Adult-FanFiction.org : Games

Estranged Equals	By : Salysha Category: +S through Z > Tekken Views: 3336 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: Tekken and Tekken characters are the property of Namco Limited. This is nonprofit fan fiction.

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
I rarely get to say thank you for reviews on this site, but it is a pleasure when I do. Thanks for the good word! Anonymous reviewer, I hope you find this update.

Chapter 6: Dystopia
The mood changed overnight. The air that had been waiting, expectant, and even unwilling to act took a brooding, hellish form: the Mishima Zaibatsu had declared war.
The shock news spread like wildfire. Those with Japanese service providers and devices went online to look at and translate information for anyone else. The smart phone owners were suddenly holding all the cards. Xiaoyu was there, along with a Japanese girl—Asuka?—who both were targeted as the best sources of information.
Hwoarang woke to the general commotion that crawled through the house like a thing alive. He took in his new room: nothing seemed especially unusual in the light of day. He got up and started pulling his clothes on. Just in case, though, he locked the door and took the key with him as he left.
He counted turns and corridors as he went. He’d been right on one account: the room was isolated. It was cut off from the bulk of population, even when the walk back didn’t seem as dramatic as it had in the dead of night. He hadn’t been entirely right about the house, though; compared to the last haunted digs, there was more sparse room—definitely an intricate design hiding in the dark-paneled walkways. He didn’t know if the fact was meaningful, but he carefully committed it to memory.
The mash of noise cleared into audible voices as he got closer. He quickly picked what had happened.
He didn’t mention that he still had a phone with a local connection.
He circled the lobby, observing. They were a mixed bag of people. Mostly Americans, no associates of the main lineage. No Mishima henchman in sight, no insiders of the tournament or G Corporation. Almost all were foreigners, and he hadn’t meant that as a slight because he was one, too. All they had were their smart phones. As he watched the crowd huddled over them, he knew they were off track. They wouldn’t find answers here.
“I think I’m going to the city to find out more,” he said slowly.
He hadn’t intended his remark for anyone, but someone picked up by his side.
“I’ll come with you,” Steve said immediately.
“That’s not necessary. I’m better off alone.”
“Nonsense. Count me in, guv.”
Hwoarang smiled tightly.
He didn’t want Steve to come with him. Hwoarang bit his teeth and tried to bite back the bile. When he failed to think of an actual reason why Steve shouldn’t, he shrugged. “Pack tight. It’s gonna be a cold ride.”
“Aight,” Steve conceded.
Hwoarang went to get his gear from his room while Steve, presumably, did the same. As he cleared out the house, he cast a thoughtful look at the contestants pecked in the lobby. They had been as badly struck by this as he had. He was right to go to the city, even when he was doing it with extra baggage. He fixed the collar of his tight leather jacket as he went to take the bike out.
Steve joined soon after, and Hwoarang chucked his helmet at him. If there was a war waging, he was hopeful the law wasn’t too interested in a single biker without one. He wasn’t sure if he was taking a novice with him and gave the basics to Steve, who seemed to be fine with them and kept his balance as they took off. The property was unguarded, and there were no gates to hold them back.
The bike ride was a relief, though: it didn’t require interaction of him, and he tried to contain his annoyance at Steve’s arms around him. He wasn’t completely senseless: he knew Steve needed them, but couldn’t he just have held on to the grips? His arms erred elsewhere very briefly, only to return on him. Hwoarang bit back his temper and tried to focus on the road. He knew he was a little touchy and a lot edgy, which was why he would have preferred to ride solo. The surroundings blanked out the closer they arrived at the heart of Tokyo. The outer skirts of the prefecture hadn’t shown damage or boomed gunfire, but the real shock of the events came as they closed in on the city. Hwoarang cut down speed and switched off the main routes.
Hwoarang reduced speed and hunched his shoulders tighter. The closer they got to the city, the less comfortable he grew. The city was wrong. He couldn’t necessarily see anything out of place, but he felt it. Behind him, he could feel Steve tensing. So, not the only one feeling it?
The closer they got to the high-rise district he was familiar with, the better Hwoarang could see that the unrest hadn’t yet reached the city. The streets were oddly deserted, but there wasn’t anything too off. It was just the gut feeling.
No. Not just the gut feeling.
Hwoarang felt Steve squeeze his arm and nodded. He wanted to set out on foot, too. He pulled aside and left the bike parked. He looked around with a frown. “Leave it,” he said to Steve, who juggled with the helmet and seemed to debate whether to take it along.
Side by side, they started looking around. The buildings stood where they may, and hosted no lost souls. The district that had previously been brimming with life had become a ghost town. The population had been decimated despite the lack of an apparent threat.
As they wandered around, nothing new emerged. The city was desolate. Hwoarang wondered if he had picked the wrong district to visit. Maybe the developments had affected business, but it shouldn’t have affected the populace so. He was inclined to think he wasn’t witnessing an isolated occurrence.
“Maybe we should head back?” Hwoarang said reluctantly. The empty blocks were enough to convince him he wasn’t going to see anything like this. He inched to edge deeper into the concrete jungle, but he couldn’t do that with Steve tagging along and watching over him. The extra eye on him grated, even though he knew it was irrational.
Luckily, Steve seemed to feel the same way. Hands rounding into loose fists, he swung on his feet and walked back first, still looking over the concrete buildings that rose to flank the street. “Yeah, I guess. I still don’t get it. Where’s everyone?” Steve hissed, a little annoyed, and gestured around haplessly, “Where’s the war?”
“Wars are not fought every hour of the day. It can still be true,” Hwoarang pointed out. He gave the same frown at the stillness and muttered sotto voce, “Forests are never silent.”
“What’s that?”
“Nothing. Don’t mind me,” Hwoarang was quick to amend.
Steve stopped. “I kind of have to: You’re my ride out of here.”
Hwoarang punched his arm not too gently. “Let’s go. Asshole,” he muttered.
“That wasn’t really called for,” Steve said, and Hwoarang shrugged. There was nothing they could accomplish by staying, and he acceded to the fact. Steve followed him as he headed back for the bike. He gave a glance under his brow as he juggled the helmet. “Tell me I’m not the only one feeling it.”
Hwoarang drew eyes on him sharply. His shoulders tightened as he fiddled with the bike. “I don’t know what it is. The city’s . . . off.” He didn’t miss the tense look before Steve’s eyes momentarily disappeared behind the chinbar. The bike came to life with a relieving roar that sounded unnaturally loud in the hollow emptiness that engulfed them. Steve climbed behind him quite unanimously, and Hwoarang was back on the road. He didn’t linger.

