England

Prison was an utter drag. There was no way to counter the argument. Jail is where the bad people go to be forgotten about, rather than to try to make the people more noble, after all, they don’t let prisoners have an education, and that really matters.

Regardless, prison had not been able to keep stupid everyone, especially not Birdie. Standing quite huge at just over seven feet of height, this was perhaps one Negro who stood out amongst a crowd, especially with a Mohawk of blonde, with a hole between a small portion. Strangely enough, even with the Swiss-cheese style hole in the middle of his hair, it managed to hold itself up against the laws of physics. Around his arms, he wore chains, yes chains, linked together chains one could use to support a pulley, but here they were wrapped around his hands, and that didn’t even take the handcuffs into consideration. He never used the chains for violence while in prison. All he ever seemed to do was run his tongue along them as he had gotten into the bad habit of doing long ago. It was probably the biggest source of iron in his prison life diet anyway. To top off the wacky appearance, the man had the tattoo of a red heart of the right side of his mostly bald forehead, and lastly, his well defined mustache was a dark brown, meaning it or the hair on his head was dyed.

“Bloody hell!” he murmured, his heavy British accent apparent. Birdie was starting to hate himself, in spite of the cruelty of prison life’s supposed harshness, the black man hated what he had been. He was nothing but a lowdown criminal, and where did it lead him? It led him to jail, but the strange thing was, given the chance, he’d do it again, to an extent.

Perhaps, the giant punk really just wanted to not join a crime organization that he once served to boost his own gains. That organization was Shadaloo, and it was gone, last he heard. ‘Good riddance, buggers ain’t good for nothing no more!’ Birdie still had a violent streak that would never die. Shadaloo however, was one of the worst ever. The British punk knew not what he was getting into when he did join. He heard about something called Psycho Drive, and of its great power and importance, and it had his ideals warped. He wanted that power, to enjoy being at the top, and being respected or feared for such immense power, but it was not without costs.

Birdie found it strange in the choice of Bison’s recruits, such as the fact that there were over ten young girls as high ranked soldiers, all below eighteen. Birdie may have been a low down punk, but even he had standards, and making children do an adult’s job was definitely wrong on many levels. It got worse though, when Bison demanded that Birdie commit rape. The cruel bastard had already been hounding the black punk with the fact that Birdie may have been on thin ice.

The huge man swallowed his pride, and could not bare it when he saw the girl. Her name was Juli, or so she was called by Bison, and her apparent crime was thinking. She was skinny, probably from malnourishment, and hatred seemed to hide behind sad, yet waveringly obedient eyes. In spite of the fact that Birdie found her attractive, such forced actions of mental trauma appalled him. He complied with Bison’s orders though, but only so he would not be suspected of betrayal. He swore that if he ever did see Bison again, he’d tear his head off, and amend for his crimes. Birdie figured he might just give up on crime, but as he thought on it, it was not likely he’d follow through on that idea. Regardless, sitting behind a prison cell with nothing but the iron chain around his arms to lick on, Birdie could only mull. Prison was

‘Thinking can be a dangerous thing, Birdie.’ the wind whispered, or so the black man had thought.

“Who’s there? Show yerself or I’ll cut ya bloody good!” he threatened, though he couldn’t help but think the voice was familiar.

‘Recognize me, Birdie? You should, for I stem your hatred.’ the voice said again, louder, and more sinister. It laughed as Birdie snarled. ‘Come now, don’t hold a grudge you should not keep.’ it said, slightly calmer.

“I hate you Bison!” Birdie snarled as he spoke the words calmly. “I’d like to hear nothing you have to say!” He followed his words with another snarl as he held his hand to the air as if to shoo the whispers. “Now get out of my mind before I start to believe I’m insane.”

‘Birdie… I am as real as the hair on your head, and perhaps as malignly twisted in existence as your hair as well. I am dead too!’ the disembodied Bison voice laughed. ‘Besides, perhaps you will be able to see things differently.’ the voice said as though hinting something. Before the black man knew it, he saw a shocking vision in his head. It was the girl, that German brunette!

Birdie’s eyes widened. He knew Bison never lied, even if a lie could save his life. “That’s…” his jaw trembled as he looked at the girl. She definitely looked older, and she looked like she was ready to give up on life. The street punk gritted his teeth, “What’d you do to her?” he growled.

‘I did nothing.’ the voice said indifferently. ‘She did it to herself, because nobody cares about or loves little Julia, do they?’ Bison’s words were bitterly sweet toned. ‘I must say, I despise that woman myself. It is your fault she was carrying a child that she had no right to want to have.’

