Jamaica

With his gloved hands extended far from his body for emphasis, Balrog the boxer spoke with enthusiasm to a crowd of Third World torment. Rundown houses and malnourished, uneducated Negroes were everywhere, walking about their everyday lives of sorrow and struggle all to make less than a dollar a week.

With a snide grin, Balrog chuckled, ‘Blacks on the street, reminds me of the ghettoes of home.’ “Hey all you poor folks!” he shouted to catch their attention, “I know your wages are dirt cheap and the fruits of your labor, uh, I think it’s bananas, right?” he questioned, with a scratch of his head.

One of the Third World Jamaicans spoke up, “I be makin only twelve cents a week, gettin’ dem bananas for de mon!” his voice was filled with disgust, and was not too well versed in English as obvious by his way of talking. Others chimed in with complaints and anger as well as they gathered to this. They all wanted more money! They deserved the respect they needed for working so harshly to make no cash.

“There’s been a change around here!” Balrog smirked, “From now on, I’m uppin’ your pay to eighty cents.” ‘What the @#%$ is Bison thinking here? This is money thrown away on stupid twigs!’ Suffice to say, Balrog knew little about the workings of Third World exploitation… have the cheap labor make your product for a nickel, sell the product for many dollars!

“Eighty!” another yelled in shock. “I be gone crazee, mon! I just hearing tings’ am all. Eighty a week be too good for de trooth!”

Balrog shook his head, “Eighty cents a DAY!” ‘Bison’s mad! What monkey did he promise all these bananas for? Vega? Birdie?’

The first complaining Jamaican spoke again, shocked quite a bit. “Day? He say day!” he noted with a smile. “He say day! He say day! He say day! He say day!” he repeated, as though he were stuck on a broken record player. “He say day, oh! Oh mon! Dat be too crazy to be true!” Others seemed to murmur in the native Creole tongue, amazed by their value going up so much.

“It ain’t be true!” spoke out another Jamaican voice with emphasis and volume. This Jamaican, unlike his other countrymen, seemed to be more well fed and muscular as well. Wearing strange glove-like padding on his arms, and red pants with the word Maximum down the side of them, he was well known. “I dun’t be buyun’ dis crock o’ shiit lie!”

“Dee Jay?” Balrog said shocked. “You’re that famous kick-boxing rapist artist!” Balrog said, using the wrong word, obviously.

“De word be rap, not rape.” Dee Jay corrected, “You be dat greedy boxer, Balrog. I be rememberin’ you!”

“Heh! You’re a wimp, Dee Jay, ya bitch!” Balrog laughed. “Still, you ain’t stopping me from giving these people jobs and good money.”

Dee Jay laughed at that, “So de mighty be fallen?”

Balrog snarled like an angry bull, ‘Yea, I’d almost agree if we’re yanking bananas. Heh, yank!’ “Yea, unlike you! You’re not very kind to your people, making all that money, are ya?”

Balrog seemed to be winning the attention of the crowd over Dee Jay. Dee Jay however, remained calm as best he could. “I not tryin to hurt me countrey, mon!” he shrugged, “I givin’ me people money and I be tryin to fight de WTO as well. I be usin de message in me songs to help frum time ta time!”

“IDIOT!” Balrog roared, “You CAN’T fight the WTO!” he stated in a booming voice. “They have too much power… too much money!” Not that he cared about all of this. He would have preferred fifty more rounds of correctly predicted roulette, but apparently, according to Bison’s explanation, if he won too much, it could upset the American economy to the point that the money he had won was useless! Balrog didn’t understand. He was just one person. How could he alone ruin the economy of the United States by winning three more times with odds of thirty-five to one, and winning every time? “All we can do is help those who are needy.” his eyes turned to the poor people as his voice spoke loudly. “You’ll need to work for it though. We’ll need some effort from everyone, ya hear me?”

Dee Jay figured that he had lost this battle of the people’s trust with all the cheering directed towards Balrog. “You gonna be sorry, mon!” Dee Jay stated, as he turned and walked away slowly, a short jive in every step. The musical life and his kickboxing ways must have gotten to his head so much that it put a bit of liveliness in his every movement. “Just don’tcha be hurtin’ Jamaica!” he threatened in a rather not-so-carefree tone.

