Hey ho, again. Well, due to an illness induced complete lack of ideas, I've actually taken somebody else's advice and decided that this little fic of mine needed a little love… So, instead, I opted to mercilessly stamp it, bulldoze it, purge it with fire and salt, hammer it, nuke it and tell everyone that it was homosexual on the Annual Homophobic Father and Son Picnic where the Fathers and Sons where only admitted once they had been armed with AK-47s and presented a document showing that they were criminally insane, probably hosted in Alabama by the sounds of it… obduracy

… or, in words any sensible person would use, we've got a rewrite on our hands, people. Yes, of my first story, no less. Sounds better than it is, doesn't it.

Ideas for a rewrite sprouted from a review by Razer. Do thank her, though, considering the apocalyptic nightmare that has been resurrected, you might want to blame her. Oh well, she's a better writer than I'll EVER be, so she must of thought something was good about it. Though considering how bad it was, what it was that was good at all is hidden better than a sober guy at Glastonbury Festival.

Oooh, spongecake hates his stories, this is new… well, I'm not kidding. Even by my standards, this was dribble. So, really, all I'm doing here is adding more dribble into the mix hoping to make a cake… how delightful… the main reason this was so bad was that I went in with nothing. I just made a character and said 'Go'. However, he was apparently a good character, so I thought, "Hey, give him another whirl."

This follows on from Tekken 6. I may not have played the game, but I know loosely enough about the plot to make some form of story. I don't own Namco, Tekken, or indeed much else. I own Morris, but that's not really a thing to be proud of.

Picture of Morris: . So anyone who can draw better than me (i.e. EVERYONE) send your own pictures, please.

Prologue

Heihachi Mishima was pretty much in hysterics for the duration for the sixth King of Iron Fist Tournament. Last time he had lost his company to a descendant of his, he was worried. Kazuya was driven, and fuelled by a force completely unknown to Heihachi. Kazuya had a girlfriend to support and an empire as a prize after the atrocity that was his childhood. He had every reason to fight to keep it out of his father's hands. Heihachi pushed himself to the brink of death to win, and win he did, but only just.

Jin, on the other hand, and to both Heihachi's and his own eternal surprise, was a pushover. They had clashed before, and it ended badly for Heihachi, nearly being killed by Jin's own devil force. However, underneath the mass slaughters and supposed want to take over the world, Jin was fighting for nothing. He had no goal, no purpose. World domination was something he did between spending money and laughing like the child he truly was, with the world his GI Joe figure set, and there was nothing on TV at the moment. The tournament was a game to him, and as such, he treated it as one, defeating all in his path lazily. When he met Heihachi, he met a man who had risen from the ashes before, and by gall he was going to do it again. As such, the world watched in a mixed astonishment and slight relief as the seemingly unbeatable Jin Kazama was absolutely hammered by a senile old fool with few years left in him. Supporters of Jin claimed this would prove how weak his opponents were, that only Heihachi Mishima could beat Jin in the end, but the idea never really caught on.

The reason that Heihachi won was not one of superiority as he liked to claim, but rather stubbornness and a childish demand for everything that was his back. After all, it was still his company by right, so why couldn't he have it back? Heihachi looked upon the Zaibatsu that was at last his once again, and he sneered. Raising armies, he had snorted. Why make guns to simply use them? Where were the buyers from America, China, the Middle East, African dictators and any other corner of the globe you'd care to mention? Where was the smuggling? Where was the profit? No wonder Jin lost, he thought. Sure, his company had all the cards, but they were playing by themselves, getting no money. Jin hadn't even hung around to collect some money. He just vanished, it seemed. He'll be back, Heihachi thought. And he'll beg for forgiveness. And no one will give it to him, especially not me.

Heihachi thought about the power he had and simply said: "Fuck all that! Money's real power!" Nobody was sure whether to be relieved or panicked when Heihachi disbanded the company's status as an independent country and went straight into arms sales. For one, no more war, but, then again, that's a lot of guns and bombs to sell, and the next Jin Kazama could already be in charge of a superpower, and how bad would that be, a real country dealing out that sort of damage. Tension was even higher than before the war. At least the world knew who the enemy was when Kazama was CEO of the Zaibatsu. Now, the enemy could be the person next to you. This, however, just created the desire to buy weapons for your own protection, and Heihachi simply got richer by the billions.