“What?!” Birdie growled. “Me?” he asked weakly. He never would have wanted to… no, it wasn’t so much that he didn’t want to hit up and leave, even though he didn’t, but the thought of being a father was unnerving. Birdie didn’t want to be a father. “She wanted to…” he almost couldn’t believe it. Why the hell would the girl want a child at that young an age, and let alone want his DNA to stain her mind with the horrors he was forced to commit, scarring her mind forever.

‘I do not know why.’ Bison’s voice said, meaning every word. ‘I’m guessing it was motherly instinct, but that is thinking, and although children work so good for psycho energy exposure to merge and grow along with their developing body structure, Vega said he would kill the child because it would be so ugly.’ with a pause, the disembodied voice chuckled, as Birdie looked ready to strangle thousands of tons of bricks until they cried for bloody uncle murder. ‘I could have had the child extracted and grown artificially, but I simply could not have let a valuable tool, by which I mean Juli, go to waste on motherhood.’

“SHUT THE HELL UP!” Birdie demanded, tired of the casual tone that Bison's chillingly vile voice said every word in. “Just tell me where she is, NOW!”

The voice laughed, ‘My, aren’t we impatient?’ Bison grinned. ‘As I said,’ the voice resumed in a calm tone ‘I have an offer for you, if you wish to hear it.’

Birdie smashed his clenched against the flimsy scrap metal covered by a pathetic and uncomfortable mattress that was his bed. It broke all the time therefore, due to the Negro punk’s strength. “Fine… make your offer.”

“I can, and I will save little Julia,” the voice said honestly. “As well, I will get you out of prison if you put your loyalties with Shadaloo once more.”

Birdie gritted his teeth against his chain. “And if I refuse?”

The disembodied voice was calm for a second. ‘Well then, you can enjoy buttfucking in prison! Then you can rejoin Juli when you get to hell.’ the words were smug and confidently spoken.

Birdie was seething with anger. He never had partaken in the rape method ever, and even saved the asses of fellow prisoners in the most literal sense of the term as well from such fate. Any who tried to get him would usually be smacked by a powerful punch and then stop trying to pester the wrestler. “Damn you Bison!” he growled. “Fine! I a-accept!” he quietly said in defeat. “So when the bloody hell do I get outta ‘ere?”

‘Whenever, and whatever way you wish to go. Oh, and Juli is in southern Germany, if you feel the strange urge to visit her, which I know you do. Don’t think of her as even being remotely close to a human though.’ the spirit voice warned in a whispery tone, to which Birdie shook with anger. At those words though, the strange chill of Bison’s presence was gone. Within the next ten minutes, a guard came by with keys. The metallic clang jingled loudly as they worked open the cell door lock.

“Birdie!” shouted the guard with displeasure. “I hate to say it, but you’ve got an unexpectedly early parole leeway, whatever the @#%$ that bloody means.” The guard was angry. Birdie was just a street punk by far as far as he was concerned. He should be fried in the chair or given the deadly shot for all he cared.

“Outta my way, chap!” roared the ex-prisoner as he made a mad dash for whatever exit he could find. “I gots me someone I need to save!”

As the man hit the bars with a violent force, only one thing crossed his mind as his back felt great pain. ‘Did anyone get the bloody number of that truck?’

Genoa, Italy

The slightest smile crept to the face of the purple haired woman. Home sweet home at long last! The streets and buildings of Genoa brought back many memories. The taste of many various cuisine and gourmet Italian cooking. The memory of her home, the Palace of Mystery as it had been called by those around her, also flooded back. After many years though, the place was probably either rundown, bought out, or still up for sale. Regardless, it was great to be home, and Olanjut seemed to take up little space, even if he towered over her a bit. She wondered about the African man, and if she had done the right thing by bringing him to the more developed country she called home.

Olanjut was on the defensive here as the city scared him greatly. His nose was wild with the many scents around him. The strange rocks seemed to close up with people inside and he could not understand it. Regardless, he felt safe as long as Rose was guiding him, as she was the only true link, and his possessive ideals had him believing she was the only one he could trust, if he could trust anyone at all. It was bad enough that the insides of giant metal birds were dull. He wondered if smaller birds were that hollow on the inside as well. He sniffed the air again, and so the perfumes of pollution and artificiality filled his nose. ‘Place smells funny.’ he thought to himself as he eagerly followed the woman who brought him here.

Rose’s gaze moved up and down every corner. So much looked the same as it did nearly a decade ago, with buildings still where they were all that time ago, but at the same time, a sense of uneasiness and difference settled over the woman as well. She shook her head to ward off strange thoughts. All she really wanted to do now was get home and consult her tarot cards, and then indulge in the bliss of a long, steamy bath, whose rejuvenating warm liquid could cleanse down to her very deep and complex soul. She also hoped that the one eared African knew how to use a bar of soap, for he smelled worse than a man with half his body content consisting of volatile laxatives, and it was a most shitty way to go.