Once more calm and carefree, Dee Jay, also known as the Southern Comet, was a very talented Kick Boxer and musician. His skill with kickboxing was nowhere near that of, oh say, Sagat’s or Adon’s, but Muay Thai was never meant to be for the faint of durability. Regardless, these talents, musical especially, made him popular, famous, and wealthy. The working people in his country however were suffering very much monetarily from trade controls and regulations. It was all about providing the good life for the capitalist, American neighbors to the north.

Balrog smiled as he walked away from the crowds, cheering at the thought of earning tons of money. “Hey!” he yelled out, his words directed towards Dee Jay.

“Ya mon?” The Southern Comet replied with a tone of extreme distaste for anything the boxer probably had to say to him. “I know ya be up to no good, ya mon!” Dee Jay sighed. “You not be needin to lie to me.”

“Yea, right!” Balrog snorted. None of the people seemed to care about the small time talk between the two black skinned warriors. “Just cuz’ it’s Shadaloo at work don’t make it bad. Ya think the other companies are good guys? At least we’re giving your people money.” Balrog said in defense of his operation. ‘Bison must like the way the grass grows here. It’s probably getting to his brain… nasally! Heh, man I’m good at this, I should go on TV!’

“Yes, but it be Shadaloo at work. You pro’lly be wantin’ mischief.” Dee Jay knew about Shadaloo. He was invited to Bison’s tournament a few years ago because he was an skilled fighter, but Dee Jay didn’t go anywhere when he lost in the first match. He did learn that Bison was up to no good however. The Southern Comet knew better. “I betcha Bison be lyin‘!”

“Bison don’t lie.” Balrog stated with a sneer as he changed the subject sporadically. “So… you’re the Southern Comet, huh? They say you’re a good kick-boxer, but then again, I gone up against Sagat and put up quite a fight before I had my ass handed to me.”

“If you be wantin to fight, I be more than willin’ to knock sense into you, and knockin’ ya oot of me country!” Dee Jay replied in a serious tone.

“Yea, yea!” Balrog snarled, “I’ll take you on and kick your ass, bitch!” Balrog grinned as he swiftly jabbed the air in front of him, mostly to seem more threatening. “In fact, why don’t I do that right now?”
 

Dee Jay narrowed his eyes at the boxer as he sighed, “K, mon. I make ya sorry fo’ messin’ wit’ me country!”

Balrog smirked viciously as he raised his gloved hands in a boxer’s fighting stance. “You’re making a mistake. Shadaloo ain’t looking for trouble in this dump. There’s not so much money to be made here at these rates… at least I think that’s the case.” he tilted his head to think. “Aw, god DAMNIT, I hate math!”

Dee Jay was losing his patience. It was such a sad state of events for a once, happy-go-lucky musician to become any bit bitter. The kick boxer wasn’t exactly one to try and give up the happiness, but not even the good grass seemed to perk up his attitude. “I dun care, mon. Leave me Jamaican country now! I be fightin’ hard to help me people, and sing to be makin them money.”

Balrog chuckled darkly, “So you’re jealous that you have less purpose to your life now? I get it!” he replied with a grin, as he suddenly lunged at the Jamaican with a powerful dashing punch.

Dee Jay saw it coming, as he stepped to the left to avoid the charging. “Max Out!” he shouted, as his pad gloved hands met swiftly to unleash a small, slashing beam that looked like a miniature comet. “You be lost your mind, ya mon!” He then moved his hands yet again as he repeated the move, causing yet another comet to exist.

Balrog cackled, “Yea right! My mind is fine! I just suck at math, is all.” he grinned as he followed that up by roaring as he punched at the oncoming, two-inch wide comet, causing the energy to shatter. Breaking energy beams was a new skill that the money loving boxer had recently developed. He called it the Energy Breaker, and with more and more crazy chi, ki, energy, and whatever other magic tricks people were developing, Balrog had perfected a new technique to keep them on their toes, and in range of his furious, powerful punches. The next comet, he leaped over, as he unleashed a low punch to the Kick boxer’s head from four about six feet in the air.

