Disclaimer: I do not own Tekken, Sergei Dragunov, Lili Rochefort, the Mishimas or anything therein, they belong to Namco. This is just made for fun. I do not get anything from these fanfics.

Author's Note: More like a mild warning. There is some ass-pulling involved in this fic. Tekken, like King of Fighters and a few other games, has a rather large and robust cast, some of which are a bit more tied together than others. Trying to get these two together in an at least semi-believable way while working with Tekken canon was a bit of a challenge, but I felt this idea was at least somewhat viable. Of course, trying to somehow keep Sergei at least half in character in a fic that involved talking was the other part of the challenge.

Sergei is one of my favorite all-time Tekken characters, Lili not as much as a favorite as it is I just kinda like this pairing for some unknown reason(as a character I like her but I don't really use her-not my actual fighting style. I like the strong, stuff your feet in your ears, kick your face in with a giant jackboot types of fighters, like Sergei.) But I was somehow just inspired to write this for some reason. I like a challenge sometimes, what can I say.

Also, this fic has a scene of graphic violence and some very naughty stuff later, so read at your own risk! In fact...this fic is more just a PWP-ish lemon than anything actually emotional, though it could develop into something. But it, as most of my works, leaves very little to the imagination, so mature audiences only, please.

Anyhow, enough babbling from me!


She could hear the men fighting in the training area. Well, just practicing. Though some of them typically looked pretty well beaten afterward, from the times that she saw.

Lili Rochefort sat up in the bed, placing the magazine she was reading aside. Well, reading was a bit of a misnomer. She couldn't read Russian very well. That was to say, not at all.

Really, I've managed to get myself into things before, but this one really takes it.

Daughter of a wealthy businessman, Lili knew her father disliked violence-but seemed a little more gentle with her choice of entering the King of Iron Fist tournament this time around. Only Lili decided to try to somehow help out her father by doing a bit of snooping in between her travels. She knew the Mishima Zaibatsu had a choke-hold on her father; whom she loved dearly. It hurt her to see the stress he was under. She figured if she could grab something, anything, from one of their more...secret areas, it could help him out.

It wasn't the brightest thing one could do, but she saw that he was at the end of his rope.

She had become acquaintances with a few of the fighters; and poking around, dropping a word here and there, and she managed to find out about a disguised lab, somewhere in Western Russia-which was a stop on the 'fighting tour.' So, she figured, with a little bit of stealth and disguise, drop in, snatch some files, and drop out. The guards were mostly half-trained fools who could probably be popped in the head for a little nap easy enough-or so she thought. From what she heard, it was not treated as enormously top-secret; hidden in plain sight kind of thing. It was apparently disguised as a sort of clinic. The things therein were probably not huge...but perhaps just enough to do some damage.

No, she hadn't counted on a few things-the biggest one being the Russian military happening to be in the same area. She cursed herself for that; if she could find out about an undercover lab, surely more...professional people had probably already known about it. But she had allowed herself to become blinded by confidence, and this had resulted in her capture.

Capture, though, might have been too harsh of a word to use. In fact, she would have been let go and taken back to the hotel she was staying at within a day had it not been for the enormous blizzard that had attacked the area. Being somewhere in the middle of Russia, in the winter, with little more than four hours of daylight, made travel a bit difficult. The blizzard made it too dangerous for any aircraft to fly; likewise, trains were out. Cars were completely impossible; the ones you could see, anyway. A few helicopters flew low around the base now and again, and the big snowcats-but otherwise they were snowed in.

It had only been a few days, so she still felt very out of place. She did not speak their language, though most could speak fairly decent English. Still, the harsh voices of strange men made her feel even more a stranger. To them, she was some silly kid who got herself caught up in things way over her head. When they had found her, she had some files in her hand; and these men were not common guards that could be taken out. They wanted to take her back to the base for questioning, which they did, and were satisfied. They were planning on simply taking her back to the city, for the tournament, and separating their ways with a bit of friendly advice not to go snooping around Zaibatsu areas, which were, at the moment, heavily under investigation-and attack-by the Russian military.

So, here she was. On a Russian military base, in the middle of nowhere, snowed in, waiting for a break so they could take her back to wherever the contestants went next. She imagined they would be happy she was gone.

