Tekken Fan Fiction ❯ Jakunen Mirai ❯ Blood Ties ( Chapter 13 )

A/N: Yay, I'm on holiday! I found the motivation to update the second half of this chapter…since I only wrote the first two paragraphs ages ago…and here it is.

Additional: Do NOT threaten me with large metal objects when you come across the ending! I will beat you with a spork and tell you to wait in silence >/ However, if you ask me to continue nicely, loudly, hastily, whatever…I shall >) Just do NOT threaten me with large metal objects!

Yes, I am in a weird mood. Blame the candy.

***

The large, comfortable business-class seat on the aeroplane wasn't doing much to settle his anxiety. He just couldn't relax at the moment. Last night's confusion, what lay ahead of him in the near future - it had all mounted up to bring him into a turmoil-filled state of mind. Nothing would calm him down - though he looked perfectly relaxed outwardly - since his mind was spinning around in circles madly.

It had been a hectic day. A three hour flight from Tokyo to some airport he'd never heard of before - for a transfer to another airline - where his baggage managed to get lost. It was another hour before they found it, and he was nearly late for the next flight. Another four hours before he had to stop over at another airport, and another change of airlines. He'd finally ended up on a flight to San Francisco, aboard a Singapore Airlines Boeing 777, in business-class. And after all of the exhaustion of flying, changing over, rushing about the airports like a madman…he still wasn't tired.

For a while, he tried listening to the in-flight music program, and reading the few magazines supplied…he even tried sleeping, but it still didn't calm him down. He was still just a little too active for his own good. He'd just have to sit through the next few hours in the air, and try to contain his desperation to solve the mysteries that hung in the air around him, tormenting him.

***

Thankfully it was night time when he arrived in San Francisco, because he was finally beginning to get very tired. It had been, after all, quite a long day, and Tokyo was sixteen hours ahead of here, so he found himself being rather jetlagged.

After tossing down his suitcase at the end of the bed and getting his suit off, he crashed down on the hotel bed, killed the lights, and fell asleep without a second thought. His mind could spin as much as it wanted…he was tired enough to just sleep now.

***

It had been a long time since he'd used a glass of anything strong to console himself; now, here he was, sitting by the window in his bedroom, with a small glass of vodka in his hand…mixed with something else, no doubt, since he never liked the hot, burning sensation of strong liqueur.

The streets below him crawled with life. It was a lovely day outside. It was a pity he hadn't been outside since he fought his father so many years ago, on that fateful day - quite frankly, he didn't really want to remind himself of it, now that he could remember.

Since he had begun to remember his entire past a week ago, he'd quickly grown depressed and jaded. Most of the people around the place had noticed how he'd aged a few years in not even a week. It seemed he was always tired, pale and bleak-tempered. Even the most annoying accomplices couldn't manage to rile him up. And this was the second glass of spirits he'd ever had - up until now, he'd always refused any form of alcohol, with respect to what it would do to his fighter's body.

But now, he didn't give a damn. He just wanted to numb his mind and make it shut up. Every one of the memories flooded back to him, but not in the regular faded, disjointed ways memories should do; he felt as if he was re-living every single nightmare over and over again.

He knew that people in the G-Corporation cared for him. In fact, he even knew a few of the women who'd become his silent admirers…but with these terrible, frigid memories, he felt as alone and rejected as any human could in this harsh world. The self-respect and friendliness had been lost, it had been washed out by the intensity of the hatred his father had dished him in the past.

After a moment he swallowed what was left in the glass and sat back against the wall his bed sat beside, watching the clouds drift across the sky lazily, as if nothing was wrong. Oh, how he'd love to shoot them out of the sky and replace them with black storm clouds to match his mood. The alcohol was slowly numbing his brain and turning those hideous images into pools of goo within his mind. Good, just the way he wanted it.

***

Well, this place was anything but familiar.

Even Kazuya himself was having difficulty keeping pace with the tall, lanky American woman who swiftly led him through the inner halls of G-Corporation's San Francisco branch. She was a good three inches taller than him, the poor woman, and she seemed to love walking as fast as her long legs could take her. He was almost running alongside her. Not that he would soon become short of breath; he was a fighter after all, and it would take more than that to wear him down.

Eventually they got to the place they were heading for; another lab within the building. From there she left him with the receptionist at the front, and scooted back to wherever she came from. He shook his head, watching her as she zoomed away, then turned his attention to the rather…large…woman sitting at the smooth, artistically curved metallic table, behind a computer screen.

She smiled with a billion huge, shiny white teeth. "Well hello there, gorgeous…how can I help you?"

Despite himself, a slight pinkness rose across the tops of his cheeks when he realised it was he that she was referring to. "I'm Kazuya Mishima - I believe someone here has something to show me."