The Southern Comet was ready for the strike, as he stepped back to avoid the attack. “Oh yea!” Dee Jay screamed, seemingly out of place as he lunged with a rolling kick in retaliation. It was the Double Rolling Sobat, a kick with the sting of a comet… even though that never did make a damn shred of sense at all!

As the first kick struck the boxer at around hip level, almost getting him in the groin, the boxer caught a following kick with a powerful, punching riposte, sending his foot back to the ground with a slight tinge of numb pain. Dee Jay’s leg still worked just fine; he was a kick boxer after all. “Bitch, you suck some serious ass!” the boxer jeered as he punched the Jamaican in the chest with lots of power, leaving a great bruise mark. “You’re a fancy twit, but you don’t got no power, bitch!”

“You be wantin’ powa?” Dee Jay asked, as he pulled his fist backwards, “T-t-ta!” He shouted, as his fist struck the boxer in an uppercut thrice at a great speed, striking at the stomach. The real pain that Balrog felt was at the surprise factor, above all else. His stomach was built like steel, after all, from all the work-out and brutal violence he had endured. Dee Jay’s Machine Gun Uppercut was not entirely up to the task of beating the Balrog.

“Heh, that tickled bitch.” Balrog grinned as he revved his fists for another powerful strike, “Too bad I ain’t ticklish.” He joked as he struck back with an uppercut of his own. One which the kick boxer was able to knock off course with a blocking motion, sending it away from it’s main target… the Jamaican’s head, at the jaw. It probably would have been decapitation, or at the very least, a snapped neck. Either way, it would have had the capacity to kill the Southern Comet if not avoided.

Dee Jay quickly struck with a punch of his own, which he followed up with a second, both striking near Balrog’s toned pectorals. As he followed up, couching a swift jab that followed, the musician sprung uo from the ground with a whirling kick. It struck at the side of Balrog’s head, and he whirled his feet to strike again.

Balrog however, was ready, as he ignored the sweat rolling down from his very thin hair, and the blood escaping his nose, as he jumped at the man, head first. “Rah!” he roared like a savage beast, striking with his head like an enraged, berserk, bull, as his feet left the ground, and the kicking Comet was struck out of his Jackknife Maximum. “You’re catching me off guard with your fancy tactics. That’s about all that really hurts me from ya!” Balrog charged yet again at the kick boxer with his fist and an exploding roar.

Yet as the kick boxer tried to defend his chest, Balrog struck in an uppercut motion, striking at his neck. The motion was not fast or fierce enough to ruin him for life, or even knock him out, but it hurt a bit. Dee Jay was lucky to have been trained to be flexible with a sport and fighting style such as kick boxing, or he’d start to miss his neck. He lunged towards the ground with a low kick to knock the boxer off his feet and trip him up. It worked, as it disrupted the balance that the boxer had, but he stumbled a bit at best.

It was all Dee Jay needed though as he revved up his legs for a powerful bonanza. The slight stinging he felt in his somewhat sleepy right foot was gone “Sobat Carnival!” he yelled as he lunged like he did during the Sobat, but with more of the essence of a planet than just a simple comet, striking fast and furious as his leg spun about, striking at chest level a few times, before kicking the battered boxer away and to the ground upon his back.

Balrog, as battered as he was, stood up. Dee Jay was hardly in tip top shape himself, either as both were breathing hard. “EIGHT!” Balrog roared as his fabled turn punch lunged at his victim. Even though Dee Jay saw it coming from those few yards away, his tired legs could not carry him away fast enough as he felt the fury of the boxer’s powering up. It was brutal, sheer force and immense power that had been building up since the start of the fight. Dee Jay remained standing at a stagger as his body trembled slightly. “Bah!” Balrog snarled with a grin. “You still up? It’s over!” he snarled, laughing in an evil manner as he twirled about, avoiding a weakened jab from the Comet. The punch that followed was too much for the Comet to bear as he fell to the ground, consciousness slipping away completely.

Balrog sighed a breath of relief, as he eyed his fallen foe. “YEA!” he cheered, excited with the rush and thrill of the battle’s adrenal still not subsided. He won, and loved every win. He grabbed the fallen warrior by the foot and carried him over his shoulder as though he were baggage. ‘Gotta dispose of the evidence, as they say. This bitch might squeal on Bison’s existence. I don’t wanna see that freaky haired army fagot yet again!’