With money comes boredom. Heihachi had so much money; he didn't know what to do with it. He started wasting it on anything and everything. He funded bogus inventions, such as the waterproof sponge or glow-in-the-dark sunglasses. He gave it to refugees, and then gave those very people jobs at his overseas weapons factories. Wages became so high, even the lowliest forklift driver forgot when the last time was that he had actually decorated his apartment himself, and hadn't gotten the maid to do it. Heihachi converted a sniper rifle for the purpose of firing wads of money at people in the street for fun. He had competitions such as 'How Far Can You Throw A Billion?' and 'Money In A Microwave'. He even stamped his face onto the moon. His spending became ridiculous, just for the sake of not having too much money that it loses value. And then he thought of something.

Becoming the richest man in the entire world in a mere four months wasn't without its problems. How many people had looked jealously at him, desperate to find something to challenge him, hoping to scrap a bit of the gold off the sides of the treasure chest? Though, they all turned to the same person, and that same person pretended to care for these people, but Heihachi knew better. Kazuya was not the sort of person to care. The last person he had cared about was twenty one years dead and buried. And this wasn't any old corporate opponent Heihachi had simply brushed away with a bribe and a visit from his Tekken Force. This was Kazuya. This was proof that Heihachi hadn't completely succeeded back at that day, twenty one years ago to this day. Heihachi still yearned for the power that money couldn't provide. For that raw rush from Ogre, dripping through his fingers. And if he could harness it… well, the money would be spilled, more so than the blood, in this new tournament. As far as anyone else was concerned, Heihachi and Kazuya were simply having a big money spill, just throwing money to anyone. But, however, it went deeper. It was pride. It was power. It was obduracy. More than anything, it was to remind each other who was the stronger of the two.

All the above, however, simply made no difference to the completely oblivious Ling Xiaoyu, a girl so thick that she is still determined in her thought train that Jin's a decent guy after he went kill crazy and basically bombed anyone who looked at him funnily. For all she knew, the father and son could be fighting over possession of a cupcake on Pluto. Heihachi, at one point, cared about her well being, if only because she would give him yet another reason to want to get out of the house, but now, he simply threw his arms up and simply said "Really, I don't care. Get killed, see if I weep." If only he hadn't have given her the idea of getting killed as she prepared for yet another try at the King of Iron Fist Tournament. Against her usual tradition of losing in the first round to a newcomer (first year was Eddy, next year her best friend Miharu, plus she hadn't even got a hit on Asuka, one of the few people younger than her in the tournament, when she participated for the fifth) she did extremely well, even going so far as beating the tournament favourite Zafina. Only Paul had finally stopped her, and even then by mere luck. So she was confident…

… until, however, two weeks before the tournament's beginning. She had gotten a phone call from a veterinarian in Osaka to tell her of the accident that had shaken and pounded Panda within a thread of her life. Charred, scarred near dead, Panda was fading when Xiaoyu got to her, and the man responsible, despite bringing the panda in, had simply left, reluctantly taking the bill with him. Treatment would weigh down on her finances. However, this didn't hinder Xiaoyu, but rather gave her another and, as other people would say, better reason to enter than just following some high school crush. She decided to wait for the evil, sadistic maniac who had done this, and allow fate to pull them together for a fight.

However, fate could've been kicked out of the door and sent to get the takeaway while everyone else solved their differences themselves if she had merely walked four blocks away, following her consulting friend Asuka, who visited when she heard her friend from the tournament was in town. Though it was chance that brought Asuka into Xiaoyu's new accidental-prone self-proclaimed nemesis when she was in a fit of hysterics that could charitably called an immature expression of anger and uncharitably called a bloody childish Ribena-fuelled tantrum, chance has a weird way of forcing certain things to happen…

