalists ready to ask questions that was far beyond what they had a right to know.

Bruce was the only thing shielding him from the rest. Wearing his shabby blue shirt and slacks, he stood silently at the doorway, his eyes flickering around the entire scenario. There was a tiredness to Bruce, and how his eyes shot across the crowd… a jumpiness, that struck Kazuya unusual. This whole ordeal is an unusual, Western affair.

Kazuya lowered his eyes once more, staring back down at his calloused hands. He only stared for a few moments. Before a tremble could even begin, Kazuya clenched his fists. Now, Kazuya. Do not be like that.

Kazuya placed his sunglasses on, and stood up.

“Alright, just watch out for Henderson. He’ll ask all the personal questions, and you know that’s gonna be a pain.” Paul nodded mindlessly, only glancing at Marshall every once in a while to provide that affirmation. It was great to have Marsh along for this ride, but the preparation for stuff like this just didn’t sit well with him. “Yeah, Gibson too. He’ll-“

“Marsh.” Paul sat up straight. “Come on, man. You know I like doing this shit on the fly. I don’t wanna hear about stuff like that.” Marshall nodded, his eyes quickly accepting it. “Yeah, I know. Just thought giving you’d appreciate me giving you a heads up. You know, that’s what a good friend does.” Paul managed a smile, clamping a hand on his shoulder. “Well, luckily for you, that’s all you are now.”

Marshall shook his head, the mock offense fading into a small smile of his own. Paul turned towards Lee. He was leaning against the wall, his foot pressed against the wall.

Lee watched the whole gathering from out of their humble doorway, a small, mysterious smile on his face. Paul nodded slowly, standing up. He was at a point in his fighting career that this shit rarely gave him butterflies anymore.

Press conferences, weigh ins, even the fight itself… rarely would he feel nervous. Paul guesses that quiet confidence he has just does the job for him. But, now… coming face to face with Kazuya again. After what happened at the King fight? Paul isn’t sure how he’ll react. All of this progress he feels he built up in his head could all amount to squat when that time comes. Nobody knows how they’ll react until they’re in the situation themselves, sure. Paul slowly walked the doorway, and Lee was already waiting for him.

Lee raised his gloved hand, as Paul folded his. Eventually, Lee just extended his hand… and, gently, it touched against Pauls chest. Paul frowned at that, his eyes following where his fingers were pressing. Don’t get too familiar there, buddy.

“All I can advise you of Paul, is that this wild heart of yours….” His fingers began to tap against his chest, and Paul could feel reverberations in his ribcage. Lee moved his other hand, until a finger was pointed directed at his head. “Must listen to the reason hidden in that mind of yours.” Lee nodded, a… strangely genuine smile crossing his face. “You will win the hearts of all these people if you do that. I believe that.”

Paul nodded in response to the sparkle in Lee’s eyes, managing a small smile. The words of confidence were enough for Paul… his eyes travelled past Lee, and out towards the crowd of murmuring reporters.

That desk was set up for him, all the paperwork neatly folded with that thin microphone extending from the table… no wonder Paul is nervous. Sitting here, and talking would be more nerve wracking then going in there in throwing bombs. But.. if Kazuya is nervous, he ain’t gonna show it.

Paul craned his neck all the way around. That thought the only motivator he needed, Paul took the first steps out onto the stage.

Kazuya appreciated the sunglasses now. It pulled a nice shade over his gaze, highlighting the ridiculousness of this entire event amongst two dark windows. All of these people, so called men and women, waving their notepads and cameras at him. Placing Kazuya here, to sign a piece of paper that grants him the right to fight. It has become an enterprise, and while a part of Kazuya resents that, he understands that is the nature of this culture we find ourselves in the 20^th century.

Kazuya is well used to the circus show that fighting has become in most countries. He has sat through many of these press conferences in his travels. However, every time he is sitting here, he can’t help but consider how nonsensical it was. If two men wish to fight… let them battle. If one surrenders, the other will know. If they have any honour. The most natural, and instinctive way to decide who is the most powerful. A method that is as old as time itself.

Kazuya stared at the piece of paper in front of him, ignoring all the obnoxious flashes of those cameras. He continued to stare at the paper, as the crowd erupted, in a much more positive reaction. He continued to stare at the paper as he made out Paul Phoenix, dressed in jeans and a dark maroon shirt, entered the fray.. carrying that worthless piece of tin.

Kazuya tilted his head to the side, his eyes pointed in the general direction of his opponent. But, that is the beauty of the sunglasses. They cannot tell what he is truly looking at.

Phoenix was still grandstanding. Raising his belt high, with another hand, he eventually sat himself down. Phoenix fiddled with his thin microphone, clearing his throat a few times. “Thanks, everyone. Always appreciated.”

Kazuya could not help but notice the bastard had accompanied him, and was standing directly behind him. A rose was clipped to Lee’s suit, and the sight of it made Kazuya’s fist clench. His fist was placed firmly under the table. This is a ceremony for these fools. You do not need to play this game.

“Alright, let’s get the contract signed.” The crowd eventually silenced. The promoter, who Kazuya barely recognized from the brief telephone conversation, was already behind him.

Kazuya twitched as that hand came over his shoulder, rifling through the paper. Kazuya decided he would search this line of reporters, to see what manner of idiotic questions may greet him. Kazuya, as expected, was unimpressed. He could tell by the look of many of their faces… they were hungry. They were awaiting their next big ‘scoop’, having their set questions to ask to please their employers.

Of course, there were ones designed to rouse an emotional reaction from the fighters… the reporters out to ‘create controversy’. Kazuya knew to expect questions about his family. He also knew well to ignore them, and make a mental note of those who posed the questions.

Kazuya could also see the lack… Jun Kazama. Kazuya sat up a little straighter, watching as Jun’s curiously bright eyes watched the proceedings. Jun Kazama, of the Kazama dojo, got a reporters pass? Kazuya kept his face impassive, but it was difficult not to- “Sign here. And, here.”

Kazuya’s lip twitched, his head not moving. Without looking down, Kazuya scrawled across the paper. He dropped the pen, and sat back in his seat silently. Kazuya continued to look at Jun Kazama for a while longer, under the safety of his sunglasses. It is much more bearable when you respect the individual.

“Alright, give us a look.” Paul turned through the pages, his lips pursed. He managed a smile, glancing up at the promoter. “Damn. I get that just for competing?” A series of chuckles rose from some of the reporters, as Paul grinned. Paul tilted his head backwards, towards Lee. He seemed to be on his pager, his eyes drawn downwards. “Just you watch. My trainer over there is gonna claim 50% as a management fee.”

Paul eventually glanced down at the dotted line, carefully signing his name next to Kazuya’s errant scrawl. Paul could just about recognize some obscure Japanese symbols… he forced his smile to remain as he glanced over at Kazuya. Hidden behind those sunglasses, his gaze was stretched out… well, fuck. Could be anywhere. All Paul knows is that it’s somewhere dead ahead.

Paul handed the contract back to Carl Hogan, the blunt and laid back promoter. Another descended hush came over the crowd, as Hogan returned to the centre podium. “Okay….We’re ready for some questions now.”

The hands shot up immediately. Fuckin hell, it was like a classroom being up here. Paul found himself taking a sip of his water again, relaxing back in his chair. Shit, this ain’t so bad. All he’s gotta do is switch off when Kazuya is talking, answer some standard questions then we’re rolling. Rolling straight to the face-off. Yeah, Paul is… well. Paul has come to this press conference in one goal in mind. That’s where it’ll become a test.

“Hey, Hello. Sorry, can I…? Ok. James Henderson, San Francisco Times. This is for Kazuya. Kazuya, the incident in the cage after the Phoenix-King fight has definitely stirred some waves. But, I think everyone’s curious: what prompted you to slap Pauls title away?”

Paul turned towards Kazuya, who hadn’t moved from his position. “Yeah.” Paul spoke up, leaning forward. “I’d like to know, Kazuya.”

Kazuya did not budge. His lips didn’t even so much as twitch. He didn’t move towards the microphone. He just sat there, staring straight ahead… hiding his eyes behind those fucking shades.

“Alright, I’ll tell you why he did.” Paul leaned forward again. “It’s cause he doesn’t respect me.” Paul paused, turning back towards Kazuya. “Ain’t that right?” Kazuya slightly tilted his head to the side. That was it. That’s it, huh? That’s fine. If this is gonna be Pauls press conference, then let’s make sure it’s Pauls press conference. This is my fuckin show now.

Paul grabbed the microphone. “Now, I couldn’t tell you why. Maybe, it’s cause I’m a loud mouthed ‘Murican. Maybe, cause I called him out when he wasn’t expecting it. Maybe it’s just cause I can be a pain in the ass.” Paul leaned forward again, until he was almost over his desk. “All of the above, maybe?” Nothing.

Paul tilted his own head. Yeah, you think you’re playing mind games here? You’re just giving me more room to breathe in this new skin, son. “None of that takes away from my accolades as a fighter. As a champion. I ain’t asking to be your best buddy, Kazuya. I just want respect.”

Paul turned back towards the reporters. “I promise you, if he won’t shake my hand now, he’ll shake my hand when I’m done.” Paul leaned back, a heavy exhale forced out of him. Paul felt his entire back crack with that exhale… the tension, and the stiffness in his muscles suddenly becoming clear to him. Paul didn’t need to glance back at Lee… he was making his point. It’s all good. If Kazuya keeps up this bullshit the entire conference, then this will just be dandy.

“What’s up everyone. Larry Lennox, Fight Magazine. This ones for you Paul. We know you bring grappling to the table, but do you think that’s going to be enough to counter Kazuya’s Mishima-style karate? What new tools do you hope to implement? It’s safe to say nobody has been able to figure out how to combat the Mishima family fighting style.”

“Well, Larry, if I told you that, I’m afraid Lee behind me might kick me in the back of the head.” There were some chortles from the reporters, as Paul politely smiled. “But, that’s the answer to your question right there. That’s why I brought Lee on board. And, I gotta admit, the guy is as quick as a cat. I’ve learned a whole lot about how the Mishima’s move, how they fight and how they react.”

Kazuya curled his lip. He could see that look in this Larry Lennox’ eyes. He was going to ask another question, and Kazuya could predict exactly what it was. If you ask this, if you give him a platform.. Kazuya tilted his head to the side, that dark shade reassuring him.

“Well, just to follow up.” Do not even think of addressing him. “Lee, can I ask why you decided to join Pauls team? You’d have to busy with your responsibilities in the Mishima Zaibatsu.” Kazuya placed his fist under the fist, and he clenched it. Why must he be involved? It began to tremble, as he kept his head straight ahead.

This is what he loves. He savours this, he savours making this about himself. You give that traitorous rat one opportunity to speak… that tongue will start lashing lies. He will lunge at any opportunity to place words in my mouth, to ‘speak for me’… as if he ever knew of who I truly was. He speaks a word against you, Kazuya, you will not stop me interfering.

Paul had moved out of the way, and Kazuya turned his head to look over at Lee. “With all due respect, Mr Lennox.” Lee smiled at the journalist, his eyes telling a different story. “You may not ask me that.”

With that, Lee retreated back to hide behind his puppet. Kazuya turned back around to the crowd of reporters, trying to hide his lip twitching. I believed you told me the monsters came out at night. There is a difference between a monster and a demon.

Paul only shrugged in response. The urge to glance over at Kazuya kept plaguing him the entire time. It’s like playing a game of mental pong, trying to keep the damn pupils right in the centre of the field. But, Paul had to keep tabs. The only time Kazuya reacted is when Lee spoke. Paul shuffled in his seat, readjusting the microphone. He gripped the base slowly.

Paul sees how it is. If you look past me… why the hell would you look past me, son? I brought Lee in, but this has nothing to do with him. You made it personal by disrespecting me. Don’t even try to throw stones at an adopted brother who knows not to tolerate your bullshit as it is.

“Hey guys, how are you all today? James Farrell here, Sports Central. This one is actually for the both of you. I think it’s safe to say this is the biggest fight both of you have had up to this point. I’m just curious: where do you both hope to go after this?”

“Well, I suppose I’ll answer first.” Paul glanced over at Kazuya, his eyebrows raised. “If that’s… alright with you, of course.” A few more chortles and laughs. But, no reaction from the stoned faced Mishima himself.

Paul cleared his throat, forcing composure back into himself. “Hell, you said it yourself. The biggest fight I’ve had. This is one I’ve worked towards for a long time, and dreamed of for longer. You can ask Marshall about that, I ain’t talking out my ass.” Paul tilted his head to the side. But, he did not look his way. “I respect the Mishima family a lot. Purely as fighters. To me, beating Kazuya is like beating fighting royalty. That’s part of the toughest bloodline on earth right there.”

Paul leaned forward, his mouth getting closer to the mic. “Naturally, the next step is to follow that bloodline to the top. Once I’m done with Kazuya, I want to make my claim to Heihachi. Get that old bastard out of hiding, and give him a hiding. I think at this point, beating his son proves I’m ready for the bigger challenge.”

Paul was careful with his choice of words. And, he knew he was right in doing so. Because, he saw Kazuya turn his head, slowly.. until, he was head on with Paul. Paul looked over Kazuya’s way, his eyes staring into those black squares. He met whatever was hidden behind them with another grin.

Lee was right on the money. Daddy issues bother you, huh? Paul doesn’t like to take things personal. But, when a guy embarrasses him twice before a fight… hell, it’s fair game. Paul leaned back in the chair, his smile finally feeling a little more genuine. Even if it was at that cost… hell, he doesn’t care at this point. Kazuya’s not a good guy anyway. Elizabeth said so herself, right? I’m the most obsessive. That’s what intimidated her in the end, right? Well, I’ll show them fucking obsession.

As imagined, her voice managed to tear Kazuya away. Tore Kazuya away from his glare at the right moment, because.. because, it was fortunate that Kazuya was wearing these sunglasses. Otherwise, many people would have been shocked about what laid behind them. “This question is for Kazuya.”

Kazuya turned his head away slowly, his eyebrows furrowing.

Of course. Of course, she must ask a question. He sincerely hopes it is not an embarrassing one, because, either way, Kazuya will not answer it.

Kazuya found Jun Kazama in the crowd, and again, he had to resist the urge to smile.

Not answering the question would certainly irritate her… their next interview may be an aggravated affair. “I am curious: if you do not respect Paul Phoenix, then why would you devote so much time to confronting and fighting him in such a public manner? ” Kazuya stared at her for several moments. He was not sure what he was expecting, but it was not.. not such a genuine question.

Kazuya stared at her for several moments… until, he leaned back. Kazuya’s eyes remained on Jun, his lips sealed. Kazuya caught, out of the corner of his eye, Paul moving towards his microphone.

Kazuya leaned forward again, until his deep breath was almost audible on the microphone. Paul had paused, one large fist wrapped around the microphone… intense eyes remaining on Kazuya. Kazuya just stared at Paul.

Kazuya opened his mouth slowly, his hand clenching around the microphone.

“To break him.”

Kazuya leaned back, allowing the silence to wash over him. He could feel hundreds of gazes upon him, most of which didn’t dare to make a noise. Most of all, he could make out Lee silently approaching Paul… an intense, glaring Paul. And, placing a hand on his shoulder.

He raised his hand from under his table, which was no longer clenching. His hand reverted to his pocket, retrieving the locket once more. He turned his head back around towards Paul, and curled his lip.

“Alright, fellas. Time for the faceoff. Please, don’t touch each other.” Kazuya did not need any further instruction. He stood up quickly, kicking the chair back against the stage. Before he moved further, he raised his hand. Slowly, deliberately, he fastened his red glove around it. Kazuya could feel the eyes of every single reporter, security guard and his fellow fighter as he popped every single finger into that glove.

Kazuya turned towards Paul, who was standing centre stage. Arms folded, irritated glare on his face. Kazuya looked over at Lee, who was stood there, hands on hips, that fraudulent smile hiding his malicious curiosity. Kazuya turned back towards the reporters, and he unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. The next.

Behind empty eyes, behind hungry vultures, behind those sterile figures and those shadows of his mind....he could still make out the bright eyes of Jun Kazama peering up at him. He met those eyes once more, behind the safety of his dark glasses. Under the pressure of this silence, you still manage to surpass all these jackals and their disguises. You are an enigma, Jun Kazama.

Was she expectant? Was she excited? Disappointed? Kazuya could not tell you. To be frank, he’s not sure why he even cares. He unbuttoned the final button of his shirt, and quickly, tossed it back on the desk. The lights beat down on his bare chest, illuminating his long, coloured scar to the world. This is agony, world.

Any of the murmurs by those vultures was soon silenced, as a hasty quiet descended amongst everyone. Kazuya finally began to walk towards the final podium, his gloved hand coming to his face. He stepped up opposite Paul Phoenix, who’s own eyes grew wider, grew animalistic… just as Kazuya remembered them in his last fight. In his purest form.

They stood face to face for a moment or two, Pauls slow, steady breath hot on Kazuya’s cheek. Slow, and steady… and warm. For now.

With a smirk, Kazuya removed his sunglasses.

Once he took them shades off, Paul realised what he was dealing with. The unblinking, unwavering stare. The coldness in those dark, vicious eyes. That cold fury that echoed all the way through Pauls body and bones, and reverberated down into his starving soul.

Paul didn’t blink, or he didn’t look away. He ain’t gonna lie either. He expected this. Paul expected to be a little shook by what he saw in Kazuya Mishima’s eyes. It’s just being realistic to expect that. But, that don’t mean he’s intimidated. Just because he has a natural human reaction… it doesn’t mean he's fuckin scared.

Paul echoed the smirk that was wiped off Kazuya’s face. With a half-smile, his lips bared… Paul slowly stuck out his hand. That hand poked against Kazuya’s stomach, and from the strange, rubbery sensation… he realised his open, welcoming hand had brushed up against Kazuya’s scar.

Kazuya’s gaze only seemed to intensify with that slight bit of contact. He did not look away, but neither did Paul. Paul extended his hand further. “I ain’t gonna apologise for what I said.” Paul spoke, in a low voice. He turned his hand upwards, until his palm was facing upwards. “But, I won’t take it any further.”

Paul stared back at Kazuya, slowly raising his left fist towards Kazuya’s chin. Kazuya may have noticed this, but he should understand. The left is for the promotion. The right is for the man. Come on. Paul raised his right hand further, his palm almost touching Kazuya’s chest again.

Kazuya hadn’t even blinked… those jet black eyes were staring into Pauls soul, and Paul could not even tell if they were even paying attention anymore. Paul exhaled slowly, his nostrils flaring. Shake my hand. Kazuya’s breathing was still and steady, his gaze even more so. Be a man.

Paul noticed movement. He did not tear his eyes away from Kazuya’s, but that gloved fist of his was starting to move. Don’t try it again. You slap my face, I knock the shit outta yours. Shake my fucking hand.

