France

Birdie trudged the roads of the France countryside. He considered getting a car instead, but there was no time to be complicated with the driving on the other side of the road. He didn’t mind the walk. He was built like a bull, and had plenty of endurance. Decked out in his favorite black punk getup, and most importantly his banana shoes, the black man’s thoughts shifted to Julia yet again. The best he figured he could do was to try and cheer her up, and of course, apologize for what he did years ago. From the vision Bison displayed, she seemed thinner than when she was less than human, so she probably would want something to eat, or maybe a lot. He’d tear Bison’s head off for doing this to her, he swore.

Traveling alone at night felt indifferent as he encroached upon what appeared to be the slums of a town. Street punks like him were common in these kinds of settings. It’d be a good chance to make sure he wasn’t as rusty as the metal chain he liked to run his tongue along. In fact, the Brit seemed to hear footsteps as he trudged the bleak, dark part of this of city.

“Bonjour…” greeted a gruff French voice. Though he could not see the man all too well due to the darkness, he looked to be muscular and tall. Maybe he wasn’t as tall as Birdie, but he still looked as though he could put up a good fight. “What are you doing in my turf, monsieur?” his tone was not very inviting, as though he wanted a fight.

“Look, chap. I’m in a 'urry here.” Birdie replied with a sigh.

“Oui?” the shorter punk asked with a sneer, “Well that’s too bad.” he laughed as what sounded like his fist striking against his open palm was heard.

“Freddie!” a female voice called with a distinctly French accent. “What are you doing out here?”

‘Hmm, that voice sounds familiar…’ Birdie thought, as the woman became visible as well. She too was shrouded by the shadows of a cloudy nighttime, but she looked to be somewhat skinny, and a strange contrast to the burly man she stood next to. The thing that stood out though was the gun. ‘She is!’ he realized suddenly. It was one of those ‘dolls’ that Bison had, and Birdie despised the man for so much, amongst many other things of course.

“Ah, sorry, Fevvi,” he sighed. “But excusez-moi if this punk here be lookin’ for trouble, non?” he asked.

“Let him be!” Fevvi sighed, “You need to stop being such a tête de merde!”

“You’re merde!” he snapped back. “I thought I told ya to stop telling me what to do around other people!” he demanded with ferocity.

“Oh mon dieu!” the young woman shouted in disgust. “I’m just saying to move your sorry ass and stop wasting time.” Why Fevvi decided to get caught up with street punks like Freddie was a mystery to her. They saw her skill with the gun, and recruited her. Even with this purpose, for being a criminal and a killer were not new to her at all, having been a doll, she felt empty. As though she was missing a vital part of her soul or mind, perhaps it was her humanity as Bison told her. “Sorry… uh,” she eyed the man in the distance, “What’s your name?”

“Name’s Birdie.” he replied, “I see ya couldn’t give up on crime after yer time under Bison.” he stated, with neither pride or distaste. His opinions were neutral, truth be known.

The gunslinger was in shock. ’He knows about that?’ she was ashamed. “How did… wait! Birdie… it sounds familiar.” she trailed off as she realized this fact.

“Yea, I guess should seem familiar.” Birdie shrugged, neutral toned.

“Bitch!” Freddie sneered as he grabbed the girl by the neck, “You had your last warning!” he roared with absolutely no reasonable provocation, besides perhaps, his very short patience. “I’ll break your neck, you merde!” he snarled.

“Bull head!” Birdie roared as he charged head first at the crazy brute. With the power of a frenzied bull on steroids, he knocked Freddie up against a pile of trash cans. “Try learnin yarself some manners, chap!” He snarled as grasped his chain in his hand, spinning the metal in the air above his head with a great force as he scowled.

“You jerk, I'll…” Freddie never got to finish his sentence, for a loud gunshot followed, and he seemed to stop short, a lump to the floor in a heap of what he used to be.

“I’m through with you, monsieur!” Fevvi spat, as she left his bleeding body to die there. “I don’t know why I didn’t shoot you sooner…” she wondered, almost thinking she knew why. “As for you, Birdie, I’m sorry about all this.”

Birdie shrugged, “Ah, think nothin’ of it.” he said with modesty. “Can’t let a shite like him ruin your life now? 'ow’ve you been, girlie?”

Fevvi shrugged, “It’s been boring, kinda.” she paused, “I almost feel like I’m missing something though.” she admitted. “By the way,” she changed the subject, “Could you call me Fevera… it is my real name after all.”

“Well, thanks lass for helping me out. Maybe you should get out of here.” Birdie stated, “You might get in trouble for this.”