Her thoughts on Olanjut as a person and individual were as indifferent as her thoughts on any other person, except of course for M. Bison, the side of the soul that was a mistake to have existed. She supposed he could be a protective person, but she didn’t really have the focus and power to read his mind, not like she may have been able to in the past. As far as Rose was concerned, Bison was back. Her mere return ensured this, since it was she who kept the bad side of the soul from returning to the world of the living to tear it a dimensional hole that would rip up the continuum of existence itself. Chad had been so foolish as to take up the sacrifice he did. Why did he give his life for her to exist? He had no clue what he was getting into, for what really happened was an exchange. As such, the Mongolian fortune teller and wielder of strange magic, Chad was now at the mercy of vicious demons in the pits of hell, and his soul was hardly what could stand up to a man like Bison. There was no denying that a battle of the souls would take place, but deep down, Rose did not want to die again. Hell was awful, for it made her wish she could die, but she was already dead. The thought brought tears to her eyes, but she would dare not cry. The fortune teller of the color purple would not let herself be thought of as a weak person.

Olanjut however, saw this sad face, and stood close to Rose, his rancid odor snapping her out of her tears, but the hand that caught a tear simply made her give him a strange and rather assessing gaze, was apathetic in all honesty. Everything here was so strange, so brick walled, and no animals to hunt or fruits to forage. It was bad enough that the people at the airport took his spears and sling. Where the heck was all the food? Furthermore, how would he hunt it? The big one eared man sighed. He began to doubt the idea of leaving Nigeria. He truly wanted to go home.

Thailand

With a deep sigh, Adon kept asking himself why he had been so stupid as to let the annoying girl live. Karin Kanzuki was annoying, weak, bitchy, and prissy. Adon could possibly say that her only saving grace was looks, and that was hardly important to the dedicated Muay Thai practicer. Still, he accepted her as a student, because the girl pulled a dirty switch on him. She threatened to go ask SAGAT for training. Sagat was a far more reasonable man than Adon, and the redheaded Jaguar stylist knew it too well. Sagat had the patience, the determination, and the more honorable air and Adon refused to let Sagat rob him any further of the glory that rightly belonged to the Muay Thai God!

Karin was sleeping now though, and Adon had to smile at the fact that the girl did not snore. The problem was that she was using Adon’s bed, meaning the Muay Thai master had to sleep on the floor of his crummy shack, when he felt like going to sleep. Not yet though, for there was still time that evening to practice.

With that, the Muay Thai God stepped out of his piece of crap hut that merely existed to provide a roof over his head when it rained. “Ha!” he boomed from the bottom of his lungs, only managing to sound even more screechy voiced and feminine that he already did, which clashed oddly with his muscles. It sure was embarrassing to be one of the strongest people on earth, only to sound less intimidating than a woman.

The redhead quickly cleared his mind of useless thoughts of lesser people, and instead focused on his powers of the mighty jaguar. “Jaguar Rend!” he shouted, as he moved his hands in a complex motion, unleashing a burst of slicing energy. He would get this move correct one day, and when he did, he would be ready to take the powers of Akuma as his own.

It was going to be a long day tomorrow, training a new student and all, meaning his own fierce and endless training would be cut short. That was when Adon had an idea. It was a cunning and sneaky idea, but it would be fun to torture the girl indeed, and even make her want to run away and never try Muay Thai again, or so he hoped.

New York, USA

The underground subway system of Metro City were damp and dreary. It used to be crawling with some of the most lowdown scumbags would hang out to fight each other for the hell of it, hide out, and deal in illegal crimes. Yet, for Sodom, it was where he made a name for himself, as an undefeated underground champion in underground pro wrestling. The man smiled, though one probably would be unable to see that beneath his strange blue mask with a crescent moon at its forehead. He stood somewhat tall at a bit over six feet in height, and was adorned in blue jeans and a red shirt with a Japanese symbol upon it. In the sheathes at the side of his hips were his prized katana swords. Sodom, apparently, was obsessed with Japan, and wanting to be Japanese, but alas, the man was Caucasian, and 100 percent American, although he had been gaining a good deal of stomach weight, but that was because of his new style of training.

His head turned about to gaze the damp underground, for simply moving his eyes would not work with the bulky mask upon his head. It was oddly empty, and Sodom suddenly felt as though this was a waste of his time.