Chapter 1 - Night

The rain fell from the murky night sky lightly, making a patter upon the many metal pipes of Osaka's dark sub alleys. Asuka studied these sounds with some contemplation before advancing further into the alleyway at a slow pace. Her short brown hair brushed her face lightly as the wind picked up. Her hakama was slightly stained with mud from the floor. She was brooding over what had happened during the sixth King of Iron Fist Tournament. She had entered to defeat her long lost cousin, Jin, who had started wars worldwide and just as she got close, oh so close, an old man simply brushed her out the way with neither a thought nor a tip of the hat. To gall her all the more, Jin was his opponent in the next round, and was absolutely hammered by said old man. Asuka angrily kicked a lead pipe, remembering her defeat, when she suddenly heard a sound that made her stop in her tracks. Having learnt her Kazama Style Self Defence in her father's dojo, and entering the tournament twice, she knew all too well the sound of a clenched fist coming into contact with a face. It sounded like it hurt too. She ran over to the source of the sound, stopping just as she reached the corner. She listened intently.

"What the bloody hellfire was that for?" Came a loud and rough voice. It was English, a language Asuka hadn't heard since she had met Steve Fox, a British boxer and fellow competitor in the King of Iron Fist Tournament. She listened in as she turned her head into a point where she could view the scene.

It didn't look good. The assumed assailants had the victim surrounded and outnumbered ridiculously. Asuka was well known in the area for taking on a large number of opponents at once, but she knew that twenty against one were not good odds. Especially when they all brandished hand-to-hand weaponry. A gun or something could be used to the victim's advantage, as any long range weaponry would simply cause more damage to friend than foe. However, they didn't, making the situation a fighter's worst nightmare.

"You hurt a panda…" One of the group said, Japanese dialect adding to the sting of his words. He stepped forward. Asuka got a good look at his face. Strong cheek bones, young, arrogant. Your average jock from school. In fact, Asuka was sure she had recognised him from somewhere. However, the words of hurting a panda were a giveaway. He was a school friend of Xiaoyu's. Xiaoyu, despite Asuka being frequently annoyed by her, was popular in school, and a lot of close friends arrived to say hi. And clearly, their opponent was Panda's attacker. Suddenly, Asuka didn't quite mind so much that he was about to that the crap beaten out of him.

"Pardon?" Came the English voice. Asuka tried to get a good look of him, though his face and body was shrouded in darkness. If only she could say the same about the stench. The air was heavy with whiskey, rum and all brews of the Devil. This guy was drunk out of his mind, and clearly didn't have a clue what was going on.

"The panda's owner was very hurt by the event. And you didn't pay the bill, despite drinking enough alcohol to keep us all going all night." Another from the group said. They started to close in. Finally, two bright blue eyes peered out to the group. Asuka saw the whites of the eyes. They held surprise, and confusion, and finally anger.

"I don't know what the hell you just said, but if you want a fight, you've got one." The English voice came again. Asuka gulped. The voice was harder now. Sober. This guy knew that something was coming, though he clearly thought these guys were simply punks. Too confident for a real fighter. Asuka almost felt a pang of pity. And then he stepped out the shadows, and Asuka moaned. This guy had no hope in hell.

The reason for this thought was his build, though the fact that he looked only just twenty also swayed the odds against him. His head was certainly full, though the eyes were viciously sunken in, and the face was youthful but weather beaten, with a muzzle ridden double chin and small, scared nose. His body, though, was skeletal, with bones showing through his clothes. His hands were misshapen claws, with bizarre, inhuman points on the end. His expression was on of anger, his face creased with battle scars. His hair was simply stuck to his head, in spikes, like moss on a rock. And the clothes weren't those of any normal, well-lived person. Everything was second hand, the jacket from a suit and trousers from a convict uniform. He even had a cape of forms, which was in fact some pattern less blue curtains. The only thing which looked genuine was his tie. His crimson tie. A sandwich hung lazily in one hand. He staggered slightly, drunk and weakened, as if he couldn't hold up his own weight. He threw one bony finger out, and he spoke simply.

"You're making a mistake here." He said, though he slurred slightly more. As if to correct him, the first student rushed towards him. Asuka flinched, closed her eyes and waited for the sound of shattered bone. The sound came, but when she looked, her stomach did a somersault.