“Shake it!” Paul growled, shoving his palm forwards. As he did so, his entire body shifted. Everything was a little jarred, as he moved, as he shoved one hand forward… the other hand went forwards. Paul realised what was going to happen. It wasn’t intentional… but, at this rate, he couldn’t give a fuck. He ain’t gonna pull it. His left fist knocked gently against Kazuya’s chin.

As soon as contact was made, Paul could see Kazuya’s gaze shift. Paul didn’t take a step back, as he realised that fist was being raised. Come on. Show me how hard you hit, and I’ll fuckin prove that I can take- Kazuya reared back, and lunged.

An entire glob smacked all over Pauls eyes, as he felt the hot substance cover his face. Paul stumbled back several steps, feeling that… slide down his face. Paul, with his sleeve, wiped away a large dribble of it that had gotten into Pauls eyes. There were specks of black phlegm hidden in there, but there was no mistaking that was saliva.

It was a good thing someone hooked their arm around Pauls. It was a strong arm too, as it managed to restrain Paul from swinging with his right hook, and knocking every tooth out of that little slimy fucks skull. That spiky haired cunt, who the fuck does he think he is? Paul snapped his arm away, breaking free.. but that arm was hooked back immediately. You fucking prick. That’s the last fucking time. “Paul.”

I’ll fucking snap you in half, son. Don’t you fucking look me in the fucking eyes, as if you have the fucking right… you think you’re better than me? Look at you, posing there with your little fucking scar and your arrogant little smirk. I’ll stick your fancy little smile up your fucking ass if you ever, in your fucking life- “Paul.”

Paul glanced over his shoulder. Lee was so close to him, Paul could feel his silver hair on his own flattop. “Remember…”

“I know, I know, I know!” Paul shrugged Lee’s arm off, giving him a sideways glance. “I’m good.” Paul insisted, a little louder. Paul inhaled slowly, raising his hand. Quickly, with his bare hand, he wiped the remainder of the spit off his face. Paul lowered his hand, his lip curling in disgust… wiping it across his trousers. Kazuya had not moved, had not spoken…. He just stood there with his cocky smirk. Paul clenched his teeth, the urge to… had to go.

Lee was right. He can’t. He won’t play into this little fucking trap Kazuya’s laid out. Paul looked at his now clean hand once more, before turning back towards Kazuya. Paul raised his own hand, and with a throaty hack, Paul spat in his own hand.

A half-smile crossed in his face, Paul walked back up to the podium. That half-smile, by hell or high water, still remained. And, Paul slowly extended his hand again.

Paul saw Kazuya’s eyes change, those sharp features of his shifting to something… something, that Paul could finally recognize as uncertain. The smile slowly faded from Kazuya’s face, as Paul raised his hand. Go on. Shake it. You think I don’t have discipline? Fucking shake it.

That uncertainty was the last waver that Paul saw in dark holes. Kazuya had already turned around, and was departing from the stage… his boots clacking against the steel steps as he disappeared behind the curtain, gone as silently as he arrived.

Paul stared at his own extended hand for a few more moments, his own smile replaced within moments. That hand turned into a careful fist, as he turned back towards the crowd. “Get my belt.” Paul exclaimed over to Lee.

Paul raised his fist slowly, as the fans behind the reporters erupted in cheers. Paul snatched the belt as soon as it was within sight, and flung it up over his head. Paul roared in response to the crowd, which had slowly gathered behind the small collection of reporters. The crowd responded just in kind… their infectious energy making him feel as if he was just about to enter the cage right now. “Phoe-nix! Phoe-nix! Phoe-nix!”

Paul roared because he needed to let it all out. Paul roared, because he knew he withstood all of the disrespect Kazuya had left in that bitter little body of his, all that he could possibly spit at him. That buzz, that roar… Kazuya just doesn’t get it. All of these mind games he can play, but look who he has in his corner.

Look how many he has backing him in this fight. He wasn’t born in San Francisco, but he was made there. He bled right from the bottom when he first landed here as an 18 year old kid, and now he’s 24… it’s been a long six years. It felt like so little came in those six years, except for brief flashes of greatness… yet, here he stands. This city finally appreciates him. His city believes he can be the Mishima Killer.

Paul could feel Lee standing behind him, joining in on the applause… as the promoters final words faded away. Paul turned around, and saw Marshall standing there, waiting. “Do you think I rattled him?” Paul muttered, glancing over to the dark curtain. Marshall followed Pauls gaze, the glimmer in his eye bright. “Paulo, I don’t think he knows what to make of you anymore.”

Kazuya had never underestimated Phoenix. Perhaps, he had turned a blind eye to what he was capable of due to extenuating circumstances. But, he had never underestimated him. However, now as he watches Phoenix gloat and pander. Now, as he watches Phoenix stand tall, stand proud surrounded by comrades, and by adulation.

Now Kazuya realises that he had been too one dimensional in his own approach. Kazuya’s eyes flickered over to the figure behind him. The rat is realising that too. The rat is the one who outmanoeuvred him too… Kazuya will never give Lee credit, but he will accept a failure when it occurs. That was his own failure, and Phoenix capitalised. Not Lee. Chaolan does not have the bravery.

He silently watched as they descended down the stairs, the reporters immediately crowding them. He stood there, not hiding yet not in the open, as Marshall Law cleared the way for their departure, Phoenix murmuring to the bastard the entire way. “Mr Chaolan! Mr Chaolan!”

Kazuya’s head snapped to the side. What is… Jun. Kazuya watched, as Jun had managed to reach the front of that crowd… her eyes set on… on… him. Jun stretched out her arm, that recording device an extension of her hand. “I was perhaps curious. Since you are such a critical part of this fight, would you lik-“

“Absolutely, emphatically, I would not.” Lee cut across her, continuing to clear the way. Kazuya began to tremble. His fists clenched silently. Jun still walked in pace with them, unbothered in that bubbly way of hers. “Mr Chaolan, I am just hoping for a quick-“

“Nothing quick, nothing long, nothing meaningful, Ms Kazama.” Lee placed his sunglasses on, a careful hand resting on Pauls shoulder. Kazuya’s gaze returned to Jun. There it was. That stubborn determination, that fire… she stood solid. “I just believe your perspective would be a valuable addition-“

“Ms Kazama.” Lee came to a stop directly in front of Jun. “I cannot make myself any more clear. There is unequivocally nothing I would like to do less than to sit down for one of your intrusive, and questionable ‘interviews’. Now, I say this respectfully because I understand and appreciate your dedication travelling all the way from Yakushima.” Lee raised his dismissive hand, turning away. “But, considering who you keep as company, there will never be a time or a place where I will sit down, and speak with you.”

Kazuya stepped out from behind the curtain then, and he could feel his eyes had shifted another shade. That bastard…… this has nothing to do with him. Why do you care, Kazuya? Kazuya paused, watching as Paul walked past Jun. “Sorry.” Paul murmured to her, with a shrug. What are you inferring? Why would you care about this woman being insulted?

Kazuya turned to his fist, which was still clenched. The locket was still interspersed with his fingers, yet it was closed solid….. it was not needed open. He could see it was still trembling… it had not been this unsteady in a long time. Chaolan used her to insult me. That is a reach, Kazuya.

Kazuya stared out from behind the curtain, watching as Jun still stood there. She looked down at her recorder, a contemplative expression on her face. Kazuya could recognize something more though. He could recognize hints of pain across her eyes. Of open wounds. They mistake her kindness for weakness. What an insult…. Lee is a pathetic man. Do not be so free with that word, Kazuya.

Kazuya took a step back. I… I… Kazuya watched as she was close to turning around. Kazuya.. Kazuya curled his lip. And, stepped back behind the curtain. I…… do not care. As I hoped you would not.

Kazuya stared at his hands for several more moments, aware that Jun was still standing there.. only a few short metres away. His influence rarely is something to be trusted. But… he brings up a valid point. Of all the people…

Kazuya stopped. A realisation dawned on him, one that he did not care to answer then. Or, in the heat of the moment. He did a full rotation of the small backstage area. But, it was still completely empty.

Kazuya’s lip curled again, as he quickly grabbed his shirt. Where is Bruce?

Kazuya may not be aware of American customs when night falls. But, he is sure, that hastily placed planks over windows was not standard fare.

The warm air, even on the dusk of eve, still felt a little too cold to Kazuya. Perhaps, it was Kazuya’s own inclination that put this dark air on the proceedings. But, Kazuya had visited Bruce Irvin’s home on many different occasions.

On those occasions, he rarely went inside the house. It was a modest house, but in the state it had been left in, it was far from modest. Kazuya could already make out, from the superficial scrapes and the jagged remains of the plastic… there was something else far more sinister resting inside. Why do we sleep where we wish to hide?

Kazuya flared his nostrils, forcing himself to breathe. He has dealt with some similar situations. The last thing he can, or should do, is to sprint into the house like a wingless duck.

He has to be careful. No matter who he encounters, he must keep a level head. Kazuya’s boots slapped against the stone steps, as he deliberately ascended the small porch.

Kazuya tried to peer through the gaps in those hastily placed planks, and he could already make out the mess that awaited him in the kitchen. Kazuya paused at the damaged front door. There was a faint creaking coming directly from it.. with every gust of wind, the door inched forward a slight bit. Creak. Then, dropped back. Creak. He is not here. Kazuya needs to confirm that for himself.

With little resistance, Kazuya shoved open the front door…. With a dim set of dancing shadows meeting him. Kazuya took a careful few steps into the house, each footstep squeaking in a tired old house. Kazuya reached towards the nearest light switch… that crooked finger paused. That smell.. Kazuya licked his lips, his eyebrows furrowing. That’s a potent smell that is easily labelled. Kazuya withdrew his finger, and faced the wall.

Clenching his fist, Kazuya grunted. The sparks of electricity ebbed out from his chi, his entire arm momentarily crackling in electricity. That electricity only illuminated his surroundings for a fleet moment, but Kazuya saw all he needed to see.

Kazuya hunkered over, his lip twitching. The brownish copper colour only comes from one substance, and it’s always turns that inconspicuous colour when dried. Kazuya stood up again, his eyebrows furrowed. This time, he flicked the switch.

With an orange glow, the scene could be painted clearly by Kazuya’s mind. Whatever the scenario was, whoever the others involved were… Kazuya could not paint a picture that relieved his initial concerns. Tables and chairs were strewn all over the floor. The largest table had been completely snapped, unevenly so that the larger side was tilted upwards, with the legs pointing towards the sitting room. Vases left their coloured remains shattered all over the floor, illustrating the rainbow all across the small, tiled kitchen.

The sink was chock full of fractured and broken porcelain. The yellow markers everywhere indicated that police had already visited, and made their initial investigation.. if they did not already have a patrol still here. On top of all of that, everything had been gleamed in a coat of red. Crimson red patches were everywhere, scattered from the floor.. to the ceiling.

Kazuya was careful with his step, knowing how compromising this position he found himself in now was. He must wipe off his touch of the light switch.

Kazuya stopped at the head of the counter, one yellow label catching his attention. Placed perfectly on the kitchen table, the kitchen knife was completely splattered from the tip of the blade almost to the hilt. Completely splattered. That is too much blood. Kazuya… Kazuya would tend to agree. He stepped back, many questions rising to the forefront.

Why did no police patrol meet him on the steps? Why has key evidence, such as this suspect knife, not been confiscated? How did Bruce attend the press conference alongside him today, when some- some – of this blood is clearly days old?

It was the most obvious question was what eluded Kazuya, and the more he searched the house, the less answers were left with him. The sitting room was much of the same chaos. A destroyed trophy cabinet, the glass broken in favour for another layer of blood.

Scattered trophies and medals, each of which one showed once a great moment in his life, smeared with a staining shade of crimson. An overturned couch, with a bulky television tossed atop it for better measure. Kazuya was beginning to piece together a puzzle, but it all still felt purely… disconnected.

None of this quite felt right, because it felt as if he was witnessing two wildly different scenes. There are shades of crimson blood. But, also patches of rustic blood, in the same quantity and intensity.

In fact, it is only when Kazuya had wandered into a wayward bedroom, did it become a scene that Kazuya could make sense of. All the same, it was not a scene that Kazuya wished to witness.

The bedroom clearly belonged to the boy. The blue bedsheets, the posters of various basketball stars adding more colour to the ocean blue that brightened the room.

This is the room of a young boy. Kazuya stepped towards the window, a bright white light jarring him. The moonlight was deliberate in what it illuminated, as it always was. It came as no surprise that Kazuya found himself looking at more stains, more of the dried blood that had become one with this tainted house.

Do not ignore the obvious. Kazuya will. It was so crudely done, that Kazuya was disgusted it was even there. Still, Kazuya walked away from the moonlight, that cold white light bathing him no longer.

He looked over to the boys nightstand, where a white powder had been haphazardly ground into the table. Kazuya’s lip curled, turning towards the bed. It too had its fair share of stains, slipped all over the bedsheets that even the blue could not disguise it.

Kazuya soon lost interest in the boy. The shards of glass beneath his feet soon attracted his attention. The wooden frame had completely snapped in two… Kazuya ground his foot.

He ground his foot into the shard of glass, his lip curling. Until, he heard that shard snap. Kazuya slowly hunkered over, his lip curled all the while. He swiped away the remaining shards, his fingers carefully wrapping around the faint photograph.

His thumb careful not to smudge the imagery, Kazuya lifted up the photo slowly.. and held it towards the light. Kazuya was unsurprised by what he saw. It was taken just on the front porch. There stood Bruce, a sheepish smile on his face, that Kazuya had never seen the brooding fighter wear before.

The sun almost blinded his eyes, but it did not blind the eyes of young Shawn. With both of Bruce’s hands firmly placed on Shawn, Shawn stood there with a smile - a gold medal draped around his neck, a look of joy that traversed into sheer pride once you travelled further up the photo. The answers you find here will lead down a familiar path.

Kazuya was… he was… he was surprised he could even make out that much. Like everything else in this damned, cursed house, it had been tainted with some form of blood, fresh or dried. It has been tainted with a far darker shade.

Of course, the damn top half of the photograph was untouched. Bruce’s face was clean, his smile obvious and the gleam in his eyes was still alive, from this picture alone. Kazuya clenched his fist, his breath intensifying. No… it was all on the bottom. The medal. His entire face.

Shawn’s joy and elation was clouded with an entire smear of blood. It was not splattered on. It could never be that simple. The spread of the photograph showed the blood was smeared.

Kazuya was glad the moonlight could not illuminate his face now. His head lowered, his lip curled… that… that was too..too similar.

Kazuya lowered his head further. I will not feel this again. It has happened to another. Kazuya will swear. He swears on all that he believes in, in all that he fights for… if… if the boy… Kazuya began to tremble. You know what to do. Let me out. No.

“Let’s see if you have what it takes to helm the Zaibatsu, Kazuya.”

Words cannot describe what he will do to that bastard, if this is true. Only if. By all that he believes in. “I have to go pick up my cousin at school.” Bruce smiled sheepishly.

You spoke of the boy so fondly. Kazuya raised the photograph, but nothing about his fists were steady now. I hope, for your sake, you understand he revered you. Only those faint voices raised Kazuya from his near comatose stupor.

Only the rapidly approaching sirens, that tore into his eardrums and ripped through his fantasies of exacting justice.. that’s what caused Kazuya to lift his head again, and bask in the moonlight once more. Kazuya stood up, those voices became clearer. He already was long gone from this place. He just needed to physically depart.

Kazuya folded up that photograph, and placed it in his pocket. He must make sure the blood does not wipe onto his locket.

It had been a quiet and thoughtful ride home. Paul, in truth, had not expected himself to make this journey for another good while. After the fight, maybe… y’know, for celebrations and all that,. He was all good training in San Fran till fight day, considering a nice, disciplined routine he’d managed to keep up, and that kick in the ass of motivation that press conference gave him.

So many days your trudging through aimless training weeks, body beaten and mind numb. But, being at that press conference made it feel real. He’s fighting Kazuya Mishima in under a week. Paul Phoenix is headlining that show. Sure, he might be bragging, but fuck it, Paul rarely gets the chance to feel like this anymore.

But, sometimes… sometimes, you just know a piece is missing. Y’know what I mean? Like, sometimes you need to shut it all out to make sure everything is all good. It’s what’s right for himself. This is gonna be the biggest fight of Pauls life, so he should check up on Ma one last time as well.

Still, Paul can’t say the news didn’t have anything to do with it. He remembers how it was. The usual morning training, Lee was putting him through his paces and working on his explosiveness. Marshall was around, keeping an eye on things and making some calls. Next thing we know, Lee’s usual playlist of Billy Joel and Genesis was interrupted by the announcement.

“Muai Thai Champion, Bruce Irvin, is arrested today for suspicion of double murder. Reports state he was apprehended at his home, in the midst of assaulting one of his restrained victims. The 29 year old has gained recent infamy by training the prodigal son Kazuya Mishima, for his upcoming fight with dominant champion Paul Phoenix. Kazuya is the son of Mishima Zaibatsu owner and CEO, Heihachi Mishima…’

Paul gripped the handlebars of his bike, his face wincing on instinct. The highway was far quieter this early in the morning, with the cars coming up behind him giving him plenty of distance. It’s just… you never expect it to be the ones you know. It just seems foreign someone you talk to, shook hands with, shared opinions and compliments with… fuck it. What the fuck is Paul even talking about, who knows. Paul never really liked the guy, but still…. He’d come by Marshalls dojo. Paul would see him at his fights, exchange nods and the odd handshake. He was polite, if even respectful.

The way this business is, you see the same faces cropping up time after time. You’d know them within the fighting world, even if you never saw them outside of it. I guess cause he was on the other side.. Paul never considered even talking to him. Not that it was a conscious thing, but it was just… he was on their team, y’know?

As stupid as it sounds, he was one of them. He had become a ‘them’. He wasn’t really a guy to Paul anymore. That still means Paul didn’t want to believe it. Fights can be business, they can get personal. But, this doesn’t just hurt the person. It hurts the entire fucking industry. This stuff hurts Pauls world, man. There’s little outside of Pauls bubble at the moment, so he has to take a brunt of the backlash the ‘fighting industry’ is gonna get over one man’s actions. We all do.

Just cause Bruce was the trainer, doesn’t mean Paul had a problem with him. Pauls beef is exclusive with Kazuya, and that’s it. He doesn’t hold stupid grudges by association like his opponent would. Paul glanced around at his brightening surroundings once more.. well, looks like they’re deep in midlands now. The fields surrounding the highway, the barns off in the distance. Paul could even make sight of – and fuckin smell – the windmills off in the mountains.

Paul didn’t have to deal with the details, thanks enough, but.. but I’d say it’s causing a nightmare for making the fight happen. That wasn’t even the part that bothered him most.