For a moment, she tapped away at her computer…then her eyebrows both shot up in the air when she found what she was looking for. "You're the CEO of the Mishima Zaibatsu…oh yes, of course…follow me, I'll take you right there…"

She hopped down from her seat and waddled through an open door, and down the hallway. Kazuya followed, unable to stop his curiosity from getting the better of him. How could such a poor soul even walk without breaking her ankles? She would have barely been five foot, if that at all, and she was so large that she could barely even perform her slow, awkward waddle down the hall. There was so much variation in this environment, especially amongst women. It was an endless fascination to him for reasons beyond his knowledge.

The woman babbled incessantly the whole trip down the corridor - mostly about pointless, random gossip within the complex. If not that, she talked about herself. But he humoured her; she was obviously very lonely sitting at that desk all day if she was going to warble away to someone she didn't know. He knew the feeling too…not being what people expect of you, and thus paying for it with your sanity, living your days alone. As she chattered away, he smiled and nodded at appropriate times, offering her a look of complete attention. It was the polite thing to do, after all.

Eventually, at the slow pace they were working at, they passed through two white, double-hinged doors; at this point, his nostrils were assaulted by the strong, overpowering scent of hospital disinfectant. He wrinkled his nose for a few seconds, then tried to ignore the dizzifying smell.

***

After a while, Kazuya decided he would not let himself succumb to a drunken depression for the rest of his life. After a month of feeling sorry for himself and ignoring everyone who tried to comfort him, he finally remembered his old passions, his old strengths - his true old self. His inner energy would not allow him to do nothing with himself. The urge to do something with himself became intolerable eventually; after no more than a second's thought, he jumped up off the bed he'd restricted himself to for most of the time he'd been regaining his memories, and dug around in his wardrobe.

Through the scarcely lined rack within the wardrobe, and the barely filled clothes drawers, he finally found a pair of Gi pants he'd never used. The only pair of Gi pants in the whole damn wardrobe. The familiar feel of the thick, sturdy fabric brought an extremely rare smile to his lips…lately, those muscles had been so neglected he was surprised they remembered how to do it - smile. Surprisingly, he actually found a belt too - and with the correct rank on it too. Black, with a silver line running down both sides of it. The highest rank possible in Mishima Karate - after beating the greatest master alive of the art, one would become that very rank; the best. He glanced down at the Gi pants again. They were white like the ones he'd grown so fond of, only the bottoms weren't ripped and tattered, and there was a bizarre, brightly coloured design down the right leg. It didn't bother him however. He simply changed into the clothes, and prepared for the first good training match in seven years of doing nothing.

After finding the appropriate footwear, a towel, and gloves similar to the ones he used to wear, he headed out of his room and down the hall to the corporation's staff and patient gymnasium. Though it was reasonably quiet within - a few people throwing weights around, one or two using treadmills by the front window of the modern, spacious facility - there was certainly quite a lot of noise produced when he showed himself, finally, after sitting alone and miserable in his room.

The fact that he was naked-chested and still finely toned was the source of the cat-calls from the women, and the loud, cheerful comments about him finally being back and looking much better came from the guys, mostly those he was already familiar with. A slight, very subtle smile crossed his lips as he threw his towel down beside the mirror that spanned the entire wall the weights resided by. He passed by that young nurse that first broke the news to him, Yuni, who was sitting on a large, white ball with a small dumbbell in each hand.

"Glad to see you're looking a bit brighter today…"

He nodded, and began to warm up just a few metres away from her. The feeling of his muscles being stretched out and warmed up once more, just like old times, seemed to make the terrible memories fade, even just for a moment - allowing the good memories to flood forth. "I decided it wasn't worth it sitting alone and feeling sorry for myself for the rest of my life." After a moment, to the amusement of most of the females in the room, he displayed, unintentionally, just how flexible his legs were. Most of the men winced, wondering how he could do some of those stretches without going high-pitched and squeaky-voiced. "Besides, now that I remember how to fight, I might as well train myself up for it again."

She grinned and watched him, trying not to drool. Yes indeed, he certainly had the body of a sex god, even if the skin covering it was worn and scarred.

***

The receptionist bit him a warm goodbye then left him in the care of yet another official, who led him onward into what seemed to be a hospital ward. They passed by many a sickbed with an ill or injured human lying beneath the stark white hospital linen, or perhaps being treated by blue-clad nurses here and there.

Finally, at the end of the long, sterile ward, an occupied bed took his interest. In fact, it was the one he was being led toward.

The official held open his hand and gestured toward the bed; Kazuya stepped forward, obeying the silent direction, and looked down upon whoever it was tucked firmly into the sheets. The body was clearly that of a muscular young man, but a great thick mop of ebony, silky hair disguised his face. One of Kazuya's slender hands reached down and brushed aside the thick hair from the youth's face…

…his heart stopped in his chest. The whole world went silent against his ears as the colour drained from his face.

It was…

It was…