Disclaimer: Despite all evidence to the contrary, I have absolutely no possession of the rights to the game. If I did, I'd work on that control system so it had a block button, and the pace was faster.Non-Cannon Warning: Assuming Tekken: Dark Resurrection (Hereafter known as Tekken 5.2) is cannon, this is non-cannon. Very much so, in fact. So here's the deal, I'm basing this off of what I've HEARD about 5.2's AC he's a very different guy, less forgiving. So that's how I'm writing him. As people know from my other Tekken fanfiction, I take some liberties with cannon.
Damnit. Goddamnit! Today hasn't been a good day. Haven't found any fights, haven't found any love either. What I need now is a good brawl with someone who can hold his own in a fight. Don't really care who. Haven't had a good fight since the King of Iron Fist tournament. Then afterwards... Well, we'll see. I turn the TV on. Just perfect. That goddamn wrestling show... The one with that leapord-man on it. "...And on sunday, a CWA legend returns in a one on one match with the man who put him out of action at CWA Apocalypse!" I stared in shock... No... No... Goddamn it! He was dead. I killed him, at the bar. It was self defense! That guy and his friend were gonna kill me, I still get flashbacks to it. I had to kill him. He'd tried to take my drink, too. He was trying to provoke me... Those lawyers didn't agree, though, did they? BUT THAT DIDN'T MATTER! That bastard was back... And he'd be after me! I know it! The TV had to be lying... I grabbed an ornamental vase from the sidestand and hurled it at the screen, bashing it into pieces, as if... As if I could destroy him by crushing the TV. "That's why I can't have nice things..." I was still angry, I would have to take my anger out on someone..."This is why I can't have nice things" I muttered to myself. Then, the doorbell rang. It would be him. He would be back for his revenge. I run to the ledge above the fireplace, and grab the table leg . "If it's a fight he wants..." I said to myself, and I walk to the door, throw it and...
I fumble on the ground for a weapon of some sort. I find a broken table leg. Desperately, I stagger to my feet. Goldie is yelling something, but Steelie isn't listening. I swing with the broken leg, swing hard at the kneck. I hear the crunch as it hits bones. Steelie falls to the ground, unmoving.
Damn flashbacks... I look at my weapon.A hand touched my shoulder. "You 'kay?" I look up. The man is wearing a blue shirt, with tassles, and tan pants. He's got a large mexican hat on, somber, or whatever they're called, but I'm no idiot. I can see just under the hat, the golden fur and spots. Goldie, who since I'd learned was called King... So I was wrong. Close, but wrong. Well, I won't let him get the jump on me. I swing the table leg at his head, but he must have been expecting that. He grabs my wrist, and knocks the leg away. "Don't even try." He says. He looks at the TV. "Anger problems?" He asks.
"I saw that Steelie was back." I explain.
"Oh." He says, "Well no, he's not. He's dead, you killed him remember? But someone else is."
(See Murder 2, or the flashback from it.)
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