"Can't be. My eyes are wrong" Said her brain. It was an impossible sight. The small bony man, half the size of the attacker, had simply suspended the attacker on one large boot. He spun once, sending the attacker into the ground. His face which once held anger now was home to a terribly smug grin.

"Who's next, then?" He shouted. The others closed in slowly. "Ahh shit." He muttered under his breath. The one who had talked, presumably the leader, ran over and punched for the face with his right hand. The drunk simply moved away gracefully, leaning back and rolling onto his hands. The handstand he balanced himself would require a lot of concentration for Asuka to achieve, and she watched in astonishment as somebody who was drunk out of his mind walked forth on his hands, his feet drumming into the jock's face. He rolled back onto his feet, punching the now ferociously bruised guy away.

"Drink break." He said to himself. He reached into his trousers. Asuka bit her lip so she didn't vomit when he pulled a whiskey flask out of god-knows-where. She sincerely hoped it was outside the underwear, though something told her otherwise. He unscrewed the lid as the other attackers stepped forward, though they seemed cautious now. The twenty year old in the middle suddenly looked far more threatening, confident enough to stop halfway through a fight. The attackers unconsciously decided to keep their distance and wait for his next move.

One couldn't take the pressure. The drunk was subject to a wooden board to the head. From the thump it generated, Asuka expected the drunk to fall. However, splinters simply fell out of the man's hair as he went for a body blow, drumming the ribs of the offending attacker. Then, upon curling the arm around the neck of his foe, he threw himself to the floor, flipping the offender over. More charged forth.

"Not today." The defending fighter threw himself into two of the attackers, bursting through a gap and kicking as he was airborne. The two screamed in agony, as did the one the drunk landed on. Taking the advantage, the drunk rolled onto the foe, balancing on the shoulders.

"Hop de hop." He muttered, leaping onto the unsuspecting head of yet another foe. Using his attackers as stepping stones, he leapt to the end of the alleyway opposite to Asuka, landing on his feet. He spread his arms out, Olympic athlete style, and turned on his heels, then fell back into his stance.

Asuka decided not to take sitting back anymore. She couldn't. She stood out into full view, though only a few noticed her. The drunk glanced at her, though paid her no attention. Others seemed to recognise her, but even more simply didn't even consider looking. The drunk then looked back to her. Their eyes met. He smirked dangerously, a plan formulating in his head. He looked to her far more deliberately now.

"Hey! What's your problem?" He shouted to her. The others turned their heads now. Asuka took a step back. If things got violent, she'd be on her own. Hopefully, they'd tell her to go away and end it with that. All attention was on her. One person of the group simply gestured for her to leave, and turned back. Only to find that the drunk had gone.

"Where'd he go?" He shouted. His friends took notice. He had indeed gone. One had the idea to ask Asuka of his whereabouts. She simply pointed in the direction in front of her. The group ran off, quickly thanking her and leaving. She looked to the shadows, giving her hardest glare as the blond haired twenty-something emerged. He didn't reply or acknowledge the glare.

"Thanks." He murmured. He looked to where they went. "What'd they want?" He asked himself. Then he felt a rush of wind drift away from him. That only ever meant one thing. He threw his back fist at her, contacting and stopping the fist mere millimetres from his head. He gulped, taken aback by this attack.

"That was fast." He muttered. He tried a roundhouse kick, which Asuka rolled under, before grabbing his arm and dragging him onto the ground. He rolled over into himself as Asuka pinned the arm.

"So am I." She said. The drunk twisted himself into a ball. Asuka thought he was being cowardly and defensive, before she noticed his arms wrapped around her own, and the playful, if annoyed, grin that befell his face.

"Oh crap." She murmured, before being pulled into the drunk. Her face looked up to the sky as the drunk's fist hammered the chin from beneath, spreading pain all across her face. He put his legs over her own and locked out her arms. He then pulled out with his limbs. Asuka screamed in pain, and was then released with aching joints. She was sent spinning on the foot. She met fist and fist, falling to her buttocks, the gravel stinging. She was amazed. It usually took most people a good minute or so of vigorous fighting to so much as tire her, and right now she was panting, broken and stopped right in her tracks. It was Heihachi all over again. He smiled nastily, his sunken in eyes shining in victory, and a hint of pity.