Fevera nodded. “Well, uh, see you, I guess. Au revoir!” and with the agility that made her worthy of being a doll, she was gone. Birdie figured he should make himself scarce as well, with the bloodied body of a monsterous, volatile buff guy standing there. Some people just have no patience at all, it seems, shamefully.

Neither person seemed to notice that Freddie’s chest still heaved in and out. His eyes shot open, as his hand moved to his shoulder to try and nurse the gunshot wound he just received. ‘I shoulda just stayed in the Navy Seals!’ he snarled in pain and rage. He regretted his violence against his superiors greatly. When he did, he was offered a chance to join a gang called Mad Gear. It was fun, until some punk of a man who called himself Michael beat him to a pulp. Later on, the whole gig was shut down entirely.

He staggered as he trudged his feet weakly. He needed to get out of that side alleyway, and find a hospital, immediately! He’d worry about everything else after he was no longer in need of worrying about death, if he survived.

Metro City, USA, The Next Day

Haggar was up bright and cheery. Every wrestling, crime busting, ex-mayor usually was, for they knew that disfiguring the faces of punks was an important part of a balanced breakfast. It would be interesting to fight the scumbags of Metro City with Sodom’s help. The samurai had agreed to join him and Maki at the task, in hopes that this would be a fair trade for letting Sodom board up and make residence at Haggar’s home. Haggar was not yet ready to turn street losers into jelly just yet, though. “So, how about telling me more about your fight with,” he snorted in laughter at the thought of Zangief’s homosexuality. Truly, a most immature side of the Metro City mayor.

Maki was there as well, much to both the chargin and enjoyment of the samurai. She wanted to make Sodom feel like @#%$ for every blundering event in his story. She despised what he did to her family, and to Guy. Heck, she even told him that she savored the moment Retu became bloody pudding on the sidewalk below. Although the fact that he fell on top of a pedestrian and took that man’s life too was not fun, though the blood was cool. Maki had her priorities straight, or so it would seem if one were to speak with sarcasm.

Sodom nodded. “Os!” he confirmed, knowing what Haggar was about to ask, based on the childish laugh he was struggling to avoid using. “Well… where was I? Ah, you see,” he began as the images stirred up again.

Flashback: Japan, Three Years Ago

“RAINBOW!” roared a loud female voice. Her appearance seemed a bit odd. Blond hair in two pigtails was perhaps the most normal thing about her appearance. Her attire, however, was not. With sky blue as the main color, to start things off, she wore a wrap of leather around her eyes. It was like a blindfold, but there were holes for the eyes and ears to poke through so the wrestling lady would not be handicapped by two of five senses, or six if you believe in seeing dead people. The outfit however, was bizarre. The blue spandex that covered her body left need for little work by the imagination. There was practically no part of her legs covered, and where the chest was, there was a white color to the tight fitting outfit, with blue hearts where the nipples would be.

Regardless of this ludicrous looking outfit, Mika Nanakawa was not a sex icon. There was definite muscle tone to her arms and legs, and a serious face as she eyed the crowd, who cheered to her roar of glory. “I see Mika has not been changing her catchphrase much.” Zangief stated to his sumo comrades, Honda and Sodom.

Mika stood proud in the ring, with composure and stern discipline. That is, until, she spotted the red Speedo wearing Russian who was her idol. Zangief, being a foot and a half taller than most spectators, had no trouble standing out amongst the crowd. “Zangief!” she cheered, practically showing how much of a fan she truly was. “You showed up!” This was great! Her idol, the Red Cyclone himself, showed up that day. This was her chance to show him how much she had improved.

“Ya! I did, Mika.” he said with a smile. “Anything for my number one fan.” Zangief had a way of scaring off others from taking him seriously. Whether it was his homosexual status, or his ferocity and towering height, or whatever it was, the Red Cyclone was not too popular, even amongst the people of Russia at times. Yet for the few fans he did have, Zangief was proud, especially a case like Mika where it turned to inspiration. “This is friend, Edmund Honda.” he introduced the woman to the fat man.

Mika nodded. “I know of him.” she said, nodding to Honda. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Honda.” she greeted with respect.

“It is a pleasure.” Honda said with his generally friendly attitude. “This is one of my best students, Sodom.” he offered. Sodom was indeed skilled. With his skill at the wrestling he did back in America, and his swordsmanship as well, adding Sumo to the mix was just more icing on a big cake.

Sodom however, was too busy staring. The American samurai was glad that his mask was covering his eyes, or he’d be called rude for staring. “Ko… uh,” he fumbled his words, “Konichiwa, Lady Nanakawa!” he greeted hastily with his respectful Japanese esque bow.