Memories returned coldlt. He remembered the day when he was first ever defeated in to a Bushin ninja named Guy. It was the most upsetting defeat ever, for Guy was better than Sodom in every way Sodom could care about. For one thing, Guy was Japanese, at least by parental heritage, and even his fighting style of the ninja was a trademark to the Japanese way. As such, Sodom aimed for vengeance against Guy by capturing his girlfriend Rena and the Bushin master 37, Genryusai. More accurately said, Sodom had them captured by the crime organization he worked for, Mad Gear. Sodom himself found Guy not distracted by the need to rescue those important to him, and battled him when he found the ninja he hated so much.

With a shrug, and a snap back to reality Sodom unsheathed one of his swords and swung it at the empty air, making a swish noise that would make you be sorry if you were there when the sword swished by. It was at that point that he heard a voice. “Bah! Practically no punks to clobber today!” a deep male voice said. Sodom knew that voice. He hadn’t heard it in a long time. “Hey!” the voice called as its owner noticed a humanoid figure. “Finally, found me a lowlife to beat up for fun!” With those chest and upper body muscles, the brown hair and mustache, and the green trousers, it was obvious who the heck was speaking.

“Mike Haggar-sana.” the wannabe Japanese man said, unaware of the blunder he made in Japanese entitling of people. He even added a swift Japanese style bow of respect.

“Huh?” the wrestling ex-mayor took a close gaze. “Sodom?” he asked with a tinge of disgust, but a smile covered his lips. “Well, I was looking for small fries, but I’m game for pounding a big punk if that’s why you’re here.”

Sodom shook his head. The American samurai did not exactly like the wrestler, but his thoughts about him were not as much the animosity he felt towards Guy. Still, Michael Haggar was more than likely still his enemy. “No, most honorable Haggar-sana.”

Mr. Haggar simply grunted in disappointment. Fighting punks was fun, and he began to feel sorry for not getting Cody out of the slammer, considering the fact that while it may have been irrational, beating up street punks and criminals was fun, and even more fun when being a mayor of a city wasn’t getting in the way of life itself. “Eh? Well, Mad Gear’s gone, so you probably hate yourself.” the man in green shrugged. “Uh, care to fight anyways? I kinda need the thrill of the fight.” his words almost sounded desperate. He hated to think he was getting addicted, but if anything else, it kept the man in his mid fifties in the physical condition of a man years younger.

With a careful consideration, Sodom nodded. A fight against a man like Haggar? Would it be worth the time? Might as well try it, he figured. “Os!” he confirmed “Hai! I accept your honorable challenge, Haggar-sana.” to which the American samurai unsheathed his swords, for they were Masamune, and Muramasa, names worthy of any Japanese legend, and Sodom would be as damned as Damnd, or probably as damned as Belgar if he gave up. Belgar should have considered not making an enemy of the windowsill of buildings many stories high. Damn those glass windows, the enemy of the original mad gear! “Last I saw, Cody-san was out just fighting for the addiction.” he decided to say to make small talk.

With a slight grimace, the ex-mayor shrugged. “We’ll talk later. Now we fight.” He grinned as he struck his fist against an open palm. Following this display, he charged at the American Samurai with a wrestling mayor’s fury.

Sodom quickly jumped sideways to let the once mayor plop beside him, but the mayor did not flop, and quickly jumped to his feet. “I’ll have you know, Mike Haggar-sana, that I have fought the Russian wrestler, Red Cyclone, Zangief. Your style is much like his.” He charged at the wrestler with his katanas ready to make mince-mayor surprise, the victory was the surprise, but I guess that secret’s now out of the bag.

Haggar blinked. “Really? When’d a punk like you pull that off?” He grimaced as he saw the swordsman headed his way, but he did not panick, instead, with a carefully aimed strike, the wrestler struck forcefully at the swordsman’s wrist, causing him to drop one of his swords.

With a yelp of pain, Sodom panted as he replied, “My sumo sensei, Edmund Honda-sempai is an honorable and great teacher, and is a friend of the Red Cyclone.” The swordsman said as he charged at the mayor sword first.

Haggar chuckled, grabbing the dropped sword, and swinging it to parry the incoming blade that Sodom still held. In a clang, both swords clashed. “Ah, and I thought you were just becoming a lazy sleaze ball!” The mayor swung the sword, only to be met with another clang. “Ah, a sword fight! En guarde!” the mayor said in a laugh. The more he heard Sodom speak, the more he figured that Sodom was actually an okay guy. He may have sounded a bit weird, but he was hardly the rotten punk that Haggar would have thought he would be. Unfortunately, Haggar was not much of a swordsman.