Cursing herself some more she sat up, pulled on a light sweater, and stepped out of the room she was staying in. She had a decent-sized room; just like the soldiers stayed in. She followed the sounds. She liked the idea of fighting, and she liked watching these men as they were Russian Special Forces-immensely skilled, and none more than one of their superiors, Sergei Dragunov.

She had met Sergei the fateful night. She was brought before him. He had said nothing; just motioned for them to take her into the armored transport vehicle that would be transporting her to the base for questioning. Sergei did not speak often at all; a few words and sentences here and there, but his men listened when he did. He was not the highest ranked man, but he was a superior with a demeanor that could not be ignored. He was in the room when she was questioned, and he had taken her to her quarters. He had then explained, in a few sentences, where she could and could not go. Most of the common areas were open to her; nothing of importance was kept there. Some places were off-limits to even the regular soldiers.

As she walked out, she could see Sergei in the training ring, dressed only in his dark green camouflage trousers, a belt and his combat boots, as three men at once came at him. He easily put them down in a flurry of punches, kicks, and holds; some other men looked well-bruised. But they felt that training against Sergei made them all better soldiers; the man they called the "White Angel of Death" had probably killed more men with his bare hands than Lili had even looked at, let alone fought. Lili had never killed anyone, or even come close-just knocked them out. She felt herself skilled, but losing to Asuka had made her rethink her position and train more; she did not relish having to fight Sergei in the tournament. She was brave, sometimes stubbornly so; she could sometimes also overestimate herself, but she had no doubt that Sergei could probably twist her into a knot with one hand while sipping a hip flask of vodka with the other and not break a sweat.

The three men defeated, they staggered out of the ring, and two more walked in. Both fairly large men, but not quite as big as Sergei. They seemed to look...nervous, however. Lili could not put her finger on it. They seemed to exchange a glance before walking into the ring.

They both took stances, Sergei his. His cold eyes never left either of them as they maneuvered around. Some hits were tested as normal, the men dashing around. Lili could have sworn she saw a sudden flash of metal; a glint in the light. She shook her head-then noticing a small red streak that had appeared on Sergei's chest.

It was then everything went to hell, and it happened so fast barely anyone could react, even the other soldiers around.

Sergei's eyes flashed anger; his scarred lip curled in a snarl as he grabbed the man in some sort of hold that she didn't recognize, took him down, and bent his body with legs and arms, snapping his spine and limbs. He then grabbed the man's head and twisted it around, a sharp crack echoing through the room as he went fully limp. Leaping up, he faced the other man who had barely even gotten a chance to take out his knife; Sergei grabbed him by the back of the head, punching him once, twice in the face before bringing his knee up directly into his jaw; he then struck the man to the ground. His nose was crushed, his jaw broken, but he was still somehow alive. Without stopping his assault, Sergei lifted his leg and stomped down with full force directly onto his face with his huge, heavy boot. There was a sickening crunch, a spray of blood, and the man twitched a few times in death and lay still.

Trained to bite back pain or not, no one could bite back a crushed skull.

This entire thing took less than 30 seconds, if Lili were any judge; the men who started to stand were even confused to what happened. Sergei looked around at the men, the look in his eyes obviously making them nervous. He said something in Russian-the men answering back, as he walked over to them, trailing blood behind him. The puddle of red that flowed from the second man's broken skull grew larger. That's never going to come out of the concrete, she thought absurdly to herself. She had never seen men killed before-except for the movies, and she was...all at once calm, sickened, and shocked. The first man was lying on his stomach-but still looking at the ceiling. The second man's face was a red and broken ruin; the remains of his head oddly misshapen and soft-looking. This was all the work of one man in the span of a few seconds.

She turned around, suddenly deciding she did not want to look anymore. She was more confused to what happened. Judging by the talk in the back, they all were. Some were looking in her direction. Did they think...I had something to do with this? Looking at the shape of the men again, she certainly hoped not. She had no idea what the men were saying, but she decided now would be a good time to excuse herself to the quarters she was staying in.

Perhaps she could pick up a few more words from the magazine in her room.


About two hours had passed before the door to her room opened. Sergei walked in, dressed still in his fatigues and boots, but had a tank on; she could see a bit of the fresh wound on his chest, though it was closed up and it did not look deep. He let himself in, closing the door behind him, and looked down at her. She sat up, put on her brave demeanor, and looked at him.