He traveled not too far, perhaps two or three miles at most, when he reached a small cliff that loomed above the ocean below with its rapid, foamy salt water below. “Well bitch.” Balrog snarled as he grasped him and did an over the shoulder toss, sending Dee Jay to the sea below with a short splash. “I guess I should have been more ‘Pacific’ next time!” he laughed at his own cheesy joke.

It was then that he realized that one of the natives saw him. “Whoah, mon!” he exclaimed, almost terrified “That not be de Pacific! Dat’s de Atlantic!” He never did see the Jamaican take a plunge.

“Oh right. Of, of course.” Balrog stated as his eyes shifted nervously, “How silly of me!” He laughed uneasily with his gloved hand to his cheek.

Dee Jay was now washing with the waves, as a riptide sent the floating body to sea. It seemed, perhaps, that this was the end of the Southern Comet… or was it? All that was assured was that the body of the Southern Comet was headed East and somewhat North, floating on his back in the middle of the gulf.

Northern Canada

Benny sighed as he walked out of the hospital. He still couldn’t get any cures for his sister, and life with ice was proving un-enjoyable when trying to live a social, normal life. Women said he chilled them with even a touch, which really did wonders to have much of a sex life, and few could bear to live in the same temperatures as he did. It made Benny Hutscale enraged. ‘C’mon! I’m cool!’ he thought to himself, with the pun both intended and unintended in his definition.

‘You’re cooler than ice, Benny!’ spoke a dark voice in his mind.

“Yea!” he cheered, before realizing, “Wait, who said that?” he asked, confused.

‘I did!’ the dark voice spoke again, chuckling, ‘Stop trying to find a body to identify my voice from. I don’t have one at this time.’

“Yea, well who are you?” Benny asked, completely disillusioned with having the conversation with the voice in his head right outside a hospital. It was bad enough he had to be burning up under the heaviness of a tank top, which felt like heavy clothing to the sensitive temperature needs of the icy fatso. “I’m gonna stop talking to myself one day, I will!”

‘Yourself? No, I am not you… at least not entirely.’ The bodiless voice spoke again, ‘You have me to thank for the fact that you are still alive.’

Benny rolled his eyes, “Sure, and I have an estate in Panama.”

‘Haha! You’re a funny one, Benny. But… I jest you not. It was thanks to me that you were able to survive that time you were trapped in ice.’ the voice said with a strange sense of pride. ‘My name is Bison.’

“Go away! I’m busy!” Benny groaned, having no patience for this rubbish.

‘Ah, but let me show you that my words are true!’ the voice named Bison grinned, as a vision of the past swarmed Ben’s mind.

Flashback, 32 Years Ago, Northern Canada

Ice, and snow were everywhere as they surrounded a small child of no more than two years of age, who had slipped out of consciousness nearly an hour and a half ago. That was when a muscular man dressed in a red cap, and red getup, save for the silver around his slightly, glowing fists, the silver color to his boots, and the odd silver shoulder pads he wore. Upon his hat, a symbol of a skull with two wings was easily visible. The man’s face was long, with a large, double chin, though it seemed a bit less victimized by age, as Bison was still in his early or mid twenties at the time.

As the Lord of Shadaloo lifted a few chunks of ice and snow away, he grasped the boy as he eyed the area carefully. ‘Nobody will see me.’ he said with a wide, toothy grin. Life was great for Bison! He was slowly being freed of the good in his soul, never to see it again as it gradually was forced from his body! “Ah, and the good in my soul ekes out some way to destroy me in the end, I’ll bet.” he joked to himself with a smirk. It would be entirely gone in two years, according to the doctors and scientists who diagnosed the energy.

He looked at the child, who seemed to be a fairly healthy, and slightly pudgy boy as he grinned. “Psycho energy will save your life.” he laughed as he dug deep to the darkness in his soul, and tapped the kid’s body carefully, letting it be absorbed by the child’s developing body. “And they call it evil! Hah!” he boasted to the cold air around him “It can save lives! It’s simply misunderstood.” he joked as he finished his task. “You will live! You, an many others, may just serve a purpose to me should I have need you.”