Course, it bothers him – y’know, it just puts into question… well, everything. It was just how Lee…Paul glanced up at the next sign that was rapidly creeping up on him. What, how the- Paul shook his head. But, there was no doubting it, alright.

Paul could already see a few of those wandering, peaceful mountain goats strimming the mountain side, and that accompanied that sign that Paul knew like the back of his hand. Paul slowed down for a moment, taking a few moments to really absorb it again.

Nebraska……The good life. Jesus, man. Now he thinks about it… how many times must he have driven past this sign in his lifetime? Jesus, the number must be well over the thousands at this point. He always saw it, but he never really took the time to look at it anymore. The good life. That’s it… a nice cup of some hot southern hospitality. A quarter glass of some shine, and another quarter glass of dull, reassuring solitude. Some dangerous comfort, the addicting drive of a small minded farmers life. That’s the good life.

Paul slowly pushed his foot onto the pedal, the engine roaring louder and louder. Maybe, I’m thinking a little too much. Who the hell knows. It’s just… he saw that look in Lee’s eyes. The words he spoke. How he spoke them so easily. The same way he always does…

Paul hunkered down, silent for several moments. Most of the dojo had fallen silent, an uncomfortable reality dawning upon all of them. It wasn’t just a cruel reality, it was a shocking one…… Paul could tell what most of them were thinking.

It was a slap to the face.

To the Muay Thai community, to the fighting community as a whole. To each and every one of them that ever trained, sparred or fought Bruce in any professional capacity. To every man and woman who shook his hand, or who those who managed to connect to him in any capacity.

An unwanted, and unknown representation. But, he represents all the same. That’s the burden the select few of us wear.

Paul was thinking all of this, but it rushed past far too quickly for him to focus on any one part. It all flitted by in a mishmash of garble, that it made his brain hurt among other things. “Jesus.” Paul finally uttered, sitting down slowly.

Lee walked slowly towards the radio, his eyes narrowing as he stared at it. “I hope for the Devils sake this is not true.” Lee gripped the radio, his eyes lowering. “But, I would not be surprised at the least.” Paul furrowed his eyebrows, his mouth soundlessly moving. It’s hardly surprising that Lee would act in bad taste. But, it’s not even that. “Wha.. what’d the hell does that mean?”

Lee looked at him, a dangerous glint in his eyes. Paul stared back, at that calm, impassive poker face. “There is a saying that was told to me during my upbringing, Paul. Over, and over, and over until I could recite it as if it was a personal mantra.” Lee turned back towards the radio, that gloved hand coming to his chin. “’Most men falter at the first sign of a self-revelation, of intimacy. Once the thrill settles in, they’ll drown.’”

Don’t ask Paul what the hell that means. Even now, he just keeps turning it over, and over in his head… the words were lost in his head, some fuckin vague meaning turning around in there somewhere. Whatever it was, it rubbed Paul the wrong way.

That was probably the reason he’s on this bike now, even if he doesn’t want to admit it out loud. The way you can just simplify shit like that… a guy they knew, just snapping and going off the rails, and offing two people. Course, context is everything. Paul has been furious in his life, and he’d be a liar to say fantasies haven’t rushed through his head in regards to some moments in his life. All the same, though.. Lee can be as eccentric as he likes, but there’s a fuckin line that has to be drawn.

That’s not something you can condense into some tough love shit that your daddy told you when you were a kid. It just ain’t. Paul knows the guy means well. So much of that corporate shit Lee puts forward is a facade. Paul reckons if Lee was in charge, he’d have the entire Mishima Zaibatsu in swimsuits, and serving him pina coladas on some beach in the Maldives or something. Paul couldn’t tell you about all the weird little… things that Lee does, but he could tell there was a human hidden in there.

Like so many people in the fight game, he just hides a lot of it behind this demon he brings out at the right moments. We all feed that demon, and bringing out the nastiest side of it right before we step toe to toe with the poor guy across the cage from us.

Maybe, Paul is overthinking the shit Lee says. Hell, Lee may realise just how bad this is for the publicity for the fight too, who knows. He could be suffering through this mirror we all hide behind. Paul doesn’t hope he does, but that would be the most preferrable option he could think of.

Paul just wants to fuck off from it all sometimes. Detach himself. He’s here to do his job, train, fight and go home. Fuck all the other bullshit. Not like Paul can change shit about it anyway. Fuck Bruce, fuck people with him, fuck people against him, fuck people who have opinions about him, fuck people who want to share those opinions with anyone willing to listen as if this is a matter that is up for debate in our stupid little heads. Fuck all the little cliques that come out the woodwork, pushing their agendas in a world where politics shouldn’t belong. Fuck them all.

Paul could see he had already flown by the turn into Omaha….. he didn’t much care. He needed some time to sort out his head, because he can’t take any risks anywhere near the vicinity of this fight. It was early, but it was not that early. Someone will be standing at the doorstep, waiting on the rickety ranch porch, right where the wooden plank creaks and squeaks when you step on it, to meet him.

Funnily enough, a porch he was deeply ashamed of when he first left at the age of 18, to pursue an impossible, and unknown dream. It was exciting back then. But, it also felt way more unrealistic back then. Guess it was that blind wonder that drew him in the end, that made him so hungry to get the hell out of Omaha.

Now, getting back to Omaha was like throwing himself out of the window of some kind of everlasting sauna, to land on a massive, springy mattress.

It feels right at first, but it’s still just a mattress. You could sink into that relaxing, comforting feeling for only a short while, before you go mental, and you want to punch the shit out of someone. What else can you do on a mattress except sleep, and lie there? You need to get back to that damn sauna. Even though putting through your body through it is hell, it tests your minds to the very end, and it plays on every emotion you’ve ever felt. It’s fuckin addicting, man. That’s why Paul limited his visit to a weekend.

Three days, whatever needs done, can be done…. no telephones at Momma’s either. So, no Lee. No Marshall. No anybody from that world. That world that he’s exclusively immersed himself in until it’s his absorbed his small minded little world. Paul exhaled slowly, forcing the wince away from his face. It’s his fucking life, but this is his little slice of his past that will always be there for him.

All it is him, Paul. Not even Paul Phoenix, Superfights champion, hot blooded champion. Just Paul. The flattop comes down, the San Fran attitude leaves him a little while. He can.. he can be a farmer for a few days. Without anybody seeing. Without the world noticing. Without opinions, judgments, feedback or connections.

Paul extended his hand to the left, seeing the next turn closing in on him quickly. The sun had already nearly risen, and for some reason, that also gave Paul reason to be bothered. Fuckin hell, Paul hopes this whole bullshit thing hasn’t burned him out… Paul released the handlebars of his Harley, leaning back in his seat.

What the fuck is he thinking? How the hell could this burn him out? Kazuya is the one who has his training regimen damaged. The guy is probably shitting himself… if he didn’t already know. Paul snorted.

Would it even surprise Paul at this point? All the rumours you hear about the Mishima’s… Paul leaned forward, and quickly gripped those handlebars again. Whatever it is, it don’t concern Paul this weekend. Pauls here to train the old fashioned way, with nobody but himself to keep kicking himself in the ass.

The dirt road was slowly leading him to the outskirts of Omaha, where he was already approaching the Lake. There was another big mountain goat waiting for him there. Looked like she had wandered down from the mountains, with her thick black mane and her long horns.

It looked satisfied enough sipping away at the Lake’s water, with nearly all of the water life giving her a wide berth. That’s the mountain goats. Not even the swans would mess with them.

Well, look it… Paul is going to hand draw a nice little portrait of Kazuya. He’s going to tape it to a few brick walls near the farmyard, and he’s going to punch a fuckload of holes all over the place. Lee can go and immerse himself in his work. Marshall can go to his family.

This is how Paul mentally prepares.

It would not surprise you to say that Kazuya has faced the familiarity of these places before. The cold grey walls, the reinforced windows, the hastily attached telephones on either side of the glass. Those subpar white lights, that are a little too bright for anyone’s appreciation. The prison guard, his eyes lazily scrutinizing you, because the tedium of their work leaves them with little better to do.

Kazuya is no stranger to the cold aura that rises from prisons, and his travels have not been free of nights staring out from behind barred windows. Kazuya believes that most of those arrests were suspect at best, but perhaps that is just his sceptical nature. Sceptical of your own actions? Either way, Kazuya does not wish to be sceptical.

Kazuya clenched his fist, as he reached into his pocket. However, it was difficult… it was difficult to ignore his instincts. Kazuya’s hand initially clutched at his locket. Some moments in life…. A fleeting opportunity may be presented to you. You cannot see others suffer as you did. But, if you see those that have already suffered, you can offer the most deserving form of solace.

Kazuya eventually forced himself to let go of the locket. And, he gently picked up the photograph. In that moment, the loud buzz filled the room… and, the electronic door whirred open.

Accompanied by two guards, who in most cases could not hold a candle to him, Irvin shuffled out from behind the door. And, a sorry state he was. Kazuya could already make out those tell-tale signs he has seen in countless other men.

Tired, bagged eyes. Neck craned downwards, drooping facial features. The gleam or sparkle of mischief was gone. The sullen, cynical man that trudged towards the phone seemed wholly reluctant, but Bruce Irvin was no fool. He would not dare walk away from Kazuya.

Bruce slowly sat down, his hands still cuffed. Kazuya stared right through him as he sat. Bruce’s eyes were firmly lowered, drooping as if they had been bloodied themselves. He lifted his hands limply, his hands brushing against his ragged mohawk. The guard complied roughly, his key jamming into those handcuffs.

Kazuya studied his face for several moments. He tried to search for any sign, any indication… any reason that it could be more than what it seemed. When Kazuya was thoroughly unsatisfied, he leaned back. He leaned back, and picked up the telephone.

Bruce took his time. He took his time to rub his wrists. He seemed to analyse the desk for far too long. Kazuya stared all the while, breathing slowly down the empty receiver. Eventually, Bruce complied himself. Without raising his head, Bruce unhooked the telephone, and lifted it to his ear.

“Kazuya, listen.. don’t believe everything. When-“ “Did you harm the boy?” Kazuya could see his entire face morph into shock. Kazuya glared into those eyes, that finally raised to meet Kazuya’s. that widened in shock… in sheer surprise. “What? You fucking serious right now?”

Kazuya did not respond. Nor, did he blink. His expression should have told all. Bruce’s slack jawed expression eventually turned to that frustration. “What the… not a fucking chance! Where the fuck did you even get that idea? I’d… Shawn’s like my little brother, man! I can’t fucking believe you’d even say that shit to my face!”

“Who?” Kazuya’s questions may have come across as cold and abrupt. It may have resembled an interrogation, but Kazuya is not here to exchange pleasantries.

He is not here to relate, to sympathize, or to comfort Bruce. Kazuya’s presence here is for the sole purpose of this stained photograph. Bruce’s eyes were furious, they were stained, and they were foolish. But… Kazuya believes they were truthful. Belief, Kazuya. A powerful drug.

Bruce lowered his eyes, his teeth gritting together. Kazuya could see the flashes of the dangerous beast behind those eyes, the possessed demon that may have overtaken him. “Thompson, and his wife.”

Kazuya was no more enlightened, and Bruce should realise that. What use will the truth do? It will not change the consequences.

“Shawn’s wrestling coach.” Bruce explained briefly, his fingers coming together. He began to fidget with his forefingers, fiddling with the sheet of paper in front of him. “He always was tough on Shawn. The guy was a fuckin clown, but I didn’t pay attention. He seemed pretty harmless. Just a bit of shithead, who took his job a bit too seriously. How the fuck could I know?” There must be suffering.

Bruce’s eyes hardened on the segments of his work, his fists clenched. “I……should have known. The signs were there… the way Shawn was..” Bruce trailed off, his head lowering again. Kazuya continued to stare at him, impassively. Kazuya could hear the emotion rising in Bruce’s throat, a flooding set of dangerous water rising through his body.

Kazuya remained silent.

Bruce tapped his fist against the desk a few times, forcing himself to control his breathing. The paper pieces were crumpled, absorbing the sweat moisture generated from his palms. “Shawn… he finally told me. It had been going on for months, every time that sick piece of shit gave him a ride back to the house…” Bruce’s fists began to tremble, those shreds of paper reduced to mere scraps.

Bruce slowly began to nod, his expression shifting to that vicious shade. “So, I gave Thompson a call. I told him Shawn wanted some extra practice.” Bruce paused. “I already sent Shawn over to a friend’s house. He knew something was up. But, he didn’t say a word…… I guess, he didn’t want to know.” Bruce shook his head, snorting. “Thompson bit on the bait. He was at my house within fifteen minutes, that sick look on his face… I invited him in. Got him a beer.”

Kazuya slowly raised his head. His eyebrows slowly unfurrowed. There was no smile on Bruce’s face, but there was something… some kind of satisfaction hidden in his tone. Bruce raised his fist. “And, I smashed it across the back of his fucking head.”

Bruce slowly began to… shake his head. With a noticeable gulp, his expression flickered away. His fist had unclenched for a moment, dropping miniscule paper balls all over the desk. “I’m not proud of what I did. But… that part of me was- hungry. Hungry to just – take it back, y’know? Take back…. everything he took from Shawn.

I couldn’t let it be quick for him, man. He didn’t fucking make it quick for Shawn, so why the fuck is he owed that privilege by me?!? I knew I probably only had a couple of days, tops with him. So, that’s what I did. All I needed to do was tie him in the spare room…” Bruce fist clenched. “He’s lucky he made it a couple of days. The truth was, when I was finished training with you, I’d go home, and I’d beat the shit out of that freak.”

Bruce shook his head, his lips pursed. “It’s like… I stopped questioning it after a while. It just became habit. And, every time I saw his damn face… cowering in fear, pleading for his life… I could only think of Shawn in the same position. I felt like I was the damn judge, man. I had all the power to end this scumbags life, and I made sure… I made sure he served.”

Bruce looked up, his eyes finally reaching Kazuya’s. Kazuya stared into a fire, a pleading vulnerability… Kazuya stared back, impassively. “Kazuya…… listen, man. I know I fucked you over with this. And, I’m sorry. But, if you want me to say I regret what I did, I…… I can’t. I would…. I would do it again in a heartbeat.” Bruce jabbed his fist onto the counter. “He took away Shawn’s innocence.” A touching triviality. Shut up,

Kazuya remained silent. He leaned back in his seat, not blinking. He just stared back at Bruce, his cold eyes telling a story in themselves. “The wife?”

Bruce sat up straighter. “This is where you can’t believe things, Kazuya. I have no problem taking accountability of what I did to that… monster, but what happened to her….” Bruce raised a compromising hand, at the sight of Kazuya’s intense glare. “She came looking for him. She probably put two and two together, and I knew I had to do something to throw her off.

At first, I was just gonna tell her the truth. Fuck it, he’s lost too much blood at this point. There’s no way out, I’ll just pay for my sins. But, she…” Bruce raised a hand, shaking his head again. Kazuya could already see his eyes were getting glassy… Kazuya leaned forward, his suspicions finally rising to the forefront. What? “She… she knew.”

Bruce raised his head, his lip curling. “I looked in her eyes, man. The eyes don’t fucking lie, and I didn’t see the horror on her face when she found out the truth. Just… panic. ” Bruce beat his fist against the counter, and Kazuya could see that the tears were finally coming through in his former trainer. Weakness. Not now.

“I wasn’t … I wasn’t, man… I fucking put her where she belonged!” Bruce slammed his fist against the table, a single tear rolling down his cheek. The guard took a step forward, but a look from Kazuya even restrained him.

“I beat her around a bit, but I didn’t… I didn’t fucking kill her, man! I just, I just-“ Bruce stopped himself, his head swaying madly from side to side.

Eventually, he slowly lowered his head, until it rested against the table. “I don’t know what happened to her… I don’t know, man. I dunno, I dunno…. I… I dunno.” Kazuya leaned forward, until he was almost touching the glass separating the two.

Bruce’s face had become a tear beaten travesty, his brown eyes still glazed over. He was still searching for something, anything… Kazuya remained silent. Kazuya remained silent this time, as he knew that was what was right.

Bruce eventually cleared his throat, snapping out of that momentary reverie. “I’ll get life. It… it doesn’t even matter what happened to her. First degree murder, and torture… the wife was just a nail in the coffin.” The wife. Kazuya realised how dehumanising it must be for this late woman, referring to her as merely ‘the wife’. The wife of a monster. Kazuya shrugged that line away, when he realised he did not care. That is all she will ever be. There is an irony in that.

Bruce shook his head. “I’m sorry again, Kazuya. Listen man… I know a few guys I can hook you up with. To be honest, this close… I’m pretty sure you can beat Phoenix alone.” Bruce managed a shallow curl of the lips, which Kazuya imagines was meant to be interpreted as a smile. “Not like you needed me in the first place…” Bruce trailed away, his eyes drawing downwards.

Kazuya felt his hand wrap around that locket again, his jaw clenching. Bruce sat back in his own chair, exhaustion crossing his own face. Bruce wiped away his face slowly, with another shaky exhale. “What… What you gonna do?”

Kazuya remained silent. His hand refused to let go of the locket, no matter how he tried. Eventually, he found himself staring at Bruce silently. He wasn’t searching for any answers, any assurances. Searching for any trustworthiness anymore.

Kazuya found himself staring at his training partner. Kazuya…. Kazuya remained silent.

Unfortunately, the guard could not be deterred by another gaze. “Alright. Come on, times up.” “Wait a second, man.” Bruce tried, but the guards seemed to lack patience today. Kazuya finally released the locket. His hand closed around it gently. Taking the photograph out of his pocket, Kazuya quickly slid it under the small gap in the glass.

Bruce hung up the phone immediately, his hand snatching down on the photograph within moments. Bruce’s eyes turned back to Kazuya, his eyes regarding him with a new light… but, not before the guard hauled up by the arm. “Hand it over.” Bruce turned to the guard, shrugging the arm. “Are you serious? It’s a fucking photo, how-“ “We don’t know that.” The guard repeated, his hand clamping around the arm. “Hand it over!”

“Not a hope.” Bruce insisted, before he was roughly shoved out the door. The rough shoving was followed by the guard quickly latching onto Bruce’s arm….. just before the other guard slammed the door shut. “Try it, try take-“ The deafening noise of that door whirring shut completely blocked out all other noise.

Kazuya sat back in his chair. Kazuya could not help but draw his own eyes downwards… his hand retreating back to his locket. No. She cannot help you. Kazuya quickly withdrew his hand. Be quiet. For how long will you keep me quiet?

The silence of this cold prison facility, with the sole guard watching him… it echoed back a cold, familiar place to Kazuya. One he was comfortable in, but one he would never find happiness in. Time after time, you let this world pass you by, and step over you. How? I will exact payback for those who have wronged us. Why can you not help Bruce? How can I? This is not something I was ever involved in, or could even remotely control. You could control anything you wanted. If you let me out.