Sodom however, was not there for a mere sword to sword clash. That was a thing Europeans did with their knights, or something, but the Jap wannabe didn’t really know Europe too well. As such, he swiftly dropped to the floor and aimed a sliding kick at Haggar’s feet, tripping him up, and causing him to fall flat on his back. “Kiya!” Sodom yelled for a burst of extra energy as he proceeded to body slam the mayor.

Haggar however, clenched his teeth with a grin. “Ha!” he laughed as his arms locked around the sumo in training. Sodom’s arms were firmly locked in Haggar’s restraining grasp at that point, to which the mayor followed with a wrestling flip in a 180 degree angle, causing the swordsman to be on his back. “You fight good, Sodom! I haven’t had a good punk to rough up in a long time.”

“You were a most worthy opponent too, Haggar-sana.” Sodom said with a bow, before thinking up something to say. Neither men lost the battle, but there was no need to truly try and kill one another, was there? There was no animosity, only some fighting to bring back the feel of the old days, and both men felt younger from the thrill. “So how are you, Haggar-sana? Are the streets of Metro City, safer?”

Haggar laughed as he stood up. “Yea! I beat up any shady characters and criminals that I find, but I think they know I’m onto them.” the mayor grinned. “Crime rate’s still skyhigh though.” he shrugged. “I may not be mayor no more, but I still enjoy keepin’ the city safe.” He eyed the samurai again. “How about I treat you to some burgers and rice?” he offered. Haggar figured he ought to be respectful to an old friend, even is back then, terms weren’t quite friendly.

Sodom nodded. “Os, Haggar-sana, but Schugerg-san would be worried if I take too long.”

“Schugerg? You mean Rolento?” the once mayor asked, receiving a nod in response. “How could you still be hanging with a punk like him if you’ve gone good?”

“Rolento-san is more honorable than before. Less into crime are we, and more into a utopia where the warrior can live happily. Perhaps you’d like to join us, would you Haggar-sana?” the masked samurai asked.

Haggar shook his head. “No thanks, now c’mon, lets go get some grub!” He eyed Sodom again, “Uh, though your mask…” he wondered.

“Do not worry. I can eat just fine.” Sodom said with a visible smile. “Now, let’s go. I am hungry.” American food like the burger wasn’t Sodom’s idea of a Japanese ideal meal, but a free meal was a free meal. A strange feeling that Haggar should have busted a few garbage cans or oil drums crossed the samurai’s mind though, but it did not matter.

Thailand

Sagat sat still, calmly removing focus from any form of outside sources of distraction. The one eyed man was meditating, for it was when you were one with yourself that you could achieve enlightenment, or so Dhalsim had told him. Alas, the man of the scarred chest still could not achieve much progress along the Eight Fold Path. He remembered the visit to Dhalsim well that day, a few years back.

India, along the Ganges River, Four Years ago

Sagat smirked as his lone eye glanced about Dhalsim’s lair. Elephants, elephants, and Hindu statues, which were also elephants, were everywhere. Somewhere in the back of Sagat’s mind, he figured that the stretchy yoga master liked elephants. “Welcome, Sagat.” Dhalsim said calmly with a short nod. “I know why you have come, but I am afraid that what you seek is not quite what you were hoping.” Dhalsim said seriously. The yoga master did not hate the Muay Thai emperor. Sagat may have once been a member of Shadaloo, but his service to the evils of Bison was shortlived, and as such, Dhalsim had little reason to hate the man.

“What do you mean?” Sagat asked, eager to know more. Dhalsim, as far as Sagat believed, was an enigma. A truly noble enigma, but an enigma nonetheless. Fact be known, the Muay emperor knew nothing about the man, except that he too was a street fighter, at least at one point. “From what I know, Buddhism is a religion that originated in India.”

Dhalsim shook his head. “Buddhism is not a religion. It is more of a way of life that does not need to interfere with religious ideals. As such, I am Hindu, but I do practice Buddhism, as it helps me find inner peace, and peace for the world as well in my fight to save the poor.” the stretchy man explained, as he disappeared, only to reappear next to one of his elephants.

“You…” Sagat thought for a second. “Really like elephants, or so I’m guessing?”

Dhalsim nodded. “Elephants are proud and strong, and do not enjoy fighting unless their lives are threatened.” With a pause, he stretched his hand to scratch behind the elephant’s ear on the other side of its head. “You once worked for Shadaloo. I’m sure you know, or at least knew the boxer.”

Sagat sneered. “Balrog was the biggest scumbag I ever met.” he said, it wasn’t entirely true though, for Sagat also had Adon, Vega, and Bison himself up there as well. “He’s overly violent, and I heard he smashed an elephant’s skull in once.”

The yoga master nodded, as the elephant enjoyed its ear scratching. “Yes, that elephant was one of mine.” His voice sounded sad.