Mika eyed the masked man warily. “You’re weird!” she said, eying the twin jitte daggers that he had sheathed, one at each side of his hips. “But, hello to you too.” she wouldn’t dare be rude, for the Japanese woman figured he was just being polite after all.

“Where is your opponent, Mika?” asked he Red Cyclone. He wanted to see how much better Mika had gotten. Call it selfish pride, but Zangief liked knowing he had a fan base out there somewhere.

The wrestling woman was silent for a second there. “I was hoping to wrestle you. That’s why I asked you to show up.” she smiled, “Surprise!” she added with nervous enthusiasm.

Honda laughed. “Well, this will be a most interesting match. Mika is one of Japan’s best professional wrestlers.” Wrestling was similar to sumo wrestling after all, if not just by the word wrestling being somewhere in their name.

“Wait!” Zangief jolted. “I am having brilliant idea!” he proclaimed loudly. When Zangief said he had a brilliant plan, you KNEW he meant it, for he was otherwise smart enough to know that thinking was not the strongest aspect of himself. “Honda, and uh… Honda student.” he fumbled for the correct name, “Soda!”

“It’s Sodom, Red Cyclone-san.” the samurai corrected.

The Russian nodded. “How would you both be liking to go against Mika and myself?”

Mika’s eyes widened. “Wow! That’s actually an awesome idea. Zangief, you’re the greatest!” she said with all her wrestler’s worship she could muster.

“I accept!” Honda nodded, “If my pupil here would like to, it will be great to show more people that the Rikishi art of sumo is not a joke.” It was a great chance to keep on top of his own skills as well. Honda may have given up on fighting in the streets, but a good fight was still difficult to turn down.

“I will, sensei.” Sodom nodded. It was a chance to show Honda how dedicated to the sumo art he was, and to show the country he loved, that his Japanese attainment was not as ludicrous as it may have seemed, even if nobody even knew anything about Sodom.

As Mika announced to the crowd what the match was going to be, people cheered. Some knew who the Red Cyclone and Edmund Honda were, but it didn’t seem like anyone knew about, nor gave a crap about Sodom.

“Ah, I know about wrestling.” Sodom stated, “Is this to be a tag team?”

“Nope!” Mika said with pride, “It’s fight till you drop too! ”

“Sensei,” Sodom began as he eyed his sumo teacher “teamwork and unity will be important.”

“Os, student!” Honda nodded as he stood next to the samurai. “We should not underestimate our opponent, no matter what.”

“It’ll be good to fight by your side, Mika.” Zangief smiled as he spoke. “I never thought I’d be as great an inspiration to anyone until now.” he spoke with a tear, reiterating what has been narrated the whole damn flashback!

As the referee rang the bell, the match began. Honda started the match in a manner he usually did. “Dosukoi!” The word had no true meaning. It was simply just the traditional sumo wrestler’s kiai, and a kiai was a simple shout used when attacking to put more force and kinetic energy into the shouter’s strike. As he shouted these words, the Rikishi master seemed to take flight. His body seemed to move like a torpedo or an arrow, at a horizontal arc across the ring. The speed and defying of gravity seemed quite a display for a man as heavy as Honda, yet he was practically a torpedo, and his target was the Red Cyclone.

The Red Cyclone was ready for the impact, but did not stand clear out of the way. Instead, he angled his arms at an angle, and as the fat man torpedoed towards him, he grasped his arms around the man’s waist. It may not have been as successful a plan as he had hoped, since Honda’s rock hardened head smacked him in the chest like a ton of bricks. Then again, Zangief was built like a ton of bricks as well, so it wasn’t too devastating to the Red Cyclone. Honda was now in the wrestler’s grasp, and was struggling to get out..

Mika meanwhile, encroached upon the samurai, cautious, in case he had a trick up his sleeve. Then again, because he was wearing only a wrestler’s speedo, Sodom didn’t quite have any sleeves on to begin with. He almost seemed hesitant to grab for the sharp blades of his daggers to use them in combat as he usually did, but this was a regulated wrestling match. With a loud roar, the woman decided to strike with a quick jab, in order to bait Sodom into doing something stupid.

Sodom caught the woman’s hand in with his own, only to flip the woman onto the ground on her back. She rolled away as he tried to pin her with his foot, and with a quick acrobatic flip, jumping onto her hands, the woman caught Sodom in a Frankensteiner… and Sodom had to admit, in spite of the fact that pain was less than three seconds away, they were nice, and, most importantly, Japanese.