"Somebody who speaks English. Where've you been all this time?" He bent down, extending his hand. Asuka grabbed it gently, and then squeezed. The drunk's eyes widened as she pulled his entire body scraping on the tarmac around her. "You know, all this might make sense if somebody explained something to me. Otherwise all this will amount to is pointless bickering."

"Shut up!" Asuka said, forcing her grip down." Up close, the stench of alcohol almost choked her. "Why did you hurt that panda two days ago?" She asked angrily.

"What, that huge lump!" The drunk laughed. It was harsh and forced. "Should be bloody thanking me! I saved the bloody mutt's life, I'll have you know!" Asuka was taken aback.

"Wait, what?" She said. She scanned the man over. This was not saviour material. He coughed up some phlegm and laughed even more.

"It got plunged into the pizza oven after an accident with a bun trolley and a set of fine china plates. Who pulled it out? Who took it to the vets when no one else would? And who got landed with the bill and beaten up as a result? Ol' Morris here." The drunk complained. Asuka took in his words. She stared at him. God, she hated him. Drunk as a skunk and arrogant as hell… but… well, saving a life is saving a life. And, despite the throbbing in her face and her whole body begging to collapse in submission, she loosened her grip, letting Morris go.

"Sorry." She said, trying to sound sincere. "I didn't know…"

"Ahh, fuck it." Morris said, looking to his bleeding, grazed palms. "I've had worse." She looked to his face, and, in closer detail, she believed him. Scratches and scars riddled the skin like a mask. He looked to Asuka. "I take it you're the owner?"

"No, no." Asuka hurriedly answered. Being compared to Xiaoyu was a pretty big insult, and Asuka didn't need to be offended. "A friend of hers, and that's it." Morris looked to a piece of gravel, and scratched a vague symbol into the ground, sighing slightly to himself.

"Look…" He said, sounding oddly sincere. "I can't pay that bill. It's a crazy amount, and I'm in debt as it is." Asuka felt sympathetic. She met pitiful tramps before, and Morris didn't look well of judging by his skeletal build, his bones showing through the sleeves. "I will do anything necessary to pay that bill." He looked to her, his eyes searching hers, piercing through her. "Anything." His voice changed subtly.

Asuka really tried to say no. She truly did. But Morris was playing her like a piano in Carnegie Hall. When he changed his voice, he implied she was trying to help her, and Asuka knew about psychotherapy. Creases under her eyes would reveal she had stress, and she needed help with something. Also, the upcoming tournament chanted it's temptation to her over and over, and… well, Jin was evil. Morals would have to come second to saving lives, she thought. And this guy had taken on twenty tougher opponents and gave them a good beating. If this was when he was drunk, what was he capable sober, Asuka wondered. "There is something you can do for me." She said reluctantly. "But… it's dangerous." Morris chuckled.

"Danger just means I have a chance of getting hurt." He said. "And I've been fighting so long that I've nearly forgotten how to feel pain. Ju-Jitsu and barrels of whiskey does that to a guy." Asuka nodded, though she thought Oh, you'll remember pain. You'll remember it. Morris didn't even consider what the task would entail. "Deal."

"Sure, though, that fighting you did… that might not be enough." She said. "My dad's a dojo master. You can train for what I want you to do. It's a tournament. I'm after somebody, and two people after the same guy will have far better odds than just one." Morris nodded. Made sense to him. "I'm not interested in the money. You can keep whatever we win." Morris's eyes gleaned.

"Really?" He asked, his voice not even trying to hide his glee. Asuka nodded. Morris pulled the whiskey flask out from his trousers. "Swig on it?" Asuka shook her head, giggling slightly. "Don't like alcohol?" Morris asked.

"No…" Asuka explained. "- but I'm considering the fact that it came from your pants." Morris laughed.

"Well, if I got anything else out…" Morris replied, the smirk on his face becoming devilish. "- you'd faint with joy." And thus he cocked his head back and swallowed a good measure of cool whiskey.