Sagat frowned. “Sorry…” he said, to be respectful.

“I see death all the time.” Dhalsim said, gravely serious. “The skulls on my necklace are those of children who have died from disease and famine in the village nearby. I wear it to remember that I fight for them, and with a hope that in their next life, they will be reincarnated safer and happier.”

Sagat frowned. “Maybe I should not have asked… I’m sorry for bringing it up.” the one eyed giant apologized

Dhalsim nodded. “Do not worry yourself with it.” the yoga master explained. “So you say you wish to train in the Buddhist way, yes? I can teach you a bit… but I’d like to ask a favor.” Dhalsim paused at that.

“Of course,” Sagat shrugged. “What is it you wish to ask?”

“My son, Datta, would like to take up the fight to protect the poverished as well. I am retired from the fight, now that Shadaloo has fallen, however.” Dhalsim paused at that.

“Is there nothing you can do?” Sagat was more disappointed that the yoga master was giving up like that, only a few months after Bison’s death at the hands of Akuma’s destructive powers. Good riddance to Bison, the patch eyed man believed, as did probably millions of other people as well.

“No, it is just that there are honorable and brave fighters out there who have taken up the fight, and as such, I am but one more, and am not needed to turn the tides.” Dhalsim explained. “About my son though. Do you still teach Muay Thai, I believe it is called.”

Sagat nodded. “Yes, I do. Mostly because the current Muay Thai god is too busy being a selfish bitch to care about anybody but himself to bother with training.” Sagat grinned. Muay Thai was the bald giant’s life, it was everything to him, and the likes of Ryu and Adon took his high horsed glory away from him. “How old is your son? Muay Thai is very brutal, especially for beginners, and I wouldn’t want him to die.”

“Datta is nine, and has been practicing under my tutelage in yoga battle technique.” Dhalsim replied. His hopes were that his son would be up to the task. “His arms are already able to stretch to a small extent in a similar fashion to my own.”

“Perhaps in a few years your son can be my student, Dhalsim.” Sagat explained. “Just make sure that you remember to let me know, in case I forget.”

“I would not want to forget.” Dhalsim said sternly, but not harshly. “Perhaps… I would like to battle you myself to see if you are truly worthy of the reputation you have, if you consent to the challenge.”

Sagat smirked. “I dunno why I’d say no,” he laughed heartily. “Are you sure you are up to it? You said you were retired.”

Dhalsim nodded. “I have not been retired for long, Sagat. I would enjoy this fight if you would accept.”

“I accept the challenge.” Sagat said with a smile, “Tiger!” Sagat roared, as his hands grasps together, creating a crescent of freezing energy.

Dhalsim however, was a thin and flexible man, and easily crouched beneath the attack, to which he used to launch a powerful punch, which struck Sagat’s chest, but not before being caught in the Muay Thai master’s own strong grasp as well. “I can see why Bison was concerned about you.” he said, meaning it to be a compliment.”

With Dhalsim’s hand in his, he decided to milk the opportunity with a grapple, tossing the Yoga master overhead and slamming him to the ground somewhere in a semicircular angle. But Dhalsim never hit the ground. “Yoga!” and the yoga master vanished once again, only to strike from behind in a spiraling slow descent to the ground, head first. A technique that Dhalsim used known as the drill.

Sagat however, was not knocked down or off guard by this simple technique, “Tiger Uppercut!” the big man roared, as his punch to the air brought the Yoga master several feet off the ground, only to receive a long ranged jab from the yoga master as they went airborne.

“Yoga!” Dhalsim quickly blurted, as he vanished to reappear in a safer spot on the ground once more.

As Sagat landed on his feet, he lunged at the yoga man. “Tiger Knee!” he declared, as his feet came together as his knee seemed to strike its mark, only to be avoided by teleportation. “Tiger Knee!” again, the large man’s knee was only inches away when Dhalsim would vanish into thin air. Again and again, even as Sagat tried other techniques.

A punch to Sagat’s stomach from the yoga master caught him by surprise. “You are indeed strong, Sagat.” Dhalsim commemorated. “Yoga!” he shouted quickly to avoid a kick from the long and powerful legs that Sagat used to their full potential. Still missing, it seemed as though Dhalsim was baiting the giant into tiring himself out.

As such, Sagat smirked slightly. He would have to outsmart the yoga master at his own game. With another long legged kick, the yoga master teleported away as Sagat attacked, but Sagat knew, and as such, swiftly shifted his body to the other direction. “TIGER CANNON!” the man roared with all his energy, unleashing it from his hands as a projectile, bursting with power. The yoga master had no time to get out of the way, and was caught by its sheer power.