Honda was not about to let himself be tossed to the ground. The Red Cyclone was a master of heaving his opponent around like they were a football, and Honda was plump enough to fit the bill. With a bellowing burst of energy, the sumo lashed at the hairy bear wrestler with all his weight, catching Zangief off guard, giving him just enough time to break free of his grasp. Having broken free, the fat man decided that he could show the crowd that sumo was not all about the weight in your gut. With another burst of energy from the lungs, the sumo struck with a palm strike, and then another, and another. Heck, to the point, his hand was striking fast and furiously at the pro wrestling Russian. Known as the Hyakuretsu Harite, most just knew of this as the Hundred Hand Slap, and it proved that a sumo was worth more than just their weight in fat if they build their muscles too.

Zangief could hardly block punches moving so fast and so rapidly and sporadically. As such, he let his hard-as-steel body take a beating, as he bit his lip to endure as best he could as the lashed out in retaliation with a powerful punch of his own at the sumo’s enormous belly, snapping Honda out of his rapid palm rending concentration.

Mika’s headlock grasp on Sodom was both good and bad. It was good for reasons stated above, but it was bad for the fact that she had just sent him flying into the air with a toss from her legs. “Zangief!” she called, for she had angled for the samurai to fly his way.

As Zangief heard this, he angled himself to let Honda take the blow. Honda however, had other plans. With a jolt, the wrestling giant in red lost his balance a bit, and in a timed jolt, Sodom struck into the Red Cyclone at his left shoulder. Suffice to say, both men were in a bit of pain, but wrestling had its share of thrown objects, even in the form of human beings.

“Are you ok, pupil?” Honda asked as he breathed heavily, as sweat rolled down his hefty, fat body.

The samurai nodded quickly as he unsheathed his daggers at last. Instead of getting to his feet, the metallic, Japanese weapons made for good walking sticks. In fact, he called it Tengu Walking to make it Japanese enough for Sodom.

With little effort, Zangief tossed Honda into the air as he winced to the pain of being struck by a masked samurai. This sent the fat man flying Mika’s way, and in spite of his weight, it seemed to be proven by his ability to fly like a missile, that sumo wrestlers are aerodynamic.

With eyes wide in realization, Mika dashed towards the airborne sumo, only to be stopped by the samurai, who was walking on daggers. As she was only about a foot away, he swiftly jumped to his feet, he charged at the woman with the daggers held at either side of his waist. Mika did not know what he was doing, even as she tried bait him into running to the edge of the ring. But as Mika maneuvered to the right, Sodom followed like a heat seeking missile, but upon contact, he did not stab her. The daggers were merely a catalyst for a grappling strike. As he did, he brought Mika to the ground, dragging her along it, until just the right spot in the ring. “Sensei!” he called, snapping the fatter man to attention. He was going to likely land on his back, but it would still hurt the girl to be squished by more than 300 pounds of pure sumo rage.

The wrestling woman was pinned, and about to be squished or so it seemed. Yet as Sodom let go, and Honda fell atop her, the crowd gasped in shock. It looked as though Mika was now the world’s most muscular female pancake. Even the three warriors in the ring were concerned.

Honda nearly had a heart attack when he felt himself begin to move, and Mika’s muscles put their all into it as adrenalin gave her the might to move the elephant of a warrior, and tossed him into the air once more. Unfortunately, he didn’t travel very far, and landed on he ground, still filled with fighting spirit.

The Red Cyclone was now up against Sodom, as he spun like the cyclone his name dubbed him, striking the samurai in the face. Fortunately for Sodom, his mask was quite useful at protecting his face, even if just slightly.

Sodom grunted in pain as he slid towards the bear wrestler, tripping him off of his feet. As he lost balance, he formed a grin as he caught Sodom in a pinning grab as he reached the floor, the tossed him into the air, where Mika was ready to send him to crashing to the surface of the ring. The Japanese pro wrestler leapt up to meet him with her wrestling moves, and send him to the ground in pain.

The sumon master would not let that happen, however, for beffore she could get far off the ground, she was smashed by a flying sumo, head first. “Oni Muso!” roared Honda as he struck with one of his finest sumo techniques. As he smashed into the woman with his head, he quickly became a torpedo and struck again in the same fasion, with the force of a ton of bricks.

Mika, however, was not even nearly ready yet to yield defeat, as she stayed standing, although battered and bleeding slightly as well. Though she heaved in and out with heavy breaths, she was still with some fighting spirit inside of her, as she growled and stood her ground.

Zangief however, was probably the one who had taken the least of a beating, thus far, and it showed as he used the ring to spring his action with a burst of speed and struck at Honda with a kick from the air, using both of his huge, Russian feet, in his huge red boots. Honda was caught by surprise with a boot to the head, but a warrior is used to such things, and thusly he survived.