Sergei Dragunov was not a hard man to look at. In his late twenties, he was handsome-his skin extremely pale, his eyes so light they were nearly white. He was built powerfully-standing well over six feet tall, he looked even taller sometimes in his boots and the fact he carried himself straight and upright. His hair was coal-black, worn longer than your typical military man; it touched the back of his neck, and she noticed a fall of hair sometimes going past his eyes. He usually kept it brushed back neatly. His face was kept impeccably shaven; but his face held some scars-one on his nose, a twisted one on his lip and chin, a couple lighter ones on his cheek and many on his torso.

While he was not a hard man to look at in terms of appearance, he was extraordinarily intimidating. He quietly got men to do what he needed with but a few words, his eyes rarely betraying his true feelings. But Lili didn't think him evil-even though he had killed two of his own men, they had knives-sharp ones, not for training. They must have been trying to kill him, she thought to herself. He was a hard man, a merciless man-but not evil.

He sat down in a chair that was by the room's one desk, crossed one leg over the other, and folded his hands over his knee. He looked at her, his expression unchanging. Lili had to look away; his presence was close to disturbingly menacing. She swallowed.

"So you saw." His voice was deep and his accent thick, but his English was perfectly understandable.

"Yes." She couldn't lie; she knew he had saw her walk away. "What...happened?"

He leaned over, folding his arms on his legs, and looked at her. "We both have enemies with the Mishimas. To put it bluntly, two of my men were promised riches for my death."

She blinked. "Isn't that...classified?" Why did I ask that?

Sergei snorted, in laughter or disgust she could not tell. Possibly both. "Let people know. The Zaibatsu should know attempts like this are foolish. Did they think their little plan could actually work?" He shook his head.

"How could they have...gotten out after?"

He smirked-or what she thought may have been one. "There was one more involved we found out after some...questioning."

"T...the blizzard?" she asked, puzzled. How could they have escaped?

"Not thinking too hard on their part. Well, no matter, the third was taken care of as well. By my own hands." His eyes glinted for a moment.

She shuddered, remembering the man's head twisted on his neck, and the growing pool of blood from the other's broken skull. Lili shook her head, suddenly asking "Why are you telling me this?"

He then looked squarely at her, his light eyes cool. "You are here too. You have problems with them as well. You should know in case they decide to go after an...easier target."

That took her aback; but she was more miffed at the 'easy' comment. "Easier?"

"You have skill, but overestimating yourself in a place like this is dangerous."

She sighed. He was right; she was skilled, but her four years of more haphazard street fighting and dancing were nothing compared to years of special forces training. She didn't want him to know that he 'won', though. "I can fight."

"You can. I've seen you. You lost, however."

"I've gotten better."

He leaned back, studying her. "You looked ill when you saw the bodies."


"Have never seen a man killed."

She shook her head. What is he getting at, anyway?

"But you didn't look away, like some of the others did. You're brave."

That gave her a little flutter of pride. Sick as she felt, she couldn't take her eyes off of the mess. "I...I enjoy battle. You fight well."

A ghost of a smile appeared at the corner of his mouth for a moment-or so she thought. "I know you had nothing to do with tonight. Just...watch yourself for now." He stood up.

"Sergei. Sir."

He looked down at her. "I'm not your superior. You are merely a guest."

She nodded. "How much longer?"

His eyebrow raised, questioning. "Until?"

"I can leave."

He actually chuckled. "You've never seen a blizzard in Russia in the dead of winter, have you?"

She shook her head. "No."

"It might be another week or two. It could be a day or two. We don't know." He walked over to her for a moment, his face softening for what might have been a split second. He placed his hand on her shoulder. "You'll be safe here, though. Do not worry."


"The base is under heavier security, but you have freedom everywhere you had before. I will report to you if it deemed necessary." He bowed slightly, almost gentleman-like, and walked out.


He stopped and turned.

"Those men looked...nervous. Before they attacked."

He seemed to chuckle. "I know. You are perceptive, though." He turned to give her one last glance before he shut the door.

Lili looked up, at the small window in the room, which was covered in white. There were bars over them, the windows themselves no doubt made of some kind of blast-proof glass. I know I'm not a prisoner...but I still feel...left out.

She wanted to go home.