Kazuya’s breathing intensified, his lip twitching. He needs someone to blame. Bruce did not kill the woman, that is what he said.

Lee must be behind this. Lee is trying to place him under pressure, Lee is…. Damn you. Damn you, Thompson. I will beat your face in, Phoenix. I despise you, Lee. You bastard, Heihachi.

Kazuya swore to himself. He swore at everyone he disliked, everyone he hated, everyone he abhorred… because, because Kazuya needed someone to blame for this. Casting stones upon himself is simple, and the others easy. Casting blame upon Bruce makes the most sense, but Kazuya just…

He couldn’t bring himself to hate Bruce, no matter how much he wished he could. No matter how much he blamed Bruce for exacting his revenge in such a careless manner, in such a foolish way… in a right way. Why must these societies complicate their ideas of justice? Why must I tackle all these needless obstacles, to get a justified vengeance?

This is bringing out your weakness. You are acting far too weak to even aid him, and we both know that is untrue, Kazuya.

All you do is twist everything to your favour.

I would break it all.

Twisted mirror

“I’m finished for the day. Please?” The small boy could only focus on his mother. Everything else was a little too bright, a little too white. The small boy could never get used to the white. It was a savage thing, that pulled the comforting shade away with vicious intent.

I am lost without this dojo.

His mother sat, crossed legged, just in front of the shrine of the dojo, the flames illuminating parts of her face. The small boy stepped forward again. “Please, mother. I have been training all day!” She tilted her head to the side, but part of her face was shrouded by the flames of the lanterns. The small boy narrowed his eyes. He could see. He must be able to see her.

Why is…. what is stopping him? What is stopping her? He must see her. The small boy has put that pressure on himself, and he needs to see her face once more. “I know it may seem difficult, Kazuya.” She turned back towards the flame. “But, he is only trying to prepare you.” “For what?” The small boy stepped forward. “I am prepared! I…I want to meditate with you!”

She tilted her head to the side once more, and all the small boy could make out was a faint smile. A smile? That is not the smile the small boy remembers.

That is not the smile the small boy remembered for so long, that he held onto for some abstract sense of comfort when lost and alone. That is not that smile. “Don’t look back, Kazuya.” The small boy… what? He doesn’t…

“Don’t look back.” She repeated. “There is no solace in the back.”

The small boy took a step away, his eyes widening. Why… that is not what she said. It is what she should have said. Be quiet. No, she told me something more. She told me…. She told me… She told me something of greater importance.

The small boy slowly turned around, and once more, he saw the hulking figure of – the wolf. No. The small boy retreated back several steps. You cannot tamper with this. Show me his damn face. This is all you cling to, you pathetic wretch. Yet, you never strike against him. Shut up. Just be quiet. Now, you look upon me. Now, you remember who you truly are.

The small boy could not tear his eyes away from the wolf… it’s glowing red eyes stared him down, completely blocking the door of the dojo. Why do you hope to escape? Just let me be. OUT. This will change nothing!

OUT. LET ME OUT.

REALITY.

Kazuya slammed the door shut, clutching his head. Why… now… Kazuya’s leaned against the wall, his breathing growing heavier and heavier… you bastard. Sometimes, I cannot sit here and let you fall apart. Kazuya desperately stared around the small apartment, but it felt as if the walls were shrinking in upon him.

What was once foreign, now felt completely alien… Kazuya scrambled towards the living room. On his staggered journey, he knocked into the table, and knocked away all of the decorative content. Vases and bowls shattered on the ground, but Kazuya was.. Kazuya wretched. He is too strong today. Kazuya cannot… UGH. This will help us both.

Kazuya hunkered over, beginning to gasp. His chest… Kazuya grabbed at his shirt, and tore it off desperately. His scar, it was… there. His scar began to glow that dangerous shade of red, feeling as if a thousand spiders were prying out from his skin. Kazuya latched onto his chest with a clawing hand, as if trying to claw away this demon inside. No… he had gone so long. Kazuya had gone so long without… without… You want to be strong, Kazuya. You need to be reminded of why.

People will arrive, they will go on. They will let you down in the process. That is real.

Is this what justice has become? Forcing Kazuya to be ashamed of a man who was protecting his family? A child? How can you be ashamed of that? Kazuya forced his eyes closed… he can barely… catch his… ragged damned - breath. The telephone… he can get… old man. The old man. If he can… telephone Wang… he can prevent this – The old man is thousands of miles away.

Kazuya collapsed onto hands on knees, and retching – a puddle of black liquid flowed from his mouth. It burned his mouth, it caused his entire stomach to wretch as his lungs broke into a disgustingly foul hack. The telephone… the telephone… this is… rise from…Devil.

Kazuya would exactly have done what Bruce Irvin has done. In truth, Kazuya plans to do just that. When I am wronged, who are I to trust men who wear uniforms and talk to me as if I am a lifeless drone to do right by me? Am I to trust a bitter old man who waves a belt instead? Should I trust the man who cares for me only due to a fragmented last name and shared blood? Should I care for the man who utters empty platitudes, tells me to ‘let it go’, and returns to his unobstructed, relaxed life? WHY?!?

You chastise me for showing loyalty to anything except my cursed blood. You curse me for my silence, but you shun me for my honesty. You seek to suppress my physical violence, but you seek to ignore my own emotional torture. Let me do something about that.

It will never happen. That is not justice. I am told that is justice, but by all that Kazuya loved, that was never justice. I must right my own wrongs, I must do that myself. Do it. Only I know how I am wronged. The rest will never know. That is how I serve myself. Kazuya believes that. Yet, you never enforce it.

I do. I… I need to. Another flood of dark liquid came flowing from his mouth, seeping every little drive, every little thrust of resistance Kazuya could have put forth. Kazuya turned his bulging eyes towards his skin… it was -faster than usual. His skin… his skin… was already turning violet.

Kazuya almost collapsed onto his stomach, his dark eyes fading… Kazuya grunted in pain, feeling- arm- twitch. It jumped….off the ground, and Kazuya could see…. Could see his skin was turning a…shade darker. I never asked… Kazuya can. He will exact revenge. Then, why here? What do you hope to accomplish, wandering to places like these? Away from your legacy? This is where I sleep. Please. This is not your home, Kazuya. No. I am sick of living in this house, I need to find a home. But, you will always prevent that. Why must you be so stubborn?

Believe in me. Help me believe in anything. I want to believe I can. It’s the only path… Kazuya pushed himself off the ground, with an agonising shout. You will not defeat me. The old man… I do need him. Now, you do not need him. There is someone.

You are pathetic. Are you seriously considering her? Kazuya raised himself to both hands and knees… There is a reason you despise her so.

Kazuya forced his eyes closed, trying to block out that agony – The look on her face was so easy, so relaxed…. So peaceful. It suited the greenery around them perfectly… she was almost glowing. Jun tilted her head. “Well, I suppose focusing defeats the purpose of this, doesn’t it?”

This is not real. Let me out. Through his dreams. She sprinted to and fro, searching far and wide for that rabbit…on repeat, she would always run through his dreams. Jun Kazama would not be satisfied – Enough. Believe in me. Kazuya pushed himself up further, his… his damn purple arms trembling with every movement…

Truth be told, I am resigned to this lifestyle. The life I live is a lonely one. I have accepted that long ago. I have seen friends come and go, I have seen interests fade away, I have seen life leave eyes and have seen passion drain away from the heart. I have watched men’s soul shatter, I have watched women’s heart fracture and fade to dust. I have been left all alone, nothing but the haunting curtain of family shrouding over me. I have been at peace with it at times. I have despised it at others. But, I have never lov- ENOUGH.

What else can I possibly have? I am alone, with the same voice in my head. DEAD. I am left without nothing, so why can’t I enjoy these moments while they DIE? It becomes so dark to see sometimes, and knowing my fate will always end up with these brief moments of solitude… it is a dreadful thing to believe this will repeat. Alone in the latest place I could call ‘my room’, endlessly destroying body and mind for the sake of REVENGE. Believe in me.

The most important goal I ever wanted was to exact revenge. But, that is not… that is not the only goal I ever wanted to achieve. I have to be lost in these moments, because so many times, they’re all I have. Everything else is fleeting in my life. I cannot simply demand that they give me what I can never ask for.

I cannot connect with them through sheer willpower, if my pride and power would suffer through that. My path is scattered with thorns, and it is one… it is one I am forced to walk alone. The path to revenge is so lonely, even if the destination is satisfying. Give me these fleeting moments. Damn you, just give me these moments of solitude. Believe in me. Everybody else would IN YOUR HEAD taking my journey. Words will never do my intentions justice. Only my actions. And, my fe- my fe-

ENOUGH.

Kazuya collapsed onto his stomach. His influence is exactly what you need. Kazuya felt that clatter on the floor… that glint… that glint.. of gold. Kazuya turned his head slowly, agony coursing through his blood with every movement. This is in your best interest, Kazuya.

You used to run through my veins. Kazuya forced his arm out from under his stomach… the locket was open. He could make out her face… a faint picture, but one that was painted beautifully, straight from his memory, as only a woman of her stature could be. Even Paul Phoenix would leave behind such whimsical thoughts.

Kazuya reached for that comforting embrace of gold.. his arm was more than trembling now. The natural colour of his skin was almost long gone, vicious purple having its way with him……

I’m not afraid of the true thoughts that rise from my genuine feelings. This is for your own good. I must remedy this. Kazuya’s fingers stretched out once more, his growing fingers clawing at the wooden floor… only inches away from the locket.

Kazuya gasped… and, that would be the last gasp Kazuya would make. Do not leave me blind, Jun. Stop trying to reach for her.

She will never do the same for you.

Kazuya felt his gasps become more inhuman. He felt his entire body thrash around, the heat from his scar finally… helplessly, powerlessly… overwhelming….

“Let me out.”

Session 1, Paul Phoenix

Jun: Testing… one, two. Everything is… sorry. Everything is clear.

Jun: Well, I never believed this would happen. You are a difficult man to get a hold of, Paul.

Paul: Man, if you’re willing to come all the way to Omaha just to talk to me, I think you’ve more than earned your time, Ms Kazama.

Jun: Please, it is Jun. I would not call it a long journey. Besides, it is worth travelling to hear a story such as yours.

Paul: Try making it six times a week, pal. Then call it short.

Jun: If you have not connected the puzzle yet, I am sitting here with the current Superfights champion, two time Judo world champion and San Francisco’s favourite son, Paul Phoenix.

Paul: Favourite son? That’s a new one… that’s a good one.

Paul: Thanks for putting up with me when I’m at this. Has to be done, though.

Jun: Paul is currently building some kind of wired wall outside of his parents barn. I assume it is to keep out the fox and other wildlife animals?

Paul: Wired wall? Serious? You takin the piss outta me, Jun?

Jun: I’m sorry? Did I offend you?

Paul: Alright, for the record, this is what we call a barbed wire fence over here. So, I guess in Japan you ain’t familiar with that, but it’s a spiky metal thing designed to keep things that come from the outside, getting in.

Jun: That could just be me. You see, I also come from a rural region. Yakushima, off the coast of Japan. We live a secluded life out there.

Paul: How do you keep fox outta your chicken coops?

Jun: Chicken aren’t commonly kept in Yakushima.

Paul: Right, it’s a big fishing place or something? I’ve done my research, Jun. Know your enemy.

Jun: Enemy? Have I offended you, Paul Phoenix?

Paul: Well, the company you keep ain’t exactly a best friend of mine.

Jun: The company I keep is for the sake of my work. I am unbiased journalist.

Paul: I’m just messing with you, Jun. Don’t worry.. my beef is just with Kazuya. If I went beating up everybody who hung around with my rivals, there’d be nobody left.

Jun: ‘There is always a bigger fish’. As my father would say.

Paul: Watch your feet. Think there’s a badger burrow round there.

Paul: Miss… Jun, who did you say you work for again?

Jun: I do not. These are confidential interviews, for the Kazama dojo.

Paul: You go around interviewing fighters just to show your parents?

Jun: No, not…… it is for the Kazama dojo. That includes the entire Kazama clan.

Paul: All due respect, Miss Kazama, but I have no idea how you’ve gotten this far.

Jun: Why is that?

Paul: Well, you ain’t got credentials, and you haven’t even asked me a question related to the fight.

Jun: Oh. Apologies, I often get side-tracked. Some of the stories I hear are quite immersive.

Paul: Hey, I ain’t complaining. I’ve been talkin’ to the same heads recently, about the same old shit.

Jun: Paul, you are quite a….direct individual.

Paul: Direct? Ain’t that a polite way to say someone can be an asshole sometimes?

Jun: Of course I do not think you are an… hole!

Paul: Hey, I’m sure that’s not what you’ve been told.

Jun: Hmm. I only say that as……you do remind me of someone.

Paul: Don’t think I do, Jun.

Jun: You would be surprised.

Paul:

Jun: Well, what has surprised me is Omaha. I would love to know more.

Paul: Is it that interesting?

Jun: Of course.

Paul: Yeah… I guess it is. That’s just the cynic in me. I’m gonna need those pliers behind you. The yellow ones.

Jun: I was not expecting you to be born in a rural region such as this.

Paul: I ain’t a rural guy.

Jun: How so?

Paul: I dunno. I just ain’t. I mean, my family are part redneck, all my childhood friends were farmers… but, I never was. It just wasn’t a part of me. I was an Omaha city boy, above all else.

Jun: Forgive the intrusion, but you were raised in rural Nebraska. Surely, that will always remain a ‘part of you’.

Paul: See, that’s the thing about Midwest states. We ain’t city folk, but we’re also not full bred rednecks. We’re stuck somewhere in the middle… without a stereotype foreigners can recognize, I suppose. Could you pass the hammer? The one with the fork on the other side.

Jun: Well, stereotypes are a funny concept. More often than not, they are self-fulfilling prophecies.

Paul: What’d you mean?

Jun: Most people do not fall in the category of their stereotypes. However, due to people’s expectations, they eventually fall into the role of that stereotype. It is almost like somebodies perceptions becoming reality.

Paul: That’s kinda cynical for you of all people to say.

Jun: It is?

Paul: Yeah, I mean, you’re coming from the point of view that everyone just lives to pleases others. Lots of people’d be too stubborn to end up like that.

Jun: You are assuming people do not enjoy the role of their stereotype. Some may revel in embracing it, and making it their own.

Paul: What’d you driving at here?

Jun: To be frank, that was my first thought of you, Paul. You fell into a certain ‘tough American man’ persona, but it seems you’ve made that identity your own.

Paul: Thanks for that… compliment, I suppose.

Jun: You are welcome. You should be honoured.

Paul: What about you? What stereotype are you then?

Jun: I do not know, yet I am sure someone can identify what group I may fall into.

Paul: What do you think of the birds in Nebraska?

Jun: I… they are beautiful. Many of the most colourful do not come out until winter, but I did notice two American Goldfinches. Magnificent creatures, with a gorgeous yellow coat.

Paul: You see any robins around?

Jun: Yes. They seemed to be the most common bird in the local area. Robins are elegant creatures.

Paul: Yeah, elegant. But, it’s hard to notice them after a while, right? There’s just too many of them around.

Jun: You do. But, that is true of much things. Not just bird watching.

Paul: Suppose. I guess I don’t really think about things that way.

Jun: Could you enlighten me of how you do think?

Paul: Sorry. Can’t tell personal stuff like that to the enemy.

Jun: I would not be the enemy if I was not persistent.

Jun: I apologize, this interview has gone sideways. We are talking of things that may not be of any interest to you.

Paul: Interest? Nah, it’s a break from the usual shit a reporter would ask me. Waffling is some of the most enjoyable chats to have anyway. Just ask Lee Chaolan.

Jun: I would like to ask you about Lee, rather than ask him directly.

Paul: You still hurt over that? Don’t take it personally, he’s a weird guy.

Jun: No.. well, yes. I am insulted, to a degree, about that incident. But, I am referring to your relationship with him.

Paul: What about it?

Jun: Well.. how did it occur? The general consensus seems to be that you two seem like an odd pairing.

Paul: It was just a natural thing. It felt natural, y’know? I had my reservations, but once we got into training, everything began to flow. He’s unorthodox, but once he gets his point across, I can feel it click in my head. Body just follows after, y’know? I finally got what he was trying to teach me. He’s a great trainer to have.

Jun: You did not answer my question.

Paul: I ain’t gonna. Ain’t your business.

Jun: That is fair. So, you feel Lee is the cause for your edge that will help you theoretically beat Kazuya?

Paul: Without a doubt. Before him, I had holes in my game. Holes that are hard to exploit, but Kazuya would have ate me alive. Lee has cut all that out.

Paul: He’s forced me to sharpen out the rough edges. Perfectin’ my weaknesses, work on some new tricks that are specifically designed to target Kazuya’s weaknesses. Lee has this idea in this head, and only he knows how to do it, y’know?

Jun: That is a conception I hear about Lee. His director role in the Mishima Zaibatsu may lend credence to this, but many have coined him a ‘mad genius’.

Paul: Yeah, that’s what I’d call him. I mean, have you ever seen the guy tinker with that fuckin watch of his? The things gotta about three arms, a tail and its own tongue at this point.

Jun: He is a mysterious man.

Paul: Runs in the family, by the sounds of it.

Jun: Speaking of, I am surprised by how welcoming your mother was. She is a very sweet lady.

Paul: That’s my momma. She sees a mouth that needs feeding and ear that’s not lent, she’ll oblige.

Jun: How does she feel about your fighting career? Is she involved in many respects?

Paul: You love getting personal.

Jun: The most fascinating stories are the true ones.

Paul: She ain’t thrilled with it. To be frank, none of my family were. I was fighting an uphill battle trying to get to San Francisco.

Jun: What changed?

Paul: Her willpower. I guess she realised I wasn’t gonna stop, that this wasn’t just a phase. I’ve always been hellbent on fighting, and I needed to become the best. Nothing else made sense.

Jun: So, your journey began with the path of most resistance.

Paul: That’s an understatement. All I’ve ever faced is resistance. Hell, do you see a fighting scene in Nebraska? Back before I could afford the crazy rent, I drove myself down to San Francisco five times a week just to train.

Paul: Back then, too, I was just a kid with some amateur cred. I wasn’t getting any pro fights, so all I was doing was training, with nothing else going on and no kind of.. of income at all. Giving, and not getting back. Well, I had my hope, I guess. My hope that somebody would finally fuckin notice me.

Paul: Sorry, I’ll watch my tongue.

Jun: That is alright. English swearing is not a problem. So, do you believe your resistance got greater, or lesser as your fighting career progressed?

Paul: Both. When I started winning tournaments, when I picked up a few national championships, I started getting respect. In that way, I felt a lot more established. I was only 21, 22, and guys were coming up to me for advice, for help.