As he said that, he covered the kid back up, though leaving the soon to arrive search party somewhat of a hint to search for the child there. He was found later, alive and unconscious but otherwise still safe, but his body and skin were chillingly cold to the touch.

End Flashback

Benny’s mouth hung open as the vision ended, “Was that man…”

‘Yes, that was me, M. Bison, and you have a debt to repay to me for letting you have your existence!’ Bison said slyly.

“Well I have nothing you’d want.” Benny sighed, “All I can do is say thanks.”

‘Oh, but you have your body!’ Bison countered, ‘Such a lovely, powerful body.’

“Look, even if I swung that way,” Benny explained, “Women just call me ‘Popsicle Boy’. I guess, in a perverted, sex joke way, it’s aboot right, and seems fitting, except for the ‘boy’ part, I mean really! What an insult!”

Bison was quiet for a moment, ‘Uh, I’m not after that. I want the power that you let go to waste by being a lazy fat ass! There is dark energy in your blood and veins. Because your body was still growing, the psycho energy merged so nicely to make you an amazingly capable host.’ Bison chuckled slighly. ‘You have much untapped power, waiting to be used!’

“Yea…” Benny said with a roll of his eyes, “You said you had many others, I think. What makes me special?”

‘Your icy development!’ Bison hissed, ‘Practically none of the others have had need to call on such a transformation to will themselves to survive. Your cold is power in my grasp. It is power I know how to wield!’

“Right…” Benny stated as he rolled his eyes. “And I’m such a skilled fighter too! Did you know that I’ve been going around the world, fighting some strong warriors? I lost both times I tried!”

‘I did when I read your mind.’ Bison stated, ‘Your ice alone could never win against the likes of Dhalsim. As for Balrog, I would have never recruited him if he wasn’t worth his weight in cash.’ He laughed ‘Believe me, it takes lots of Hundred dollar bills to equal the weight of a heavy weight boxer.’

“Yea, well that makes me want to join you even less now!” Benny snarled, “I hated that boxing jerk!”

‘He will fear your body as I wield its power and mix it with my fighting skills. I can even give you a better body. I know you would like that!’ Bison offered. ‘It has a temperature that any human should have, it’s fit, agile, and you’ll even be able to eat your very first peanut.’ Bison said, trying to sound convincing. ‘I’m not sure it will accept you. Its first owner was very highly trained, and honed it to be a vessel of benevolence. I also promised to return it to him if his friend behaves himself. Of course, you can continue life being allergic to peanuts if you do so desire.’

Bison should have realized the power of infusing babies with Psycho Energy long ago. The development and adaptability were amazing. The plans he had Cammy didn’t work, with the idea of waiting with the energy until a later date. She was an experiment gone bad. The Doll project didn’t work, not that they were ever meant to be host bodies. Still, the fact that he had almost even considered a thirteenth doll, but in the end did not, was a wise decision. It was an Israeli girl, and would have been codenamed after the thirteenth month of the Israeli calendar. Alas, she was fifteen years of age, and not thirteen at the time, so she was probably too old. It was indeed a shame, for she was skilled with the Israeli fighting style of Krav Maga.

Ben’s eyes narrowed as his head looked towards the ground. “I’ll think about it, k?”

‘Hmm, well, I may be psychic, but direct mind control is not my style. I’ll even cure your sister of her leukemia if you comply!’ Bison offered. He liked how Ben had no clue how severe a threat to the world he could be if he had Bison’s ideals, and a few years of practice. Ignorance was a blessing, at least, to Bison, even if he did not lie, it was not a lie to hold back information, was it not? ‘Leukemia is a serious cancer!’ He remembered how it took the life of the old man, and master of Ansatsuken, Gen. Gen was one of the few people to ever beat the “master of Fists”, Akuma. The man survived the blast that sent Bison to hell, and defeated Akuma in combat, and to top it off, he was old! He had to be in his seventies, or so, but he beat Akuma. Gen was dead though, as the Leukemia got to him before he could die in battle.