That was when Sodom struck at the Russian with his daggers. The slashing pain it dealt was practically useless on the Red Cyclone. The wrestler fought bears and even a few Siberian Tigers with claws sharper than the iron weapons the samurai wielded, and he wore his scars proudly to prove it. “Cute toys you be using.” the Red Cyclone laughed as he caught Sodom by the arm and tossed him as though he were a doll made of paper. It was the speed of his toss that made this possible, for gravity didn’t have time to work against him. Unfortunately for the Russian, he was caught by an overhead, open hand knife handed strike by the Rikishi master off guard.

Sodom was getting a rough deal in this fight. He had been tossed about by both wrestlers as though he were a giant football in a game of catch. It only seemed to get worse as grappled him yet again. Quickly angling herself to have the samurai in a headlock, she wasted no time as she performed one of her favorite techniques, the Heavenly Dynamite.

It was heavenly indeed, or so the masked samurai thought, as he was held beneath her arms, with closeness to her chest. It seemed to go boom over and over again, but then he realized it was not her knockers, but him getting knocked in the head by a repeated amount of powerful punches. The mask didn’t seem to prove too useful against their power as it dented inwards, constricting the samurai’s face room.

Still in a tight headlock, the woman scampered the railing at the side of the ring, and with Sodom still battered, brought him crashing to the ring’s hardened surface in a powerful German Suplex. Sodom was not up to the fierce play, and as such, he stayed down, seemingly beaten. After staying down for a ten count in Japanese, Sodom was out. All in all, he was out, and his mask looked like it would need more repairs, again.

The crowd cheered wildly, as they had been quite taken by the intense and amazing fighting. Mika jumped with her hands waving in the air, “Yatta!” she shouted in Japanese, only to be struck from behind by Honda.

“Oni Muso!” he struck again with another double head-butter, this time however, the assault did not cease after that. Instead, he followed up unrelenting with the might of his palm striking action the instant his feet struck the ground. As his punches struck, Mika gasped for air, tired and battered. As Honda took a deep breath after that great burst of supreme fighting tactics, he noticed that Mika was down.

“Well, comrade.” Zangief stated, “It seems that it is being just you and me now.”

“Hai!” Honda agreed with a grin on his slightly bruised, and red-paint covered face. “Give it your all friend. I wouldn’t want you to hold back.”

Zangief laughed, as he used the edge of the ring to spring him forward yet again, but Honda scampered his fat assed self to the right to avoid the charge, as he countered with another flying head butt. “Dosukoi!” he roared, for as stated before, the kiai was always important in your strikes.

Zangief was ready for it, and his palm began to glow, and then struck in a downward swipe, the energy in his open hand striking forcefully at the sumo’s head. As the sumo reeled to his feet, after falling onto his stomach, he raised his left arm to block an oncoming punch, and with Zangief’s bear scarred chest open to attack, the sumo struck with his palm striking rapidity once more, and this time, Zangief had no way to stop it.

Honda however, usually got a tired hand after striking for so long like that. Striking hundreds of times strongly within a minute did wear most people out anyways. As he ended it, he extended his leg for a quick kick to trip the Russian man so he’d fall to the ring’s rough, yet stable surface, but Zangief was built like iron as he grappled the fat man and wasted no time. “Final…” he roared as he sprung into the air with amazing speed with the sumo in his grasp, spinning fast and furiously, “Atomic…” he continued as he struck the sumo to the ground with a what felt like the force of a train striking at eighty miles an hour. The biggest difference between it and the train was that the victim was still alive, and would be left wishing they weren’t any long. Zangief jumped airborne yet again, “BUSTER!” he roared and brought what seemed to be an explosion in his landing. The ring floor began to crack apart, and the power released almost made the ground shake. All in all, the Red Cyclone’s mightiest attack could be dreadfully powerful, although it might have been Honda’s immense weight that was worth the blame.

The crowd counted yet again, and though it seemed as though Honda stirred to reach his feet, the Rikishi warrior stopped and yielded the fight to his Russian friend. The crowd was in awe to the display. The wrestlers had beaten the rikishis. Now all that was left to do was to clear three battered people out of the ring.

End Flashback

“Wow…” Haggar said in amazement. “Zangief is stronger than I thought.” he was amazed, and wouldn’t admit it, but a bit jealous of his power. “Even if he is, haha, gay!” he laughed again.

Maki rolled her eyes. “You’re pathetic… both of you!” she eyed Sodom with an angry glare, “You got beat by a fruitcake. You’re a pansy ass, pig @#%$!” she insulted. “Sumo, what a fat ass joke. I’m gonna call you fat ass from now on!” she goaded him as best she could, but she fell upon deaf ears.