Paul: That’s always a little jarring, and kind of an honour. It still feels weird to me. I may feel like a big man with this big fight, but I’m only 24, y’know? I know I can’t be the best of all time being that young. But, I can be the best for now.

Jun: But, you still face resistance?

Paul: Oh yeah, of course. I’ve got tougher competition, I’ve got to hustle more to live up to the opportunities I’ve earned. I gotta train way harder than I’ve trained yesterday. I got way higher expectations now.

Paul: A guy like Marshall will show you that. He won’t give me an inch, man. He’ll chew me out, he’ll pick apart all my fights. Getting a compliment from that guy is like finding a needle in a shed full of hay. But, in a way, that’s the best compliment you can get. That means someone’s genuinely trying to help you. If someone tells you how good you are all the time, you’ll never improve, y’know.

Jun: Your mindset is admirable.

Paul: Nah, it ain’t my mindset. It’s routine.

Jun: Routine? So, your routine is more stringent than others?

Paul: Sure. I’m no more mentally strong than Marshall, Lee or anyone else I train with. I’m just a man at the end of the day, y’know? People seem to forget that. I just have a routine, that I force myself to follow every day. That’s what keeps my work ethic in check. Fuck that ‘built different’ shit that I’m always hearing.

Jun: I’m sorry if that was offensive. I meant nothing by it.

Paul: Nah, I don’t take it personally. I just don’t like when people try to give me the ‘you’re a machine’, ‘you’re cut from a different cloth’ deal. I ain’t no different to anyone else. I’m just the guy who gets up, and does what all those other idiots preach about.

Paul: It’s all ass licking bullshit. I grew up with nothing, not an ounce of natural talent or toughness to my name. I was just a speccy kid who daydreamed a lot and got bullied. But I just got that routine, to make sure I end my career with something.

Jun: You are uncomfortable taking compliments?

Paul: Yeah, sometimes. That’s not the kind of attention I want.

Paul: Can you just keep the pliers near me? Thanks.

Jun: Surely the respect of your peers is the greatest honour a fighter can have.

Paul: Yeah, course. But, there’s a difference between respect and begging. Some people beg for attention by licking your ass. It’s a like a game for some fighters. They give you a compliment, only so they can get a compliment outta you. I swear they get some high out of it, it gives them some sad little thrill. I don’t have time for that shit, and it pisses me off to no end about this industry.

Jun: Do you not enjoy the positivity being shared around the community?

Paul: It’s not honest. It’s fake shit for the sake of ego. One guy will tell you ‘great fight, man’ to your face, before slating your entire performance once your back is turned. It’s that kind of bullshit that makes me tighten my circle in this industry. Hell, I’ve been guilty of it myself, cause I spent too much time around that bullshit. It will just drive you to bitterness if you allow yourself to play into it. Which everyone does anyway.

Jun: Paul, I will make an observation here. I hope you do not take any offence to it.

Paul: That’s never a good line to hear.

Jun: I think neither you nor Kazuya realise how similar you are.

Paul:

Jun: Perhaps, bringing those similarities to light will help you both respect, and understand each other.

Paul: Don’t start this shit.

Jun: Excuse me?

Paul: So, we share one opinion? That makes us similar human beings? That means I’d share a drink with him in a bar? That means in another life, we’d be best friends?

Jun: I cannot tell you what it means. I was only making an observation.

Paul: Jun, I hope you do not take any offence to this. Regardless to what the hell goes on between you and Kazuya.

Jun: I will try.

Paul: I am going to fucking break Kazuya’s face.

Jun: Paul, I assure you, what I said was true. This is a confidential interview. You do not need to put on a public pe-

Paul: Nah. I mean that. It doesn’t matter if somebody goes in there, and I respect them or not. It matters if they respect me. Cause, when I go in there, I want to hurt people. I go in there looking for blood, looking for pain, looking for fucking death. It’s how I have to think.

All that I’ve sacrificed for this, and they don’t respect what I’m fucking capable of? They better respect me.

Jun: Paul-

Paul: This is all I have. I’m an angry guy, Jun. I’ve had the woman…… the woman I loved tell me that. I had every person who’s called me a friend say I need to fucking ‘calm down’. My own fucking mother has told me she’s afraid of who’s on the wrong side of my temper!

Paul: That’s the reason I’m a champion. That’s the fucking reason I give, and give, and give, and GIVE for this. I have to walk into that cage carrying demons nobody will ever know. I have to- obsess over that. Don’t even try to play the comradery card, cause I guarantee you Kazuya feels the same!

Jun: Of course he does. That is what worries me.

Paul: Well, it’s the truth, Jun. I’m sorry if that’s too much to hear, but you wanted an honest interview. So, don’t try tell me we should be friends. Don’t push your fuckin bullshit agenda on me.

Jun: I…

Jun:

Paul:

Jun:

Jun: I’m sorry if I overstepped any boundaries. I will cross this interview out of the record, if you wish.

Paul: Nah…….nah, don’t do that. Jesus. Sorry. Sorry, I shouldn’t have gotten worked up, man.

Jun: Well, I was quite enjoying this interview beforehand. I hope you could say the same.

Paul: Yeah… yeah, I was. It was going good. Sorry again.

Paul: Listen……you’re more than welcome to join us for dinner. My mother makes this lovely beef stew, and she usually has an apple crisp in the oven too.

Jun: I… I would love to. I have not tried any Nebraska-home cooking.

Paul: I’m sure it’s almost ready. I’ll….. I’ll go in and check.

Shame. Is that the most degrading emotion a man can feel? Perhaps, it all depends on who you define as a man, or in that case, which of those men you would classify as warriors. Kazuya knows he would not call himself a ‘man’ at this point. It is… well, this is why he would not. Kazuya may still have claim to the title of warrior, however.

Kazuya slowly stepped out onto the pavement of the quiet road, his exhausted eyes scanning the horizon. Kazuya imagines this is what drunkards must feel as they awaken in the morning, after an evening of embarrassing their entire identity for the sake of validation and potential female companionship. At least the pathetic drunkards can control if they consume alcohol.

Kazuya began to slowly cross the road, his eyes fixed on the pole ahead. Some of us are not granted the luxury of choice. Come now, Kazuya. You and I both needed that. Panic rose in Kazuya for a moment, as he grasped his pockets… oh. Yes, it was left in the apartment.

The last being Kazuya would possibly need to hear from is you. You will thank me when it is all said and done. At the rate you are dragging me along, I may not live to be granted that choice. Kazuya finally reached the pole, leaning against it for a moment to steady himself. Kazuya, I will not let you die. Oh, you will not let me? Noble of you. Please shut up now.

Kazuya took a few steady breaths, blinking back against the breeze. How long must I feel this way?

His shirt was still discarded on his bare apartment floor. Kazuya cannot remember if Devil had locked the door. Kazuya cannot remember anything Devil does, and frankly, it is one occasion where ignorance can be bliss. That is the one privilege he has over the drunkards. No control, yet no memory.

Kazuya drew his gaze downwards, to his tattered jeans. Many might cut holes out for ‘stylish’ reasons, or whatever these people do, but Kazuya can allow you, this is not by design. This is not how a respectable warrior should dress.

Again, why should Kazuya care? He is not a warrior here. Out here, on the outskirts of… wherever he is. He is no warrior. He is just… he is just there. With the wind, and this lone pay telephone accompanying him, he is just here lost near nowhere. Kazuya slowly trudged towards the telephone, reaching into his pocket.

It would not be like him to destroy, but thankfully, Kazuya had enough spare dollar coins to make the right call. A shaky hand was raised, that eventually found its way to the slot. Once again, Kazuya found himself reciting a telephone number he had recited to memory. Each time a calloused finger struck the large pad, there was a faint red smear left on the numbers.

Kazuya paid it no heed. He was well used to his callouses bleeding. Whatever wounds he caused in his…ventures aren’t ones that he will be scarred with. Or, perhaps they will scar. He has never had a scar on his finger before.

Once more, he could hear the loud ringing fall on empty ears. Kazuya pressed the receiver to his ear silently, his head bowed all the while. It is relieving to Kazuya that no cars were potentially passing him by, even if it seemed so unlikely.

The solitude of shame is something he must share alone, or else more harm may be caused within the clutches of shame. I cannot bend any further. Kazuya clutched the receiver tighter at those words, forcing his hand to stop shaking. Eventually, he heard the receiver answer. “Hello?”

Kazuya did not speak for several moments. He stared at the silver buttons, completely smeared by the blood left across the keypad. “Kazuya?” Wang repeated. “Apologies, my young friend. This modern technology continues to confound me.”

Kazuya still remained silent. Do not call me that. That is what he would say. An instinctual response. Kazuya could even feel his mouth tracing the words, his tongue striking his pallet on each one. But, he did not utter a word from behind his throat.

“Do you seek more advice?” Wang asked, his weary voice growing a touch gentler. Kazuya raised his hand, and placed his finger against the ‘0’. He did not apply any more pressure, to cause the key to compress. But, as he slowly removed his finger, the most vivid smear of blood remained across it. “Wang, why do you live…?” Kazuya trailed off. He had intended to add more to that question, but once again, his eyes was drawn to that blood. His mouth fell silent again.

“That is a simple question that never shares a simple answer, Kazuya.” Wang eventually replied. Accommodating, as always. “I live… well, I live to honour my friends. Their memories.” Kazuya raised his head slowly. “That is why you live? Or, is that your purpose?”

Wang fell silent once again. Kazuya leaned against the pole, his eyes not able to leave the tainted keypad. “Kazuya, do you know what the most seductive sin is?” Kazuya raised his eyes to the keypad again. “Greed.”

Wang paused, and allowed that to settle. The wrong answer. “Passing judgment on others.” Wang finally answered, his voice less hoarse than before. Kazuya raised his bloody finger again, carefully wiping over the ‘1’.

Wang cleared his throat. “The only justice is to follow the sincere intuition of the soul, angry or gentle. Anger is just, and pity is just, but judgement is never just.” Kazuya withdrew his finger. Not this again. He clutched the headset tighter. Let him without sin cast the first stone. Kazuya exhaled slowly, his hand returning to the keypad. Sin is a western concept, and one Kazuya would never expect Wang to make reference to. However, Wang has lived for so long… there must be so much he merely accepts now. There must come a time in ones life where questioning becomes obsolete.

“When are you to return, Kazuya?”

Kazuya remained silent for another few moments. He slowly pressed his hand against the keypad. “Soon.”

“Please do.” Wangs voice raised an octave, his strained voice finally softening. Kazuya narrowed his eyes, his hand pressed against the keypad for several more moments. “Kazuya?” He heard the old man call again, his voice still a little hoarse.

Kazuya slowly removed the receiver away from his ears, and placed it back on the empty phone receiver. It clattered shut silently, and Kazuya found himself staring at the keypad once more. Suppressed. Be silent. Kazuya stepped away from the pay telephone, the breeze meeting him as soon as he was out in the open.

Kazuya craned his neck in both directions, but still witnessed no sign of any vehicles. Any people. Nor, even of any animals. Kazuya found himself staring up at the sky for a few moments. He is sure that even perhaps… Kazuya’s dark eyes finally found it.

There. Flapping its dark wings, the crow seemed to be in a hurry. Whether to catch up to its flock, or perhaps to get away… the crow flapped its wings gracefully, yet with purpose.

Kazuya watched it silently, as it flew overhead, and disappeared over the gloomy horizon. “A beautiful bird, but common. One wonders why it moves with such purpose.” Kazuya shook his head. That is what Jun Kazama would say. Kazuya slowly lowered his head, staring at the empty pavement ahead. You’re in my mind’s eye, but I still cannot truly see you. His blooded, dirtied fists were clenched within moments. Kazuya curled his lip, his eyes growing a shade darker. Purpose, or life. No matter what I believe, they are one and the same for me.

I will be this way until it is over.

He would never admit this to anyone, but secretly, he loves this. Just the simplicity of doing something like this right, and getting done the way you need it done. Paul pulled his sleeve up further. He’s gotten into a nice rhythm as well, y’know. For housework, tasks and similar physical labour shit, it’s important to get into rhythm. Paul will tell you, it doesn’t matter if your mowing a lawn, cleaning out a shed or washing the dishes. Once you step into that rhythm, you’re sorted.

Course, no one wants to admit that. Especially, in this industry.. it’s all about work hard, and party harder. All for the sole goal of sniffing out some poor girl to top off a victory you had that night, or to commiserate a loss. But hell, how do you find a rhythm there? Off your face on alcohol, shouting in some random girls ear when she’s dancing, all to showcase to your friends which one of you has the biggest dick. Because, in a world full of fake personas and macho auras, that’s another bullshit scenario that apparently matters. There is no rhythm in that.

But, washing the dishes? That rhythm is just what Paul has fallen into. With the tune of ‘Omaha’ bursting out from Momma’s small radio, (you know the Crows have to come on again) Paul was nice and collected in his rhythm washing all of these dishes here. In the middle of the night, there's an old man treading around in the gathered rain. Dip it in the sink. Scrub it clean. Place it on the drying rack. “"Hey mister if you want to walk on water. Would you drop a line my way?”

Simple, not easy though. You gotta be deliberate with the way Paul eats. Omaha. Somewhere in middle America.

There’ll be chilli sauce all over the plate, not just in the centre or on the rims. Sometimes, some curry, and carbonara, depending on his diet and his patience on the day. “Leave that Paul. It’s ok.” Get right to the heart of matters. It's the heart that matters more.

Paul placed the dish carefully on the drying rack, before picking up a sizable handful of forks. “Nah, it’s alright. I got it.” Paul lifted his scrubber to the forks, but felt a miniature shove against him. I think you'd better turn your ticket in. And get your money back at the door.

Paul furrowed his eyebrows, before turning a befuddled gaze towards the sharp hazel eyes of his mother. “You’re a guest now.” She wagged a meaty finger at him, circling it around his face. “I won’t have you cleaning up my mess.” In the middle of the night there's an old man threading his toes through a bucket of rain.

“All of these were my meals.” Paul started, but did not resist as his mother shoved him again. Paul stepped back. He was well used to his mother taking the wheel. It was something he did greatly appreciate in sentiment more than anything else, but Paul supposes that would also depend on the mood he was in. “Hey mister you don't want to walk on water. Cause you're only going to walk all over me.”

Paul stepped back, as he glanced over towards his humble, beige suitcase. His mother had suggested another one, but Paul refused. He supposes that is where the controlling… it bothered Paul. The micromanagement used to drive him nuts when he was a teenager. He does remember clearly getting into a huge fight with his mother, because she tried to repack his bag when he first moved to San Fran. Omaha. Somewhere in Middle America. Right to the heart of matters… it’s the heart that matters more.

It sounds fucking ridiculous, but Paul vaguely remembers she was going through a serious phase of micromanaging at that point. Paul guesses he felt his privacy had been invaded for the last time, and he just wanted to pack his own damn bag. Think you better turn your ticket in. And, get your money back at the door.

Paul leaned against his bag silently, watching his mother work away tirelessly. It is what she does though… she works.

She probably doesn’t know much else, to be honest. Paul has never seen her know much else. Paul supposes the reason young people can’t really imagine parents at their age because they just evolve another layer of their personality. Being a parent is like adding a completely new veil to your personality, rounding out those all exposed edges.. all that stuff that makes you more human. Well, if you’re aiming to be a halfway decent parent, that is. You’ve gotta control a little more, you’ve got to be a little selfless, and a little more tolerant. Paul reckons having a kid must be like walking a cat. In the middle of the day there's a young man tolling around in the earth and rain.

It’s so rare she can sit still these days. That’s why Paul has had to… well, for the last while, he’s had to just detach himself from everything that went on. He’d just step back, keep his mouth shut and stay out of the way. Arguing or convincing does take a lot of energy, and Paul needs that energy to prepare. “Hey mister if you're going to walk on water. You know, you're only going to walk all over me.”

“I don’t want to be late for training, Momma.” Paul picked up his suitcase, his gaze flickering towards the awaiting front door. That whole cacophony of coats was waiting to stop him. The rainy coats, saved for rainy days – which were rare as it was in Nebraska – always were hung up by the door, and Paul felt like he had to battle his way through them every time he left the house. Omaha. Somewhere in middle America. Get right to the heart of matters, it's the heart that matters more. I think you'd better turn your ticket in. And get your money back at the door.

But, his momma does have a point. It ain’t his house anymore, so he should respect the rules. “I’m almost finished.” She called, in that breathy, rushed voice of hers. Paul silently nodded, turning towards the door once again. He had already taken care of the chickens and made sure the goat was well fed for the day, so those fulfilling duties were finished this time around. Oh, sweet Omaha. Sunday morning, I'm coming home today.

Paul had already moved his stuff by the doors by the time his momma had finally turned around. Her sandy blonde hair couldn’t really distract from those exhausted bags under her eyes, that seemed to be a constant every time.

A thin smear of red lipstick, which enhanced those piercing eyes, was the only constant every time. Once more, when Paul locked eyes with her, he felt an overwhelming pang of sympathy. He’s not sure why he does, and it always felt a bit condescending to entertain those thoughts.

“Are you sure you don’t want to just throw the bike in the luggage area of the bus? You could still make the 7.30 bus.” “Nah, that’s alright, momma.” Paul gripped onto the handle of his suitcase, a smile crossing his face. His momma folded her arms. “So, who are you training with this time? This new guy, right?”

“Yeah. Lee.” Paul leaned against the bag. “He’s a part of the Mishima family. They’re the best fighters in the world right now, and not many come close.” “Hmm. I see.” His momma stared at him for several more moments, that gaze a little too intense for Paul. “Aren’t you fighting someone from that family?”

“Yeah… His brother. Kazuya.” His mother raised her eyebrows, before a smile crossed her face. “Well… I hope there’s room for your mother on the night.” Paul leaned against the bag slowly, his smile somehow remaining. “Yeah, course. I can get you ringside tickets.”

Paul paused, his glance going towards the coats again. It was always the yellow jacket that caught his eye. It reminded him of that kid Georgie, from that It film. The first kid sucked in with the clown, with the paper boat or whatever.

“Momma, it ain’t gonna be pretty.” Paul turned back to his mother, his gaze finally matching his own mothers in intensity. “This guy is…. On another level from anyone else I’ve fought. He’s a multiple time… champion. He’s real tough.” Paul cleared his throat, watching his mother’s concerned eyes. “I’m gonna get hurt.”

Paul looked into his Momma’s eyes then, for the first time in a while. She still stood by the wall, her gaze remaining as the concern showed openly in her face. “Well.. I suppose that’s the risks of moving up the ranks, right? You said this guy is the son of the greatest.”

Paul tilted his head to the side, resisting the urge to look at the coats again. He had looked at the coats a lot. “Yeah.” Paul did not know what else to say, as his gaze extended towards the window. It seems his mother shared that sentiment, as the silence stretched on for several more moments. He could see the goat from here, messing around up by the hedge. He swears there’s something wrong with that Dotty.