As the burst of energy was soaked up as pain, the Dhalsim held up a hand. “I admit defeat, Sagat. I would be honored to let my son train with you when he becomes old enough.” the stretchy Negro smiled as he said that, in spite of his injuries from the fight.

“You in turn,” Sagat began with a smile, “will teach me of Buddhism, as you promised.” he grinned, eager to seek truer self awareness.

“Come with me.” Dhalsim nodded. “I shall teach you a bit of what you wish to know.”

Present, Thailand

Sagat sighed as he tried again. The Indian man’s son was now of that age to be ready to try the ways of Muay Thai. In fact, the boy was one of Sagat’s students ever since about a year ago. The boy had a way of combining his yoga with Muay Thai of the tiger, and Sagat was impressed. Now however, Sagat was alone, with all the time to brood and think about what was to come.

Genoa, Italy

Rose was surprised to say the least. Her home remained, as clean as it was the day she left it, and strangely not undergoing the ordeals of mortgage, or any other complications, yet the purple haired lady had to wonder, why and how this was happening. Fortune seemed to smile on her though as a woman made the scene with a shocked look upon her face. “Rose!” she gasped. Could the fortune teller in purple leather be back at long last.

Rose gasped as her eyes focused upon the woman. With the girl’s red hair and the symbol of the red cross, the psychic could not believe her eyes. “Il mio dio! Aprile?” she was shocked indeed by the widening of her violet eyes. “What…”

The nurse smiled. “Relax, I am not here to attack.” she said, hoping to reassure Rose of the fact that Bison was gone, as far as she knew. “But, call me April, please.”

“I am well aware, April, that you aren't here to cause any harm.” Rose nodded, her gaze returning to the never smiling stern look that she was almost never able to be phased from. “But, what brings you to my home?”

“I decided to help you out.” April shrugged. “I figured that I owe ya one, so I decided to look after your house…” the girl paused, seeming to have been enjoying her new life as fully as she could. “Uh, but the money is getting a bit tough supporting both your home and my own.” she said hesitantly.

Rose nodded. “I would not have asked this of you.” In fact, the fortune teller was downright disappointed, for people cared about her, and she hated having others care about her. It made her martyring ways more guilt ridden if someone were to miss her. “You did not need to.” Rose said, eyeing the woman sternly, as the girl ran a finger through her reddish hair. Rose however, made a very slight smile. “But… Era molto gentile di voi.” She could not stand to have people try and help her still, but she felt a strange urge to hug the girl. “How is your brother?” She owed the young man a lot for sparking the knowledge within the psychic to go find Bison to begin with.

The nurse however lowered her head with a look of sadness upon her face. “I’m sorry Rose, but Maggio… he died.” she said solemnly, before she noticed the black man with one ear. “Oooh!” she said as she became excited, “Who’s he?” she smiled. He was big, tall and muscular, and April liked it, with a lick of her tongue.

“That is Olanjut.” Rose said a bit harshly. She had a job to do, and did not want eloping interferences. “He’s here to help me fulfill a prophecy.”

April grinned. “Oh, I see.” she giggled. “Well have fun then.”

Rose’s look became even more grave and serious, if it were possible. “Bison's back!” she stated quietly.

April gasped, but nodded her head. She hated Bison greatly, just like any of her other fellow ‘dolls’ had. “I hate that man so much. You have my support in your battles.”

Rose shook her head, “I would not ask that of you. Stop being so kind!”

“Ah, but I’m a medic. It’s my job to be helpful.” April counter argued. “I can fight too, as you know first hand, but my real specialty is aiding the sick and injured. Even Bison got sick once or twice, and it was my job deal with him.” she was just stating the truth really. It was up to hospital work, after all. ‘Desidero che il bastardo stava decomponendosi nell'inferno!’

“I’ll… consider it.” Rose said, still sounding uninterested. “Do you know the whereabouts of any of the other d…” she paused. Should she really be so cruel as to call them dolls? They were humans, but were controlled against their will.

April shook her head. “No I haven’t, but I think most of them are back home where they came from.” she had no idea, and Rose could tell. “Oh!” April snapped her fingers as she remembered. “Some guy came by often, asking about you.”

Rose was indifferent to the words, wasn’t something she hadn’t been used to at all, in fact, it was common in the past. “Elaborate.”

“What?” April asked. She didn’t quite know that word, sad really.

“What did he look like?”

April thought for a second. “Well he had short, thick black hair with gray streaks in it, and called you Rosie for some reason.” Aprile shrugged as she continued, “He didn’t seem too bad a person, but I found it kind of odd.”

Rose however, was not so able to agree. “Antonio…” she said, trailing off. “He still seeks to pester me, I see.”