“That…” Sodom stated, “was not the end of my story.”

Haggar paused in his cracked up laughter, “Huh?” he asked.

“I said, Mr. Haggar-san, that there was more to the story.” Sodom said again.

Haggar shrugged. “Well, tell me later!” he said, eying the clock, “We need to keep on schedule and beat up punks in the street! C’mon!” It was urgent to be timely when it came to kicking the asses of street trash. Haggar hated to make criminals wait for their bones to get broken.

“Os!” Sodom nodded in understanding. It was going to be an interesting day for the American samurai, for it was going to be his chance to be on the good guy side in a beat-em-up side scrolling adventure. How fun for him to get the chance.

Thailand

‘Good morning, Adon.’ came an empty, chilling voice. The effect of panic was lost on the Muay Thai god as his tiredness was far outweighing his sense of danger.

Adon grumbled. He had almost forgotten she was his student. With a grumble, he replied. “Eh, morning.” It took about four more seconds for his eyes to shoot open and realize that he usually was not surrounded by the voices of others. “What the?” he wondered, a bit disturbed. As he gazed to the sky, he realized that it most definitely was far too early to consider waking up. It wasn’t even bright out, for he could still see the illumination of the stars in the sky above him.

‘Oh,’ the voice said in mock concern, ‘Dear me! I hope I didn’t wake you too early. Ah, it’s Three thirty AM in this time zone.’

“Who are you? You shouldn’t try and hide on the God of Muay Thai!” he threatened with a defensive stance, ready to avoid any sneaky assailants as best he could.

‘Calm down, Adon. I have no body to attack with. I can only talk to you by way of mind.’ the voice admitted. ‘You may have heard of me. My name is M. Bison.’

“Hmm…” Adon thought, still tired, and wanting a few more hours of sleep. “That name does sound familiar…” then he remembered the purple haired lady. “Wait…”

‘Ah! You’ve spoken to Rose recently!’ the spirit voice of Bison stated. ‘How interesting, yet it is trivial information at best. I have a few offers for you, Muay Thai God.’ he paused, ‘I suggest you hear me out. If you’ve heard of Shadaloo, then you know I only look for the best warriors around. Guess why I’m here.’

Adon’s ego knew that answer easily. ‘Your method of power is dark and corrupt! Power destroys people, including one’s self if not under their control!’ Adon spat. ‘All I need is Muay Thai to be the best there is.’ he paused to sneer, ‘I’ll pass. Besides, I heard that Akuma destroyed you by manipulating your power to destroy you. Why would I want to join you if he can easily kill you?’

‘Because, mighty kick boxer,’ Bison explained, ‘he’ll doubtlessly come after me again. So, if you work for me, I’ll let you have your battle with him.’ He took a pause for emphasis ‘This time, Akuma will be seeking YOU… on his way to stop me!’ he stated with as much of a dramatic and charismatic emphasis as he could.

“Forget it!” Adon replied with scorn. “You are washed up. That was how you convinced Sagat to work for you, and I know how that turned out. I may despise Sagat very much, but I have talked to him.” By talk, Adon more meant argued, which could turn to violent outbreaks of clashing schools of Muay Thai in action.

‘Well, the girl you harbor is of use to me as well. I can relieve you of her.’ The voice of the psycho lord explained. ‘She is of value due to her riches, but that is something that should not concern you. All I know is that you can get rid of her.’

“Hmm…” Adon put his hand on his protruding long chin to think for a second. “Nah! If that’s the case, I’d rather pass on my Muay Thai art, and uphold the legacy of Jaguar Muay Thai.” He shrugged with his arms held out and open at waist level. “Sorry! Looks like you’re out of luck… now GET LOST!” he demanded.

Bison laughed, and loudly at that. In fact, a whiny grumble was heard from the crappy shack that Adon called his house. ‘Adon…’ Bison said while performing a ‘tsk tsk’ noise with a tongue he didn’t have. Do not make a dangerous enemy of me. Think over your words. Consider the girl!’

“What am I, her keeper?” he asked snidely.

‘No Cain, you aren’t quite Abel to handle such a task.’ Bison joked.

“What?” Adon asked, completely baffled.

‘Oh right…’ Bison’s bodiless voice grunted, ‘You probably never touched a bible in your life, how stupid of me to have forgotten.’ With a sigh, his voice became serious, ‘Don’t be a dip @#%$ your entire life, consider my offers!’ he warned.