Nothing had changed at the house when they got back. Most likely after convening and breaking up more than once, a number of fighters were still debating in the lobby and still trying to make sense of the latest development. Hwoarang crept up to the lobby, measuring the crowd, and pulled up a seat for himself. His tag-along exchanged looks with him, and pressed his lip into a rueful smile: they didn’t have anything to contribute to the ongoing speculation. Hwoarang thought their absence had gone mostly ignored until he heard a chirpy voice insisting, “Where have you been?”
Xiaoyu had him pinned by the sheer force of will, and Hwoarang straightened from his slouching.
“Uh....”
Xiaoyu tiptoed to him. Her usual cheer had dropped to an anxious look. She was chewing on her lower lip as she clutched the phone in her hand. From the corner of his eye, he saw the flash of colorful news headlines before she tapped the screen nervously, and the title was replaced by something else.
“They’re saying it’s an actual war,” Xiaoyu breathed out.
“Yeah, I guess...,” Hwoarang said hesitatingly.
“But we’re here for a tournament. We’re not here to make war. Will... will they protect us?”
Others were listening in, too.
Hwoarang had tried so hard to stay out of it, but he feared he would be forced to pick sides before long. Xiaoyu’s eyes were pleading with him, but he couldn’t bring himself to lie.
Hwoarang looked away.

He was probably the only one around. The house had gotten an early night, but Hwoarang hadn’t felt need for one. The lights had been turned off for the most part, but Hwoarang navigated through the house with ease. The sudden break from the dark tranquility was so unheralded, Hwoarang reacted without thinking: he jumped back, just in time to make it out of sight before he would have been spotted.
He wasn’t the only one around.
Hwoarang peered around the corner just in time to see the passing figures, and suddenly the knee-jerk reaction didn’t seem like so shameful. He would have recognized the dark, brooding presence and a touch of red malice anywhere: Kazuya Mishima. His heavy steps were tailed by a slinky shadow. Hwoarang had ample time for identification, and had no desire to be seen by her, either.
Just as the Kazuya had emerged unexpectedly, he and his companion disappeared into the night. Hwoarang ventured forth and couldn’t hear anything out of place beside the occasional coughs and thumps from occupied rooms. He explored into the corridor from where Kazuya had come, but found nothing out of the ordinary. They could have been headed out from the direction they were going, but did that mean Kazuya was staying in the tournament house? At least his team was well-versed in its location, sneaking off like thieves into the night. Hwoarang found the growing mystery much to his distaste: they were sitting on a powder keg.
Hwoarang returned to his room after little exploration. There was little to do, and turning in sounded as good an option as any. The night had set in by stealth.
He was still pondering the crazy day when there was a knock at his door. Hwoarang left the bed and received his second shock that night when he opened the door: it was Jin. In all black, as if designed to fit with the shadows.
Jin looked away. “I can’t sleep.”
Whatever Hwoarang had been thinking about Jin and his private war-waging waded into oblivion instantly. It stopped being significant. He knew how Jin’s nightmares were; had never known anyone to suffer from more excruciating stints.
“Is it bad?” he said quietly.
Jin swallowed and nodded quickly. He kept his head turned away.
Hwoarang stepped back. “Come on.”
Jin slipped into the room, and Hwoarang closed the door behind him. He took a moment to study his former partner: the brooding black Jin wore seemed almost like a mentality. Jin didn’t engage likewise; past the dark look, he seemed pale, miserable. Fatigued in a way that corroded Hwoarang’s enmity.
“Can I sleep with you?”
Hwoarang shifted uncomfortably. He opened his mouth to tell Jin off, and nothing came out. He shifted a look at the bed, buying himself time. Jin waited by without saying a word.
“Yeah, sure,” he said. His tone was a little peeved, but he gestured at the bed, and Jin accepted the invitation gratefully. He took his shoes off and moved in while Hwoarang went to lock the door. Jin was very careful to leave him room and let him have his space, and Hwoarang really couldn’t find fault in his guest manner. Hwoarang checked that he was settled. Their eyes met just as Hwoarang snapped the light off. The sheets shuffled when they tried to make themselves comfortable. Hwoarang turned his back and pulled the pillow under his head.
In the darkness, Jin took a while before saying a quiet thanks.
“Get some sleep, Jin,” Hwoarang said to the wall, but it wasn’t unfriendly.
In the night, he woke to feel Jin’s head pressed against his back. Jin was resting against him, sleeping peacefully, and for a moment, he started to twist up, ready to push Jin off. He hesitated, though, and eventually settled back down without doing anything.

Published January 6, 2014.
Deepest thanks to Gypsie for the proofreading!
- 5
- 6
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Estranged Equals