“What’s wrong with him?” April asked. “Is he that bad? I mean, he seemed ok, but he could have tried shaving some ugly sideburns.”

“He works for the mafia!” Rose hissed. “Which at the time had connections to Shadaloo. Were he as meaningful in his words as he claimed, then I am not the fortune teller of Genoa!” she stated, willingly putting her own title on the line to back such a statement. If Antonio was still after her, then something truly suspicious was going on. It was as doubtful as a cold day at the center of the Earth that he wanted anything meaningful in his words.

Olanjut had been staring at everything around him, looking at nearby plants, and the strange blue walls of the building that Rose called home. There were five pointed stars painted in white on the walls, as every fortune teller knows that real stars look like the very shape. Science! Preposterous! “Ooh,” he grunted, mesmerized by the strange designs. Unfortunately, the women paid him no heed, so he decided to make like a wild cat and curled up into a ball to sleep.

Aprile nodded. “I see. Does Bison wants you dead?”

“I am sure he would.” Rose stated firmly, “I will not die without taking him with me! This time he won’t get control!” after taking a second to think, she resumed. “But I am surprised he’d be able to strike a deal with the mafia so soon. Still, I am not going to let Bison win! That is why I got Olanjut…” she paused, noticing him sleeping like a predatory cat in such a small balled up position. “I should not say more though, or I’d be revealing too much information, and I feel as though Bison is everywhere, watching and waiting!”

April nodded. “Ok, well, I think you should get your new friend a checkup, or something, because he’s new to this country, no?” Rose nodded, but her focus was not there. She was trying to get in touch with her psychic empathy, but somehow she felt as though something was wrong. ‘Calcolerò questo fuori presto.’

Spain

Vega smiled as he sat in his living room quarters of the mansion he called home. How he enjoyed wealth and luxury, and being so beautiful. However, as he sat in enjoyment, someone was watching, quietly and bravely from just outside his window. Pink curly hair adorned the looker’s head, and pink seemed to be the color of her eyes as well for some odd reason. “This is the home of Vega the matador.” she said in a whisper into a microphone she held. “One of España’s best bullfighters, cage fighters, and assassins. Some say he is a wonderful nobleman, but they don’t know his true colors.” The girl was slender and lithe, looking as though she couldn’t have been a day over twenty, even though she was indeed over twenty years of age.

Vega chuckled as he stroked the neck of one of the panthers that made residence in his house. They were obedient for such large creatures, and were beautiful as well. Vega would have slit their throats were they not beautiful. But as one of his tiger’s growled in alert, Vega stood up. “Hmm, yes my pretty?” he said, addressing the cat.

The pink haired girl continued. “By day, Vega is a nobleman who has social graces that are muy fantástico” She dared not to raise her voice above a whisper, or incur his wrath. “But by night, he is the most feared man for any he deems feo!”

“Sí!” came a creepily calm voice from behind the pink haired lady, which followed the sound of a sharp claw. “It would be muy horrible if I had to mar your face.” Behind his white mask with a purple viper on it, all the girl could see were eyes of slightly luminous red. The eyes gazed the girl warily. “I see I have found me a beauty on my window, and your knowledge of me is impressive indeed.”

“I am not afraid of you, Vega.” the girl said, trying to maintain calm composure. An amazing feat, since her throat nearly touched the end of the razor sharp claw that was clasped to the masked man’s hand.

“Of course you’re not.” the Spanish man agreed with a girlish chuckle. “You are no ordinary Señorita.” he said, pausing for a dramatic emphasis. “You are Januara, or better known as Doll número uno, Enero!” The bullfighter used his other hand to remove his mask, letting his red, demonic eyes stare the girl down. “So what brings you to Barcelona to see me on such friendly terms.” he grinned, licking his lips like a wild animal.

“That is none of your business!” the woman said swiftly, causing Vega to laugh again.

In a swift motion, Vega’s clawless hand found their way around the woman’s neck. “Perhaps you should leave my property then…” he laughed, more like a maniac this time. “Ah, but I could say gracias for dropping by in other ways. I haven’t had a worthy opponent since my last attempt at the life of the Red Cyclone. Then again, we can put your beautiful body to use. We could have a fiesta!” he grinned with a wink. “It is your decision! Sí?” he said with a feminine hiss.

‘Well.’ a shadowy voice spoke up. ‘It seems I showed up just in time.’ a bodiless voice said with happiness. ‘Perhaps you would both like to hear me out before I enjoy watching whatever havoc Vega may inflict, Enero.’ the voice said, putting a strangely frightening emphasis on the Spanish word for month.

“Bison!” both Spaniards exclaimed! He followed it up with an evil laugh that gave the pink haired girl a chill.