“NO!” he stated as he clenched his fist, then extended his thumb, pointing it to the ground. “I am the god of Muay Thai.” he stated for the umpteenth bajillionth time that day. “I stand by my words. If I ever see or hear you again, I will thrash you!”

‘You care about the girl that much?’ Bison’s voice asked. The Shadaloo leader knew Adon despised the Kanzuki girl. ‘I can get rid of her for you.’

With a roll of his eyes, Adon replied, very bored with Bison and his dullard drama. “I can get rid of little girls too. I have the strength to kill, and the ability to agitate. Leave me, now!” He made a shooing action with his hand.

‘You have made a dangerous enemy of me, Adon. You will regret this later!’ With the idle threat complete, Bison was gone.

“What a pompous jackass!” Adon snarled, before lying back down into the dew covered grass for more shut eye, and he fell asleep quite quick.

In the Mind of a Purple Haired Psychic

“Hello, Rose.” a warm, elderly voice greeted in a twisting void of the woman’s subconscious.

Rose blinked in surprise at this as she glanced about “Chad!” she exclaimed neutrally. “Why?” she wondered, “You knew you would be sentenced to damnation all along, didn’t you?”

“Of course,” he admitted. He was nothing but a bodiless voice, but Rose knew he was feeling indifferent about it. “I even knew that doing so would strengthen Bison’s ability to reach the eleventh dimension as well.”

“Why did you?” she asked with an agitated tone. “Do you realize what kind of danger you have unleashed?” This certainly wasn’t the Chad she met years ago, a friend and fellow psychic who never seemed to do anything stupid.

“I did it all for you, Rose.” he said, surprising the woman.

Rose’s eyes narrowed, “For me? That sounds rather selfish…” she trailed with her eyes narrowed in a fixed gaze upon the swirling nothingness. The dimension of the subconscious was strangely able to do such things. “Why…”

“I may not sound like myself, but after hearing of your noble sacrifice, I could not believe it. Why would you of all people be subjected to hell with your pure heart?”

“I’m part of that man’s soul.” Rose replied, still calm toned. “Have you forgotten already?”

“You are nothing like him!” Chad snapped. “You are better and deserve more! Stop torturing yourself with his existence.” He was not trying to sound mean at all. He would never dare to hate Rose.

“You have willed another doomsday with the tossing of your life, and this time I cannot find any predictions or readings.” Rose admitted. “I cannot seem to gather full affinity with my soul any more.”

Chad was silent to this. “I… well, I’m not sure why. Perhaps it will return to you in time. I only hope it returns soon enough if that is the case.”

Rose however, gave a stern look, displeased with the circumstance. ’I refuse to believe this!’

“Rose, my dear, what I’m saying is all very true.” Chad said, having read her thoughts. “In fact, if you don’t believe me, when you wake up, you’ll probably be displeased to know that your African friend will attempt to taste a piece of one of your soaps.” He chuckled slightly, changing the subject just a bit. “I always did think you looked absolutely stunning. Seriously, you have no idea how amazing you look. I do apologize if I made you appear a bit… immodest in this dream.”

Rose was agitated now, as she realized his the meaning of his words. In this dream, she was stark naked, and probably would not have realized it in this bleak dimensional outcrop of reality. His compliments seemed hollow and pointless, and even made him seem a bit lecherous, but that was besides the point “Chad! What’s wrong with you?” she couldn’t help but be just a little flustered either by such words and perversion. “Honestly, is there a point to all of this?”

Chad would have frowned if he had a physical or visible form, but he didn’t. “None… well other than the apology I’d like to make for seeming to make a mess of everything. Know I would never try and hurt you, Rose. I want you to be happy.”

“At what cost?” she questioned with an angry hiss. “At this rate, I’ll be too weak to even make a difference enough to stop Bison! I might as well kill myself now and get it over with.”

“If you did, I’d cry. I'm warning you, I will” Chad said without a trace of sarcasm, though it was a rather pathetic way to threaten anyone, really. “I have always loved you.”

“I thought so too, then you do something selfish!” Rose snapped in response.

“I do not jest. But I also mean far, far deeper a love than that. However, I know where the boundaries of being forty or fifty years older proves to be both a taboo and a most difficult obstacle to dare myself to overcome. Now that I am dead though, I will never again know your embrace and the gleam in your eyes.”

“I am not listening to this!” the fortune teller shouted in an angry outburst, slightly taken aback with shock, and a slight fluster of embarrassment. “Leave my mind and let me dream normally! Go... b-back to hell, where I think you now belong!” she demanded, her voice stammering from her unusually harsh tone. She never usually lost her composure this readily to anything, not even to Bison himself.