Every time he sees the damn thing, it’s always jabbing and slicing at the barbed wire with its horns. It’s fairly desperate to get out onto the road. Paul knows the thing ain’t stupid. She knows there’s nothing but road there. But, that’s goats for you.

“I have to go visit Cassie at the hospital. Her condition is getting worse… they think it’s dementia.” Paul raised his eyebrows. “Send her my well wishes.” His mother nodded, looking away for a moment. “I’m trying to get into the habit of visiting her more often.”

Paul turned back towards his mother, and met another warm embrace. His hands were loosed around her for several moments, again made aware of the sheer difference in stature. Remembering more words his momma told him, Paul wrapped his arms around her a little tighter, and squeezed.

Paul exhaled slowly, feeling his back unravel. His back rarely cracks these days. It’s all those slams he takes on the mats, all that impact has just tightened up from years of wear and tear. But, sure, Paul will take his cracks when he can get them. Nothing like that little bit of relief he gets from those moments. They’re like little endorphin adjustments.

“I suppose I’ll see you next Friday.” His momma’s muffled voice finally came through. Paul pursed his lips, slowly loosening his grip around her. He could got a good look at the sink there.

Pauls pace had been fairly slow, but his mother just zipped through those dishes. She didn’t rush them either, he bets every single one of them are spotless now.

Paul began to nod slowly, his gaze wandering again. “Yeah. See you there.”

“Think about it… there must be higher love…” No wonder why… every step he takes is so disjointed. How the hell would most fighters even prepare for that? The clacking of the keyboard, along with the faint singing, didn’t really distract Paul from his studies. “Without it… life is wasted time…”

Paul can’t say he appreciates this makeshift concert that he’s found himself in, but Paul also realised you have to get used to that spending any amount of extended time around Lee Chaolan. “Look inside of your heart…. I’ll look inside of mine.” Paul placed his hand on the tape player once again, and slowly began to rewound the video tape.

Every time he rewound it, Lee’s singing began to bounce around the room in the brief silence that happened. His typing echoed alongside it, like some kind of mismatched, warbled rhythm. “Bring me a higher love! I could rise above, want a higher love!”

Paul stopped rewinding. Right there. The way he moved… He wasn’t even bouncing off his toes. He was using the balls of his foot, and spinning in that unique way of his… like, is that even Mishima karate? The only person Paul has ever seen move like that is Kazuya. Nobody else could replicate those movements…. “What’s the deal with that dash hook he does?” Paul asked.

Paul did not look over at Lee, intent at his desk working on his project. Paul had no doubt Lee did not look away from his own work either, as the clicking of the keyboard again. “He mostly utilises it as a counter maneuverer. It depends on his opponents stance. It will be a much faster counter if he’s facing a more power based opponent. He will become more deliberate if he is working against a quicker opponent.”

Lee’s clacking intensified for a moment, before settling down once more. “Kazuya has always been a reactionary fighter. If your instincts can be a moment sharper, you can see begin to react to his erratic assaults.” Paul nodded, grunting in response. His eyes glued to the screen, he played the tape again.

Studying tape has been hard for Paul recently. I guess, he just finds it hard to study to learn anymore. He likes to sit back, and just enjoy the fights for what they are. He has his own stuff down, and he feels like he can adapt that to any opponent. But, he’d be a fucking idiot if he didn’t study every little counter, move and mannerism Kazuya relies on.

“Paul, I do not mean to intrude, but you seem rather sombre today.” Paul heard the clacking had come to a stop, and heard an uneven clinking noise. Paul could tell Lee was fiddling with that little thing on his desk. Last time Paul caught a look at it, it looked like some kind of metallic bird… it would totter around the desk, offering out pens to Lee. He heard the thing caw once or twice, and Paul just reckons it’s on the hour. Multipurpose, he supposes, but you could just get a clock.

Paul doesn’t know what half the other machines in Lees office do. But, they look fairly interesting, and he’s never seen anything like them before. Wherever the hell he gets the idea to make metallic birds is a weird one, but hey. Some people are just naturally creative. Only thing Paul feels halfway creative with is the art of his own fists.

Paul did not tear his eyes away from the screen, as Kazuya hit that.. brutal uppercut. “I’m good.” Paul eventually answered, remembering Lee had asked him something. Paul quickly leaned over to the machine, and paused again. There it was. “See that, man?” The footage was blurry, and it was hardly a good indicator of what he thought he saw. But, he swears. Every time Kazuya hits that electric wind… uppercut of his, he sees it. It’s brief, but he always sees it. Pauls fingers were fixed right on the digitised look on his face. “Lee, c’mere.”

The clacking would come to an eventual halt. “Paul, while I am glad you are so invested in studying Kazuya at 2pm in my office, I do have a corporation to manage.” Paul kept his finger fixed on that spot in Kazuya’s face. Lee’s saunter came to a stop, as he hunkered over. Paul kept his finger pressed against the screen, until Lee had that elusive gaze right where Paul was directing him. “That commonly happens with video and photos, Paul. It is due to how the flash reacts to the red connective tissue in the back of the eye.”

“Nah, can’t be.” Paul removed his finger, and rewound the image again. Kazuya’s arm wound back, just before the vicious impact. “Every time he’s hit that uppercut, his eyes went red.”

“I suppose you would not believe that the image has conveniently corrupted every time.” Lee placed a gloved hand on his chin, licking his lips slowly. “These tapes are hardly of superior quality.”

Paul lowered his hand again. Silently, he pressed play on the tape. As fast as lighting, Kazuya moved. The electricity soaring through his arm, he spun, and caught his poor opponent right under the jaw.

Paul paused again, right at that spot. That vicious snarl. The eyebrows furrowing. His eyes widening, as they… for a split second… turned a vicious shade of bright red. That look of pure hatred that crossed the young Mishima’s face, even for this second, was a fuckin twisted one. Paul clenched his fist, and slowly turned towards Lee. The look on Lee’s face didn’t give any Paul any satisfactory answers.

Lee wore that smile again. That coy one, that slightly…. Slightly unsettling one, that Paul did not like to see on his trainers face in the slightest. “Paul, have you ever heard of the theory of unknown knowns?” Paul tilted his head to the side, his eyebrows furrowing. He just couldn’t tear his eyes away from those… those fucking eyes. But, he knew Lee wouldn’t say another a word without Pauls attention.

“An ‘unknown unknown’ is ignorance of something someone does not know. An ‘unknown known’ however, is a reflection of wilful ignorance. You purposely ignore the existence of something, to suit your own narrative or simply because it is more practical to ignore, than fear the truth.”

Lee placed his hand on Pauls shoulder. “I sincerely mean no offence when I say this, my friend. However… I remember one of my favourite quotes from a novel I just finished, ‘Crusaders Cross.” Lee slowly stood up, that contemplative gaze fixed on Paul. “’Jimmie would forever be the Renaissance humanist. Bearing his faith and optimism like a white light inside a broken chalice.’” Paul finally turned his head at that, his eyebrows furrowing. He had… well, fuck. I guess he did have an answer of some sort, even if it was Lee’s usual bullshit. “So, you’re telling me ignore what’s inside of him.”

The clacking began again. “I am saying that white lights in general are rarely always as pure as they seem, Paul.” Paul turned back towards the screen, looking at that snarl, that grimace… that twisted, almost… almost inhuman expression. The Mishima’s are a complicated family. Everyone and their momma knows that.

But, I suppose, Paul has treated them.. well, sure Lee just said it. He’s treated many of their reputation as an ‘unknown known’. He admired them as fighters, and paid no attention to anything else. Paul doesn’t regret that decision. All the same, Paul does hope that Kazuya has good reason to carry around such demons. Paul will not back down from facing that expression. But, it’s off-putting.

“Lee.” Paul called once more, his voice a little quieter. Paul paused, as the clacking continued throughout. Paul tilted his head, licking his lips. He cleared his throat, before he asked the next question. “What happens when this fight is over?” Paul turned all the way around, until he was staring at Lee sitting at his desk.

Lee was gradually slowing his typing, his hand coming to the metallic bird, still tottering around at its own pace. Lee laid a gentle, gloved finger on its head, and it immediately came to a stop. “Well, are you referring to your inevitable victory, or in the unlikely case of a loss?” Paul sighed, shaking his head slightly. “I just mean when it’s all over. What’s next?”

Lee’s mouth slowly opened… he raised a gloved finger, and brushed a strand of silver hair out of his eye. Lee placed both his hands, palm down on the table…Paul was waiting. Paul waited as Lee finally met his gaze, those eyes airing that confident, eccentric aura once more.

“I can tell you what I will do.” Lee began, his eyes reverting back to the desk. Lee licked his lips slowly again, before breaking into a smile.

Lee nodded then, that mischievous smirk slowly spreading across his face. “Paul, I will buy you a well-earned glass of bourbon.”

Session 3, Kazuya Mishima

Jun: Kazuya, you have been difficult man to get in touch with.

Kazuya: Have I?

Jun: Yes. You have not been answering your telephone.

Kazuya: I did not believe you were in San Francisco

Jun: Where did you believe I was?

Kazuya: Interviewing Phoenix.

Jun: I did interview Paul at his home. Does that bother you?

Kazuya: Would it matter if it did?

Jun: Not professionally.

Kazuya: Professionally……

Kazuya: Why must you be so coy?

Jun: Coy about what? I do not understand?

Kazuya: You are the one who is supposed to understand.

Jun: Kazuya, I am not sure what is the matter. But, do you not think this is something that can wait?

Kazuya: Recorded or not……Why does it matter? It is all the same. None of it will make a difference. The lines in the sand have already been drawn. You are the only one who can read them.

Jun: Kazuya….

Kazuya: You ask so many questions. Yet, all you have ever done is shroud yourself in mystery.

Jun: No more than you.

Kazuya: Have I not been honest and forthcoming?

Jun: At times.

Kazuya: I want honesty from you, Jun Kazama. Why are you truly here?

Kazuya: Do not tell me about journalistic integrity. Who are the Kazama dojo? What are their intentions?

Jun: They… Kazuya. Do you wish to know my families intentions, or mine own?

Kazuya: I want to know there is a difference between the two.

Jun: What I want may not be easy for you to understand.

Kazuya: I will try.

Jun: I want to…. Help people.

Kazuya: That is what they all want.

Jun: ‘They’?

Kazuya: Be in my corner come Friday.

Jun: Sorry?

Kazuya: I want you to be in my corner.

Jun: You have a funny way of prepositioning a lady, Kazuya Mishima.

Kazuya: Will you be in my corner or not?

Jun: Would it matter if I was?

Kazuya: Not to the fight.

Jun: Kazuya, I understand that losing Bruce must be hard. I… I am not sure what you went through over the last week. I am more than willing to share an ear if you need one.

Kazuya:

Jun: Kazuya, I truly do believe making decisions like this in impulse… they are not always wise.

Kazuya: Damn wisdom. Will you record this?

Jun: Only if you want me to.

Kazuya: I can fight without Bruce. His trouble is his own doing.

Jun: Yet, you need me in your corner.

Kazuya: Not need.

Jun: That is what you said.

Kazuya: I said I… I want it.

Jun: Kazuya, may I ask you a question? Before you interrupt, I swear that I will answer any question you have for me as honestly as possible.

Kazuya: What do you swear upon?

Jun: The confidentiality of our sessions.

Kazuya:… Ask.

Jun: Why is this fight with Paul Phoenix such an obsession for you? Despite a clash of personalities, there must be something else driving you.

Kazuya: He is the final obstacle.

Jun: Obstacle. You have used similar verbiage in the past. What does that mean? Obstacle to what?

Kazuya: To Heihachi.

Jun: Is that truly it?

Kazuya: On my mother’s memory.

Jun: You have gone this far, only as preparation for your father?

Kazuya: Jun Kazama, nobody will ever understand why I must be the one to defeat him.

Jun: Paul is just a means to an end.

Kazuya: Yes.

Jun: I do not think you believe yourself as you say that.

Kazuya: What did you say?

Jun: I have no doubt the issues you have with your father drive you. I also respect you enough not to ask you about that at this time.

Kazuya: Good.

Jun: But, you do not take a rivalry this far, simply to progress another rivalry. This has evolved into something else.

Kazuya: I am a bitter man, Jun Kazama.

Jun: You are not that bitter.

Kazuya: What do you wish for me to say?

Jun: I want you to honestly admit why you detest Paul Phoenix.

Kazuya: As long as Phoenix remains undefeated, I will never be deemed worthy to face Heihachi.

Jun: That is why you spat in the man’s face?

Kazuya: Will you answer my question?

Jun: Kazuya.

Kazuya: I see no point in divulging in my philosophy now.

Jun: Why is that? That is exactly what I want to hear from these interviews, Kazuya-san.

Kazuya: Because, my philosophy will never be shared, nor understood.

Jun: That is what they all say.

Kazuya:….

Jun: Kazuya, if your philosophy is never shared, then how can you expect it to be understood?

Kazuya: I hate everything Paul Phoenix represents.

Jun:

Kazuya: I know exactly what a man like Paul Phoenix fights for.

Jun: Pride? Ambition? Fulfilling a dream?

Kazuya: Immaturity. Ego. Arrogance.

Jun: I have never seen such traits in Paul.

Kazuya: He preaches his work ethic for validation. He travels and trains, puts his body through beatings and punishment… for dreams of bright lights. Of infamy, of being beloved, of becoming a god in his own little world. All of his flaws will be forgotten, because Paul Phoenix will be our fighting hero.

Kazuya: Ego comes with a blindness, a blindness that is fuelled by adulation and fed with acceptance. The boy knows nothing of being tested. The boy can claim sacrifice, but he has never lived a life of suffering like I have. Yet, he claims he can stand in battle with me? He can defeat me?

Jun: Well,-

Kazuya: I have been seen death and loneliness far too many times in my lifetime, Jun Kazama. I know I will see much more where I plan to go.

Kazuya: I will not let any man deter me from what I must do. I see a great fighter in Paul Phoenix. But, I hardly see a great man. I hardly see a tested man, nor a scarred man. He does not have the willpower to sacrifice all – ALL I have left behind.

Kazuya: I see a naïve little boy. A naïve little boy that will never understand the true reason a man like me must fight.

Jun: I…. I understand.

Kazuya:….

Kazuya: I am aware.

Jun: His path may seem shallow to you Kazuya, but yours seems so…. So lonely. Lonely, and resentful.

Kazuya: So I am told.

Jun: Very well. You have honoured your side of our agreement.

Kazuya:

Jun: You are not going to ask me about my family?

Kazuya: I truly do not care.

Jun: That was a rather quick change of heart.

Kazuya: Some mysteries… I don’t think I should ever know the answer to, Jun Kazama. Perhaps, it is best I accept that, in order to continue down the beaten path I have bound for myself. However, I…

Jun:

Kazuya: Do you believe me to be insane?

Jun: Insane?!? Of course not.

Kazuya: Then, why do you hesitate much more than I?

Jun: Hesitate…

Kazuya: Do you believe in my reason? Is that why you found me?

Jun: ….

Kazuya:

Jun: I believe we both may have found each other. Something has drawn us together, Kazuya-san. Though for what purpose, I am not sure yet. Something much greater than what we both originally believed.

Kazuya:

Jun: Well… I am not sure what else can be said.

Kazuya:

Jun: Now… it is the time you have been waiting, and training for. This fight with Paul means so much to you… it does to him too.

Kazuya: And to you?

Jun: Of course it does. In a battle of philosophies, it is the greater will that will prevail. And… Kazuya. If this was any other circumstance, I would be in your corner. But, I cannot. I… I hope you will understand soon.

Kazuya: You hope.

Jun: Yes… I am not sure when we will get the chance to speak like this again.

Kazuya: Hmm.

Kazuya: It is a small world, Jun Kazama.

Jun: Well, there you go. Unlikely optimism coming from Kazuya Mishima. I never would have believed I would see the hour.

Kazuya: You do not know all you think you know, Jun Kazama.

Jun: I see… well. I do wish you the best, Kazuya Mishima. I hope you do know I did consider you a dear friend over these months… despite… despite all that has unravelled this last week. If it is a small world, I have no doubt our paths will cross once more. I hope circumstances will be different.

Kazuya:

It made no difference to Kazuya. He was so accustomed to unwarranted attention, to several eyes drawn upon him with scorn…. It had become his ethos. What would one expect doing what Kazuya did… travelling to defeat the heroes of the land. However, even he did not a reception as…. raucous as this one.

As soon as Kazuya stepped out from behind that curtain, and the crowds of the stadium met him… the resentment bellowed through the entire building. Kazuya stopped, his eyes drawn across the entire crowd.

You could not look anywhere without seeing an energetic observant, and all of these… ‘fans’ were making their voice heard. Kazuya expected no less, and it made very little difference to Kazuya. However… as Kazuya looks across the entire crowd, as Kazuya locked eyes with several of the jeering, bellowing fans. Kazuya could feel their energy.

It is rare he could these days. He has competed in so many different scenarios, from alleys to jungles, from exercise halls to stadiums. Very few of those appearances had seen genuine support, even in Japan. But, none quite matched the energy of San Francisco. Kazuya turned his steely gaze back towards the cage, and began his stride again. There were no bells and whistles attached to his entrance.

Despite all the pomp and circumstance displayed in this arena. The custom made banners pitting him and Phoenix. The bright white light trailing his quick stride to the ring. The camera men following his every move, almost getting so close that Kazuya would have to intervene. All of it did nothing compared to the reception Kazuya received… that was all the energy one needed.

Kazuya stepped in front of the cage, placing his bare foot on the steel steps. He paused for a moment, quietening his mind once again… the boos simply continued. Kazuya glanced over his shoulder – someone had already thrown a paper cup at the cage. Terribly aimed. Their anger will fade into fear. Kazuya began his slow ascent up, his head craning all around the crowd.. letting them all see the look on his face.

Continue. Soak me up with all of your redundant rage… I am already a bitter man. I am already a hateful man. Give me more reason to be. Give me more motivation to leave Phoenix a bloody mess in the middle of ring, and Lee an embarrassed, upset rat at his feet. Give me reason to break all your hearts. What would they see if they looked in your eyes, Kazuya? They would not know what to think. Kazuya paused. Some would know what to think.

Kazuya’s gaze stretched out towards the crowd. He was far more deliberate when he began to search. There could be… Not now, Kazuya. Get a hold of yourself. I am fine. Kazuya shook his head.

Kazuya’s hand wrapped around that cage door, feeling his feet pounding against the mat for the first time. Kazuya looked down at the mat.. this is no sacred space for him. It is a therapeutic space, as I am sure it will become.