It was an amusing funeral to say the least. That pesky bitch Chun-Li was there, and many other friends of that old man. China was home to more than one Billion people, after all. The most amusing thing Bison watched from the pits hell from the old man’s funeral was Akuma. He had shown up to the old man’s deathbed. His presence was not long though.

Many in the crowd were stunned by the sight of such a strange man who seemed so evil. Still, Akuma paid his respects to perhaps the most powerful warrior he had ever fought up until that point in time. Regardless of all these wonderful memories, Bison knew one thing, ‘You should not think lightly of disease. It can kill even the most invincible person. Do you want to help your sister? I will tell you now, I never lie, but those giant white blood cells being produced are truly useless.’

Ben was shocked. To save his 23 year old sister, Lydia, or so this voice claimed, he would do so. Still, he did not trust his words. “As I said, I’ll think about it! Understand?”

Bison grinned. ‘Very well, think then, and think carefully! Be wary that if another takes up their offer before you do, you’ll be out of luck.’ At that, Bison’s voice disappeared.

“Well…” he sighed, as he noticed the empty voice now gone. “HEY! Where did ya go? Dang it!” he yelled loudly. It wasn’t exactly the most horrendous of words, but it served its purpose of anger reduction, if not just slightly. Benny suddenly felt as though the meaning of his existence was a bit less than it used to be. ‘I won’t let the thought control me!’ At a time like this, fishing usually cleared his mind fast.

Thailand

“Well, girl. First things first!” Adon ordered as he eyed Karin Kanzuki, who stood uncomfortably in her Muay Thai ‘uniform’, or so it was called. Suffice to say, all it was, were shorts just like the god of Muay Thai himself but green instead of blue like Adon’s were, and a bra because women have a right to censorship. “To start off, I have to say that you are so flat.” he stated with disappointment.

Karin glared, “Why Adon, how perverse of you.” she sneered, a bit embarrassed as well.

“Huh?” Adon wondered, “But you are, look at you! You have no muscle tone whatsoever. On the same token, you aren’t fat, either.” he explained “As such, you‘re scrawny and flat. Before I even teach you the benefits of punching with your elbow instead of a long reaching fist, you need to get in somewhat better shape.”

Karin blinked rapidly as she sighed in relief, still a tad flustered, “Oh, erm, yea!” she stammered, following it up with her infamously snobby laugh.

“You need to build stamina and endurance.” Adon continued. “All day, you will be running around this area!” he instructed.

“What!” Karin snapped, “I wanted to learn Muay Thai, not do running exercises!”

“Speed, and endurance are important to Muay Thai.” Adon stated as he bolted quickly to a nearby tree, then back again. “Get to it!” he demanded.

“NO!” Karin hissed back as she stamped one of her feet. “I don’t want to!”

“That’s too bad.” Adon said in a flat tone, “I guess you don’t want strong legs, and I enjoy women with stro…” he didn’t get another word out, for Karin had begun to run about already. “Stay out of the river!” he yelled, with a lopsided grin on his face. It was a lie, of course. Heck, Adon didn’t even like the girl. He was in his forties already, for cryin’ out loud! As he continued to watch her, the God of Muay Thaui felt something snap, “Oh for my sake!” for he was after all, a god! “Don’t run like that, you won’t get anything out of it. Run like this!” he stated as he too began to run. It was going to be a fast paced day for Jaguar Muay Thai.

Mongolia

“Uncle Chad has some crazy stuff!” Kushik noted as he rummaged around the room that held all the world possessions of the man he called uncle. As he eyed the table and the crystal ball, he got a sneaky idea to be clever, “Ooh! I’m a magic man!” he chuckled, “I gots, magic hands! Just like Uncle Chad would demand!”

His joke however, was not going over so well with the crystalline ball. It began to glow white and slightly hum. “Well, I’ll be damned!” came a far too familiar voice to the boy, “You’re a natural with my crystal ball!”

“Uncle Chad!” gasped Kushik as he nearly caused the crystal ball to shake. “How, what’s going on?”

“You activated the magic of the crystal ball and said my name.” Chad’s voice said with a laugh, before the tone swiftly became serious, “We need to talk! There is dire information I must tell you about!”