It will become a canvass smeared with pain, with crimson. A canvass imbued with raw emotion. A canvass that Kazuya has no doubt he will be brought to his knees upon. A canvass where you must scratch and claw for power. This canvass will never be the same once Kazuya is finished here, and he has no doubt the mere sight of it trigger some brutal, some vicious and some cathartic memories for him in the future. Power is not gifted. It comes from pain, from agony and from rage.

Kazuya hunkered over for a moment, his fingers momentarily crossing over it. Kazuya’s gaze turned back towards the wall of the cage, his eyes looking out at this faceless sea of an abhorring crowd. Kazuya does hope Phoenix finds a way to be at home in this place. Kazuya finds the cage restricting, but it is homely in a way.

Once that door is locked, once all these others step out… it is only two men left in this ring. There is no chance for any interference, any advice, any meandering or speaking. It is two men, their fists, their feet, their hearts and the true willpower of their souls. Kazuya can call a place like that home…. Even if it is here, so far away from anywhere he has called home. And, where would that be, Kazuya?

Kazuya slowly stood up, and walked over to his corner. Kazuya looked at the lone stool sitting just outside of the cage. It was a small, pathetic little thing. It was also bright red. Kazuya turned his back on the crowd then, and slowly folded his arms. Kazuya could see the camera was coming towards him… it was an intruding presence, but… Kazuya paused. But, it allows some to watch this fight up close.

Kazuya turned towards the camera lens, and slowly, Kazuya felt a half-smirk grow on his face. The resentment in the crowd quickly reached a boiling point with that. Kazuya’s grin remained.

Give me back my bullets. Nothing mattered when that hit. You know, Paul doesn’t like that term ‘the flip switched’. Sure, he knows how to turn on that side of him, get that competitive, focused side of him out. But, it ain’t an easy process.

All the pacing around in the back, going over what you’ll do, what you could do and how to be better than the last time: all of that shit only gets you so far. But, the closest thing to switching Paul Phoenix’s switch is when Lynyrd Skynyrd hits.

Paul bounced on both toes, peeling his lips back. He leaped one more time, for good measure. He wasn’t too aware of anybody around him. Fuck should he be. Gimme back my bullets.

Paul burst out the curtain. The reception was so raucous, that it took Paul completely by surprise. He came to an abrupt stop, feeling… someone bump into him. Paul placed both hands on his hips, exhaling slowly… Jesus Christ. Holy fuck. This place… this place is hot. This place wants to see them take lumps out of each other.

Paul raised a single arm, his fist slowly extended to the sky. The crowd responded in kind, exploding in a guttural… roar. Those were not golf claps. That was not applause. That was not cheering. That was… a roar. A sheer, primal roar of support. Of energy. Of… Of pride. Paul lowered his arm for a moment, exhaling again. He turned his attention back towards the cage, as he tilted his head. Paul did not bring out the belt. He knows Kazuya doesn’t give a damn about it, and Paul wanted to make it clear he was fighting for much more. It seems though, the crowd didn’t seem to give a hoot.

Absorbing this moment, living in it…he could see that guy wearing the Bears jersey in the front row. He could see that woman cradling the child in her lap, who waved around a foam finger excitedly. He could hear, smell… just about see Marshall over his shoulder, his own expression of surprise painted over it. Paul nodded, seeing Marshalls gaze fixed on the cage. Paul rolled his shoulders quickly, and curling his lip, he began to stride.

It was like he could feel them all walking in pace with them. That reaction followed him for every step he took, without fail, they were rising with him. You see so often fighters begging for crowd attention. Trying to manufacture support, yelling to try get some golf claps, any kind of reaction. Never in Pauls life has he faced a reaction as visceral as this, and all he did was step out of the curtain.

If that does not validate a man….Paul did not enter the cage. Quickly, his eyes boring into Kazuya’s back… he began to circle the cage. Kazuya was not moving. Arms folded, gaze averted… Paul could not make head or tails of Kazuya’s gaze. That is alright. He feels all he needs to right now.

Paul felt a thousand hands slap him. Paul looked to his left, where the guard rails were. He could see the kids rushing out of their seats to get to the front row. This would… Jesus, this would humble a man. Years of preparation, destroying his body and killing himself training every day… this made it worth it right here.

Paul always believed he was the best. But, believing an entire arena would have his back, would blindly and emotionally support him against someone like Kazuya Mishima… this is fighting. This is what fighting should be.

Paul had made his full rotation, but he could still feel that rumble deep. Paul stepped up to the steel steps, opening his mouth. Marshall quickly obliged, squirting a quick dose of water on his tongue. A dose of reality too… he has to keep this grounded. The crowd are hot to see a fight, but that doesn’t mean this is the great moment he’s been fighting for.

Nah… that still needs to come. A pair of careful hands lifted his fists up, and Paul could feel his judo gloves slowly get tightened. It’s just insane, man. Paul can’t put it into word. Those hands that tightened his gloves eventually placed both hands on his shoulders. Paul was grounded a little bit more when the intense gaze of Lee met him again.

“Remember.. keep your reactions sharp.” Paul nodded quickly, bouncing on his toes. Lee nodded himself, patting Paul on the shoulders. “Kill it out there, brother.” Marshalls hand slapped him on the back, his own gaze fixed on Kazuya. “You’ve got this.”

Paul slapped both hands on the stairs, and sprinted up there. The referee barely had time to get the cage door open, before Paul barrelled his way through. Paul dominated his way straight to the centre of the ring… breathing it all in once more. This is a once in a lifetime moment. A once in an eternity fight. So… he needs to enjoy these people as long as they’ll stick with him.

Paul thrust both his fists up in the air, with a loud, hearty bellow. The entire crowd rumbled responded just in kind… coming to a fever pitch, Paul was sure the roof would blow right off this stadium, and blow away to somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean. Paul lowered his hands, inhaling slowly. He spun quickly on his heel, and looked straight at Kazuya.

Kazuya looked as if he had staring at him the entire time. Unmoving, unflinching, those black holes of eyes just glared at Paul. He made no move to step towards Paul, or around him. Kazuya just stared, and he remained silent. You can’t stay quiet when you’re fighting for all that bullshit you keep up your sleeve.

Paul stepped forward again, licking his lips. “That’s right, boy. You think I’m a pushover now, huh? They fuckin don’t think so!” Kazuya… well, what the fuck do you think Kazuya did? He stayed fucking silent. Paul stepped forward again, a snarl crossing his own face. A minute, a couple of bullshit rules and a bell is all that’s separating us now. Do I look like I’m scared of you? Sounds like it should be the other fucking way around, kid.

“Let’s take it to the middle, gentlemen.”

Paul stared at Kazuya all the while, moving from foot to foot. He took his fucking time, but he was getting there. As slow, and as deliberate as he always was, Kazuya unfolded his arms. Slowly, he walked towards Paul. Those dark holes stayed stagnant as Paul glared at them… each passing step, Paul could see that cold, furious determination stretch further and further towards him.

Paul wasn’t too sure Kazuya was gonna stop, and he was ready to sock him right there to get a little jumpstart going. But, Kazuya came to a stop behind the referees arm.

“Let’s keep this clean, gentlemen.” The referee began, his concerned eyes switching quickly between the two of them. Kazuya hasn’t blinked once. Is that meant to intimidate Paul? Is he meant to be impressed? Like I said, boy. You can play the silent game all you like, nobody stays silent inside the cage. Everybody’s demons come out then, son. I’m well past being intimidated, scared or confused by you. We’re both well past understanding now, boy.

“This is a hybrid fight.” The referee began. “There are no rounds, no points and no scoring system. There is no time limit. The only ways this fight ends is by submission, knockout or if your opponent is otherwise unable to continue. I’ll… I won’t intervene unless things turn drastic. All I ask is that you keep it clean, and you respect my presence in here.” The referee clasped his hands together. “Touch gloves.”

As expected, Paul saw no movement from Kazuya. Well, I fuckin know what Kazuya expects. A hand, or fists, Paul knows he’s gonna meet the same fucking reception. Paul raised both gloves. “You’re gonna thank me for this ass whuppin.” Kazuya remained silent. Kazuya remained still. But, Paul did see a lip twitch. “Alright!” The ref intervened. “Back to your corners.”

Paul almost dived back to his corner, bouncing on both toes. Kazuya… of course, he was far more fucking deliberate. He slowly walked back to his corner, his dark gaze turning a shade darker as he backstepped. He did not tear his eyes away from Paul with every step, his head lowering. Paul searched those black eyes for.. for any sign of what he saw in those fucking tapes.

Hell, Paul searched those black eyes for that well covered emotion he needed to draw out. But, Kazuya was still as solid as rock. Moments away from the critical moment… Pauls bouncing began to intensify. Kazuya was still… his arms were unfolded. Both fists were raised. But, apart from that, Kazuya was completely still.

Any moment now. I don’t give a fuck if you didn’t shake my hand or not, you know that? You just gave me more fuel. I’m gonna murder you if I can. If that ref knows what’s good for him… I will try to murder you. I can look into your dark fucking eyes, and I know you will try do the same.

You don’t need to even get as fucking furious as I am to do that. You don’t even need to channel your demons. But… you better channel them. I’ll be fucked. I’ll be fucking fucked if I’m another write off, if all my wins, all my time and all these peoples support is just to be another statistic to pad Kazuya Mishima’s undefeated streak.

The referee waved his arm. You won’t be a statistic on my streak, Kazuya. You’ll be the defining moment. You were always meant to be.

The bell rang.

Kazuya always imagined Paul Phoenix would be an aggressive fighter. It is in the boys heart… he treats his temper as if it is an infinite resource.

Kazuya did not have a strategy as he sprinted forward. He rarely does. He taught himself to react, and to strike… to strategize, even against the aggression of Phoenix, would be counterproductive.

Kazuya, still, was unsurprised to see Phoenix breaking into a sprint directly across from him. Kazuya matched his pace immediately, his feet pounding against canvass.. a final snarl escaping him as he bolstered forward.

Kazuya came to a stop directly in the centre, as did Phoenix. Their eyes did not break once, Kazuya not relenting against those growing blue embers of Phoenix. The greats may watch an opponent’s chest, but the dominant will focus on the eyes. Kazuya slid one foot back, and he swung a hook with all his speed and might.

Kazuya may have managed a smirk, but as soon as he threw that hook, he noticed something soaring through his peripherals.

Kazuya did not have time to register the fist, as Kazuya’s punch made contact. The electricity soared through Kazuya’s body, and shot out of his fist. The fire blasted through Pauls entire aura, and exploded out of his fist.

Both fists made their brutal contact, and Kazuya was sure that Paul felt the same painful contact as he did.

They both followed through. They both reacted. They both stumbled back, the electricity and fire doused quickly with their identical blows, a mirror image of power and intensity. Kazuya stumbled back, with a grunt… his hand coming to his face slowly.

Kazuya curled his lip again, looking at Paul… who’s own fist was raised over his cheek, which was also rapidly reddening. This will be a far more complicated game than sheer aggression, with far more layers than just willpower. Kazuya knew… no. Kazuya always felt it would be. And, even looking into Phoenix’s eyes… he felt it too. You are no idiot. I know why you fight.

Kazuya stepped forward with a snarl, reacting just as quickly to that growl of Pauls. He shoved away that powerful punch by Paul, and countered with a quick kick to his calves. Pauls arms blocked the kick, his teeth baring for a split second.

Now, Paul threw the kick. Kazuya blocked it. Kazuya followed up with a punch… Phoenix blocked it. Paul shoved Kazuya back, but Kazuya would not be deterred with this. Kazuya backstepped before the shove could take any prominent affect, and threw a round kick at just the right time.

Kazuya may have expected it to connect. However, he also knew to expect for it not to connect at all. Paul lifted both arms, and blocked the kick. That’s why Kazuya followed all the way through, and spun around, catching Paul across the jaw with a vicious follow up kick.

Kazuya smirked as he felt the impact. His the front of his foot cracking against Pauls cheek and jaw, the bones bending to the will of his blow… as Paul stumbled back a step. It was a kick that caught Paul off guard, caught him by surprise… it did not hurt him. But, it gave Kazuya that pure, raw opening to inflict some true pain.

Kazuya was on Paul. Paul had no time to recompose himself, with the blows upon blows that Kazuya rained down from all angles. Punches, kicks to the legs, elbows… Kazuya was ruthless with his offence, and treated Paul Phoenix with absolutely no surcease. Even a moment with a man this dangerous could cost him far more than defeat.

Paul would have no time to raise any kind of defence up, and Kazuya made sure to keep it that way. Each blow backed Paul up to the cage, his face, chest and legs rapidly growing redder and redder from the impact. One final punch sent Paul smacking against the cage, with a wince.

As he backed out slowly, Kazuya kept his smirk fixed on his face. This is the tactic Paul Phoenix has. He will not wear me down. Kazuya lunged forwards, with a front kick aimed right for the centre of Pauls chest. Kazuya’s kick came to a jarring halt, and Kazuya almost stumbled himself. You damn…. Paul had one hand extended.

That colossal arm of his was wrapped around Kazuya’s foot, as he lowered his bruising face. Kazuya planted his remaining foot on the ground. His smirk had turned into a frustrated snarl within moments, his face curling up as he flexed his fist. This is all I need, boy. One mistake when you take back control.

Paul raised his face, and Kazuya could see the composure painted across his eyes. It was barely contained, but his face was cloaked with a hot, razor sharp focus. Before Kazuya could swing, Paul reared forward… and hit Kazuya.

He punched Kazuya right in the face, with one of the hardest blows Kazuya has ever felt.

The foot snapped out of Pauls grip, as Kazuya slammed to the ground. Paul exhaled slowly, his nostrils flaring…. Kazuya had hit the ground like a sack of bricks, the impact so hard, that Paul could feel the vibrations beneath his feet.

He’ll be honest… he didn’t expect that punch to take Kazuya down like that. It was a hard one, but this is Kazuya Mishima. He got fuckin floored. Though, he didn’t expect Kazuya to be down for long.

Kazuya quickly rolled back to his feet. Yeah, you ain’t smirking now. You ain’t taking your fucking time now. You will not step into my cage, in front of my people, and not take me fucking seriously.

Paul threw a kick of his own, catching Kazuya in the stomach, and followed up with a punch in the same spot. Kazuya grunted, but the fucker just did not back off. Instead, he spun around, on one foot… and began to kick low. Paul had to jump to get over the leg sweep, but the fucker just kept spinning.

That one leg extended, he was like a damn bat outta hell with the way he was fuckin rotating. Paul tried to find an opening at some point, but he couldn’t – Paul wheezed. That punch caught him right in the sternum, and there was some.. Jesus, there was something behind it.

Paul looked down quickly… there it fucking was. The volts of electricity coursed through Kazuya’s hand, and Paul could feel – Paul jolted. He could feel – Paul gasped, his hand clasping Kazuya’s fist. Kazuya’s snarl was unforgiving, his fist pushing further and further… he could – barely -Paul latched onto that arm for dear life, his teeth bared, and gritting for their fuckin life. Lee said… Paul grabbed onto the arm tighter. Lee said this would – Paul latched onto the arm.

He could barely fuckin… he needs to…. Paul latched onto that arm, and dropped to one knee. Kazuya’s slightly befuddled gaze soon turned to frustration, as Paul latched onto the top of his arm, and he roughly yanked Kazuya over his shoulder. Kazuya once again hit the mat, and Paul immediately followed through.

His fist slammed against a bare canvass though, so hard it dented the metal bars beneath the padding. Kazuya was up and throwing within moments… Paul ducked under one punch, ducked under another. One more duck, and Paul dropped his offence with another knee to the sternum. Before Kazuya could double over again, Paul grabbed his arm, and yanked him over like a sack of shit.

Like that sack of shit, he plopped to the ground with little resistance. Learn all that Mishima bullshit karate all you like, nothing will stop you from the classics of judo. You can have cardio with punches and kicks, but get a man down and grapple with him. That’s where you see the measure of a fighter. Now we’ll see how long that endurance of yours lasts, boy.

Kazuya was quick on the money, trying to scramble away quickly. It was Pauls turn to be relentless, so he was. Kazuya lashed out with a kick, that caught him in the stomach… Paul wheezed, and in furious reaction, drove his fist all the way into Kazuya’s face.

That caused his resistance to ease up a little, but only for a moment. Paul mounted him fully, wrapping his legs around those massive tree trunks of Kazuya… Kazuya spat and snarled all the while, but the fact of the matter is there ain’t much you can do in the face of being trapped in a submission.

That’s exactly how Paul is gonna humble, and take out the great, unbeatable, unstoppable Kazuya Mishima.

It ain’t fuckin easy. Paul was met with scratching, and clawing resistance every step of the fucking way. Kazuya punched, he kicked, he elbowed, he kneed… any opening Paul allowed, for even a split second, he was feeling the agonising impact of it. Paul clawed in response. Every time he got hit, every time he nearly lost his grip… he’d grab onto something. He’d throw elbows himself, he’d throw knees when he could….. everything deserved a fucking receipt.

It felt as if Kazuya was fighting for his fucking life.. but, so was Paul. He was fighting for his damn life, cause this fight was his fucking life. Paul won’t retreat into his apathy for this… this isn’t another day of training. This isn’t another day of the same old grind. This is everything he’s worked for.

The crowd are telling him that. The faint yells in the corner, of Marshall, of Lee… that tells him that. His mother, watching silently and no doubt in worry, told him that. All of the memories, the hearts and the feelings of every son of a bitch who ever doubted him, they told him that. Every fibre of his body tells him that, that strikes out any remaining doubts that he may have left in his mind.

Paul felt his head smack back again… he didn’t even see that elbow coming, and couldn’t fucking see after it went across his eye. Paul blinked a few times, feeling something come loose.. Jesus Christ, don’t tell me he’s knocked loopy. Paul latched onto Kazuya’s chest even tighter, squeezing the life out of the Mishima with every bit of pressure his aching muscles could manage.

Hit me another punch. Hit me another fucking elbow if you want. Do it fucking all, cause I ain’t letting go. I ain’t stopping until you’re fucking gassed, so I can finish the job.

Kazuya had to rip and tear. Perfect form doesn’t always matter. Kazuya would even be a proponent that it is hardly the most important factor. Sometimes, if your offence is a little unclean, that is where it is at is most effective. But, here… here is where Paul Phoenix excels. Kazuya has no problem admitting that. The oaf has managed to turn this into a wrestling match, and Kazuya must take issue with that.

Kazuya slowly dragged himself onto all fours, attempting to sprawl… his grip was like an iron vice. Kazuya threw back another elbow… he felt it connect with something, underneath that… that ridiculous hair. Kazuya threw it again, but felt that squeeze come again… Kazuya wheezed, almost falling onto his face. This is… Kazuya could feel the sweat pouring from his face.

This oaf is crafty… he knows what he is doing. I am here. Stay out of this. Kazuya slowly lifted himself onto all fours…but, was quickly dropped as a hammer like forearm slammed across his face. Kazuya, I do not get tired. No, you get reckless. Kazuya made that promise… Devil will not be involved. This is Kazuya’s fight. Kazuya could feel himself slowly getting lifted… his grip iron like around Kazuya’s waist, there was very little he could do.

The anaconda arms just kept tightening, and somehow, Phoenix could just keep… squeezing. Kazuya did not struggle when he is being lifted. He did not writhe, he did not elbow, he did not kick…

Kazuya remained limp, as Paul lifted him as if he was a child. Kazuya only kept his fists clenched, as Paul was at full height… Kazuya’s toes trailed across the damaged, and bent canvass.. Kazuya closed his eyes.

This was not a matter of dominance, but simply the way a fight will ebb and flow… with a worthy opponent, one must expect punishment. But… but, you should never let that pain, and punishment become suffering. That is the difference between a fighter and a warrior. And, what of a nomad? Shut up. Should he take this needless punishment you are undergoing?

Kazuya closed his eyes, holding onto Wangs words… holding onto that brief snippet, those words of judgment, that briefly… briefly travelled through his head. Until, it finally happened. Kazuya felt the lurch, he felt his entire body contort… Kazuya opened his eyes, to see Pauls arms violently release him. Even more helpless in the air, Kazuya realised that if he did not course correct soon… he would have no more fights. No more opportunities at vengeance.

He would land directly on his neck, and no amount of willpower can save him from a shattered, broken neck. You and I both know that is untrue.

Kazuya closed his eyes again, inhaling deeply… before, he threw his head back as far as he could. It was much quicker than he could imagine, so he needed to react quickly. Fortunately, his body was aligned with his mind… it was unsteady.

However, he took all his weight on his legs, his knees almost buckling from the landing. But, Kazuya had landed on his feet. Kazuya landed on his feet, shaking off the feeling of his knees… his snarl returning.

He was panting, yet he was not yet tired. He was sweating, but he was not yet exhausted. Kazuya could see, when Phoenix turned around…those blue eyes burning in fury - he knew just as much.

Kazuya lunged, and threw a punch. But, Paul was that much faster… he ducked the blow, and with a low kick that caught Kazuya right at the bottom of his scar, Kazuya could only double over.

That was the worst possible preventative measure, as Paul reared forward, that cursed fist burning… and caught Kazuya with another vicious punch. The sheer power of this blow was as powerful as the rest of Paul Phoenix’s punches, and that enough caused Kazuya to sprawl to his stomach. But, it was not the power.

It was not the fact he failed to block it. Nor, was it that he lost the advantage. It was where the blow caught Kazuya. Kazuya raised his hand to his nose, already feeling it to be a little too misshapen. A little too swollen. Kazuya cares not about his damn looks, but… Kazuya raised his fingers slowly, his snarl turning uglier.

You are a rotten oaf. You damn bastard… I will tear your head off. Kazuya removed his hand from his nose, and looked at a hand covered in crimson. He does not spill our blood, Kazuya. He has. Kazuya raised his head slowly. He has.

That damn bastard has spilled my damn blood. Kazuya lifted that bloodied hand, as steady as it ever was. He slowly clenched it, and soon, it began to tremble. I will tear his head from his damn body. I will take his life.

That punch was sweet. But, Paul was worried. You wouldn’t think he would have any cause to be worried, but he was. Paul caught him sweet right on the bridge of the nose with that blow… but Kazuya has not moved since.

Paul has kept the pressure on. He’s kicked Kazuya in the side. He’s tried to kick him in the face again. Paul even attempted to drive his heel into the back of the Mishima’s head. All of these blows were merely blocked, or… or they were just shrugged off. They were ignored, as if Kazuya barely felt them. No gasps of pain, no grunts of exertion… nothing.

Paul kicked him in the side again. Still, Kazuya, with head bowed and on hands and knees, did not react.

Paul kicked him again, harder. “Come on.” Paul urged, his voice hoarse and demanding. Another kick. “Get the…. Fuck up. Or… I’ll fucking come…. Come down there.” Another kick.

Kazuya began to stir.

Paul stared down at him.. he was like a fucking zombie. He rose like fucking Jesus… coming to both knees. And, slowly standing onto his feet. All the while, Paul was hitting, kicking, elbowing… none of it had any impact. Paul frowned, taking a cautious step back. What the fuck…. Paul glanced over to the corner.

Marshall looked just as confused as he was, his eyes wide and confused. But, it was Lee’s face… it was fucking Lee’s face. There was no surprise on his face. Simply a grim expression, something that… something that could only resemble dread. Paul turned back towards Kazuya, with another roar. “FUCK THIS!”

Back still turned, Paul did not give a fuck. Paul is going to clock him in the back of his fat fucking head. Paul reared forward, and swung as hard as he could….

Kazuya turned around.

Pauls blow almost came to a stop there, when he saw the expression on Kazuya’s face. Smeared with blood, a swollen and fluid filled nose… there was a look of vicious determination, of pure… pure insanity Paul had never seen on a human being before.

But, the worst… it wasn’t the blood, the expression or the demeanour. It was those eyes. They were as black as ever, but Paul swears he saw it… unless it was a trick of the eye. No. It was fucking there. Paul saw it.

Paul saw that flash of red.

Paul threw another punch desperately, but it was useless. Kazuya had become a demon, and it showed in his offence. He was fucking relentless. Paul felt his face get pummelled in moments. His vision became a blur, his head snapping to and fro, back and forth, here and there like a damn fucking jack in the box.

A series of punches that reduced Paul to the same bloody mask that Kazuya was wearing. Paul grabbed desperately, but Kazuya slapped the hand away, and grabbed Paul by the back of the neck. As hard as he humanely could, Kazuya kicked Paul right in the kneecap.

Paul bellowed in pain, but he didn’t have time to check that explosion across his knee was a blown knee cap. Kazuya wrenched on Pauls arm, and dragged him to his feet roughly. Paul still scrambled at Kazuya threw bloody eyes, trying to blink away the remnants of the crimson that had coated his eyes.

He could feel the hot blood all across his face like a watery sunburn, and he also had no doubt his face was completely covered at this point. That didn’t make much a difference to Kazuya.

With a snarl, Kazuya swung his leg around, and kicked Paul across the side of the head. Paul slumped over, but Kazuya was not finished.

Still clutching to that hand, Kazuya did not stop the momentum of his leg. He swung his leg all the way around, and kicked Paul on the other side of the head.

Phoenix fell slowly. It was almost comical, or scripted in some manner the way he toppled… like a wall of bricks being knocked down. But, he fell, and Kazuya had no doubt that was the fall of a man who had lost all grasp on consciousness.

Back first on the ground, legs and arms sprawled… blood still leaking slowly from a jagged cut above his eyebrow. The motion of his fall meant all his limbs were limp, with nothing protecting essential body parts, and nothing behind dim blue eyes. He had left a pool of blood that was slowly beginning to colour his flattop, turning that filthy blonde into a filthy shade of ruby red.

Kazuya slowly regained his breath, his eyes drawn down at his work. Phoenix’s eyes were still open, and he was still gasping for breath… somehow, that fool was still trying to move. But, there could not be much fight left within him. His words never could live up to his will.

Kazuya wiped the blood from his own forehead, as he walked towards the downed Phoenix. Kazuya stopped at the foot of the bloodied, and agonised Phoenix. Kazuya met those pained, struggling eyes… and he smirked. You know what must be done.

Kazuya… Kazuya ignored that voice. His smirk fading for a moment, Kazuya placed his foot across Pauls chest. And, turning his pained neck upwards… Kazuya only had his focus on one other man.

Lee had already been standing, but now Kazuya could see he was pressed against the cage. Both hands gripping it, Kazuya could see that mask of arrogance finally dropped.

Now, you feel pain. Now, you feel sorrow… now, you pretend to feel the things that you claim I have never felt. Now you claim to care for him, when all that is truly wounded is your damn pathetic pride.

Lee’s eyes were darting between Phoenix and Kazuya, growing wider with every glance.

Are you finally going to acknowledge your fear? Are you finally going to admit how much of a cowardly, spineless rat you are? You could not hold a candle to what I am capable of. Come in here and stitch up your puppet, you rotten bastard.

I may be bloodied, but I am far from beaten. Those manipulative eyes of yours bear such anger, why not act upon it? Lee would never.

Kazuya knows he would never.

It…. It…… I should have expected this. I can’t even… think….Paul coughed again, another shower of blood escaping his mouth. This is what they all said would happen. Paul coughed again, trying to move his head… trying, desperately, to meet the eyes of Lee. Of Marshall. Of any of his friends, of… Paul stopped moving his head, as he gasped again.

Trying… what’s the point? Everything requires effort. Lifting his head, opening his eyes, desperately trying to claw away from the snatches of his terrifying dreams… threatening to drag him into a darkness that will end all of this. It all terrifies Paul down to his desperate, fleeing soul. But, who is he to admit it? He is Paul Phoenix. Paul Phoenix would never admit such drowning… such drowning exhaustion.

He could not… he would not meet his mother’s eyes. They all believed… this would happen. They all had faith in him… but they believed in this being the outcome. This is a Mishima. Paul weakly lifted his hands, grabbing onto Kazuya’s pressing foot. You can’t escape the feeling of hopelessness. You’ll never beat him. Paul slowly raised his head… he gripped onto Kazuya’s foot.

Maybe, becoming numb can stop that hopeless feeling for one more moment. Paul.. he doubts it though. You’ll never make it. Paul felt his arms slowly wrap around that leg… his head finally lifting up. I am way too young to be feeling so hopeless. Country boy. Who cares if you train six days a week? That doesn’t make a great fighter. You’re the token redneck. We’ll make fun of your accent, you can train as much as you like and we’ll put you on the card. You’re a token attraction, kid. There’s an it factor your missing. All your training, all your sacrifice means nothing. You don’t have ‘it’, kid.

Paul latched onto that leg, his teeth bared… his eyes wincing, trying to see through a shards of blood. There’s a plateau. Someone that doesn’t have the gifts… have that natural aura. you’ve already hit the plateau. Paul slowly clenched his fist, feeling that only worsen the agony bursting forward in his head. Not everyone can be the best. Kazuya wasn’t looking over in his fucking corner anymore. We all have our role. They think we’re just the dreamers.

He had slowly turned around to stare down at Paul, his eyebrows furrowed. Paul slowly turned his head, and he met the eyes of… of Marshall Law. They’ll never know that we sacrificed that much more.

He saw those brown eyes….he saw the fire in them.. Paul could see Marshall staring at him, pleading, willing him on… a single hand on the cage.

Paul could see Marshall was not defeated yet. Paul could see Marshall… despite what he said… Marshall thought the exact same. Marshall always believed the exact same. Our dream is so close to being reality.

Paul felt his hoarse voice return to him. That hoarseness was lent to itself by a fury, a fury that was channelled his voice to become more than a hoarse. Despite his exhaustion, despite the agony, the punishment, and despite his doubts… his hoarse become a yell, and that yell became a bellow.

Kazuya was glaring down at Paul now, and he realised what he had done. That son of a fucking bitch realised. That tearing his eyes away from him, and getting all cocky with Paul was a huge mistake.

Cause, Paul still has enough… for just one more… and just another… and just one more after that…… it’s all he has.

Paul has enough.

Paul shoved away Kazuya’s leg, and leaped to his feet. Kazuya snarled, and reacted quickly… but not quickly enough. Every ounce of rage in Pauls body, all the fire that remained in his tired, destroyed body channelled into that right fist of his.

With that bellow, with all his might, Paul thrust himself forwards… his fist alight, the flames dancing around his body. Paul struck.

Paul hit Kazuya Mishima with the hardest Burning Fist he has ever hit in his life.

As soon as he made impact, Paul could feel everything change. Paul knew the dynamic of this bout had been dropped on its head, and wrenched the whole other way. Because, Paul followed through with that fiery fist, and he could feel… he could hear the cracking, and shattering of several bones all across Kazuya’s chest.

Paul… with fury in his heart. Raw anger in his soul.

Paul just followed through.

I am a damn fool. Kazuya soared up in the air, and smacked down to the canvass in his brutal moment of weakness. The landing was the most painful part, as it made the agony apparent to him. Kazuya writhed in pain, with a groan… everything… Kazuya gasped. Even his breath, it… it..

Kazuya inhaled, but felt everything in his chest pierce him, puncture into… Kazuya felt something rise in him, something unfamiliar. Panic? Kazuya, get a hold of yourself. I cannot breathe.

Kazuya slowly rolled onto his stomach, every movement sheer agony for him. He could see the traces across his chest…. The ugly red, the distorted blue and purple, that put his scar to shame. How many were broken? Was it his sternum? No, it could not be… everything…. Could…By my soul, Kazuya, who are you trying to fool? You are the only fool here. Damn you. Damn you for your carelessness.

Kazuya… he hated it. He hated admitting it… Devil was right. Kazuya crawled slowly… that other side had become blurry, through sweat or blood Kazuya could hardly tell. Each breath felt like a blow in itself, as if he was scratching for the right to take another second on earth, clawing for his right to life… every part of his existence now was a fight.

Kazuya reached towards the cage. What.. what was he thinking? He could… he could have finished Phoenix. You were distracted. Where is your mind? Kazuya would snarl, if he could. This is your doing. Kazuya was fingertips away from the cage… it was blurry, but he was reaching past it. Kazuya realised he was starting to look into the faces of all the damn members of the crowd here.

I would never leave you in this state, Kazuya. Kazuya… he knows himself. The weak attempt to blame Devil for this travesty was just that, an attempt. Kazuya gasped again… it was getting more difficult. His lungs felt so… so damn strained. All of this could be fixed if you allow me to clean this travesty up.

Kazuya… reached. He reached towards the cage, and he tried with all his might to just…. To just… to just ignore him. Why? What could you hope to accomplish? You could not do what Phoenix just did. I don’t believe you have the willpower, Kazuya. All I cling to is willpower. Why? You are lonely. You know nothing else. All you have is brief glimpses of joy, amidst all that hatred that keeps you breathing. I… I…. Shut up. Shut your mouth.

Kazuya did not want to look at the faces of these damn people. In a weak moment, he did not want to see their damn concern. Their false concern, that is self-serving and would be forgotten about within moments. He did not want to see their damn fear, their damn silence… Kazuya did not want… he did not want… He could not ignore it. Good. This is the only way.

Kazuya’s hand began to tremble, as he felt… that pain in his chest being replaced.. with a whole other pain. A far more familiar… a far more…Why must it be this way? You have given us no other choice.

Kazuya’s eyes widened…. He could not ignore… this. Somehow, he had managed to find her. Perhaps, it was the white clothes. Perhaps, it was the concern on her face. It could… it could very well be her aura. Nevertheless, she stood there, and Kazuya could not do anything else but stare right now. Do not stare. Look away.

Jun Kazama was standing, so bright, so shining away from the rest… Kazuya continued to look at her. Her hands were over her chest, where that camera would always rest… her eyes were glassy, and clouded with a watery mirror of concern. A deep… a deep sense of shame fell over Kazuya then. Lines in the sand only you can read.

Kazuya looked out at his hand, reached out… trembling, shaking. I should have told you. Kazuya, this is hardly the t- thinking about you.

Kazuya felt his hand trembling… that tremble reducing to a slight shake. Thinking about you, you’re always in my head- not in your soul.

Her eyes spoke to him, and Kazuya felt the shame replaced with… with something rising from deep within. It could be his heart, but he would not be so foolish… no. To hell with that. He would be. He would dare to be so foolish, because this… this is how he feels. This is making you weak. This is his honesty. You are lying to yourself. Without you, I just feel – DEAD.

Kazuya’s fist had stopped shaking. I do not care anymore. NO. Kazuya’s steady hand slowly began to clench. Kazuya always has his reasons, and his driving force. It has been the most important driving force he had… the one that has driven him ever since he was a young boy. I admit I did not take the chance to hear what you believe.

But…I do not mind… admitting I want to fight for you too. Kazuya would not listen anymore. He has stopped. Kazuya’s fist fully clenched. Even if you never feel the same about me.

He was fuelled by something new. He could not tell you what it is. He could not put a label on it, like everyone else does… because, Kazuya never wants to admit it to anyone else. This is his feeling. And, that feeling… that feeling is stronger than anything else Kazuya has ever known. You run. I’ll always stay.

Kazuya did not roar. As he rose, he did not bellow. He felt the rage coarse through him, but it felt so focused. It felt like… he must fight. He must fight, he must end this… Kazuya felt like he had an anchor. That anchor is what propped him up, and her hope is what caused Kazuya to rise. I can only wish you would come back some day.

And, rise Kazuya did. Kazuya rose up, and focused on the hunched over Phoenix. Phoenix could barely react, his standing already unsteady. Wishes are empty vessels, but they can still hold meaning if you carry them true. But, Kazuya rushed forwards. Electricity coursed through every muscle fibre, every bone… through all of his shattered ribs, and his sternum. You do not have to be the one to lose. Not because of me.

Kazuya spun around quickly, the electricity gathering itself. With a final burst of energy, fuelled by that… by that hope. Kazuya leaped, and hit a vicious uppercut across Paul. Kazuya could feel the electricity leave his body, like a rush of adrenaline shooting out of his fist… as Kazuya felt Pauls jaw completely implode.

Kazuya knew Paul will feel the agony Kazuya now felt… as he soared up in the air, and he careened down to the ground. Kazuya crumbled onto both knees, the blood rushing down his body… smearing across his chest, the internal bruising growing worse. His scar fading into brown, Kazuya remained on his knees.

Kazuya watched as Paul slammed, face down, his face twisting down into the canvass. Kazuya knew that Paul felt the agony that Kazuya now felt.

Kazuya now… he was now confident that would be enough. But, he was… Kazuya gasped for air, the struggle of his breathing becoming apparent. It became too apparent.

Kazuya leaned back, as he watched… he watched Paul slowly push himself off.

Kazuya stared, incredulously, his eyes widening…as a groaning Paul slowly pushed himself up. How is this… this bastard…. Yet, Pauls arms gave out. His arms gave out, and Paul too dropped to his knees.

Both men gasped, they both struggled to catch their breath. Kazuya could barely breath. Paul’s jaw looked to resemble an overgrown baseball, the fluid swinging to and fro grotesquely. Still, they remained on their knees. Neither… they have gone too far.

But, who will step down? Kazuya swears by… the end, and the few he fights for, he will not. He is sure Phoenix shares that sentiment.

But, here they are, in ruins… still on their knees. What we put ourselves through the dark, is nothing compared to this carnage in the light. Yet, perhaps, the insanity is that these moments of agony, of pain could be the most whole moments of our existences.

Half dead, awaiting a fresh start… but, only one can stop the other.

Nothing will change unless someone falls. That is the way.. that is the way they have bound it to be. That is the only closure they will have, to continue their stories.

Both men locked eyes.

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