“Your ‘normal dream’ would have been a haunting nightmare about Bison and the past. When you were… obedient to him.” Chad said, “Just remember that I still care about you deeply.”

“How long have I been asleep?” she wondered, losing all interest in continuing this conversation.

“About ten hours.” Chad replied, “You should probably get up, and continue to enjoy life for what it is. With this, I can only hope for the best for you, Rose. Goodbye, and please, try and enjoy life for what it is.”

At that, the psychic woman felt a sudden jolt nearly rip her apart, she would have screamed, but she knew that this was just a dream. A soon as she literally tore into pieces as easily as paper, she awoke from this strenuous state of prophetic dream.

Genoa, Italy

Purple eyes shot open swiftly in horror. She was alive, and she knew it. Rose was only dreaming, of course. It was morning now, and Rose hated to wake up early, but at the rate she was going, insomnia was bound to occur sooner or later.

The purple haired gypsy stood up and walked to the bathroom, having had the pleasure of waking up in a nightgown after so long. It was comfortable, especially compared to the formfitting leather she had to wear for over a whole week, and now the life of luxury could continue for now.

As she reached the sink in the bathroom, she turned the knob for cold water, and splashed the chilled liquid that flowed from the faucet onto her face. It felt refreshing, in a strange, yet shivery way. It helped her awaken all that much easier, but it did not help that the air was a tad cold already.

It was as she immersed her head in another splash of water that Olanjut walked in. April had been showing him how to work doorknobs, and the power of how they closed and opened. To the one eared man, they were simply amazing, for back home, doors were unheard of. He eyed Rose. She looked different, from her reflection in the mirror anyway. Her face seemed to droop, and her eyes had red cracks running through them. He had no idea about the ways of the tired First World lazy person, and the crankiness that showed in their faces that they clearly weren’t morning persons.

Rose was taken aback as she heard the door shut behind Olanjut. She knew she should have locked the door behind her, but she was too tired at the time to care. “Hello, Olanjut.” she said, trying to sound polite through all the agony she felt on the inside.

There was tons of fear, and emotional breakdown building up inside the mind of the Italian fortuneteller at this time, seeming to fill the gap where her soul used to fill her mind with psychic clarity. Bison’s return, the painful memories of her past and the time she spent in hell were but a few of the problems she had weighing heavily on her mind as past, present, and future seemed to blur as she tried to use her skills to see beyond the cosmos that controlled all life. With a sigh, she resumed cleaning her face.

Olanjut however, felt a strange nasal feeling as he sniffed at the air. This room seemed to have strong and foreign odors, yet the same familiar odor he produced during excretion at times. Now however, this place seemed to have less defined odors permeating the boundaries of its area. There was still one thing that caught his attention, the bathtub. As his nose absorbed what it could, the tub had a strange smell, yet it seemed somewhat familiar to that of the purple haired woman, for some odd reason. It seemed that someone’s scent hadn’t been scrubbed out of the tub yet, though it was faint at best. Olanjut however, had a nose comparable to some wolves, due to his need to live on instinct. It was proving to be most troublesome in these cities however. Strange stinky smog, sewage, and artificial fragrences were but a few of the overwhelming scents that he picked up within a mile radius, not to mention the strange things Italians actually called food.

Then he noticed something else. A small round, seemingly solid material at the side of the tub with a powerful odor. He didn’t know it himself, but what he had was a bar of soap, and it smelled nice. It probably tasted ok too, like some plants did. With a loud grunt of amazement, the African wildman opened his mouth to take a taste test of the soap.

Rose however, caught sight of this just as it was about to touch his tongue. “Olanjut, no!” she shouted with a commanding tone, as she quickly snatched the soap from his hand. “Don’t!” she said darkly. Quality was hard to get hold on, and could be expensive too, and even more expensive if someone destroys it when its used for eating instead of cleaning.

‘You’ll probably be displeased to know that your African friend will attempt to taste a piece of one of your soaps.’ the words Chad had spoken from the dream that night, they were true! Chad hadn’t been lying, or so she realized… at least, not lying in entirety. A sad look covered her face, ‘Did he mean it when he said he loved me?’ she wondered to herself as her eyes glazed over with tear water. He couldn’t have, at least, not that kind of love. Chad was in his eighties when he passed away, yet Rose, at least, as far as her current body as Rose, was not even thirty-five years of age yet. Had she been alive for the past seven years, she might have passed thirty-five, but being in a stasis of nonuse, it probably didn’t even age any more than a few months.

The thought made her sad. Few people ever said they loved her. Bison never even said that he remotely cared about her. All he wanted was to utilize and awaken her hidden psychic powers, but sometimes he needed to be violent and cruel to exert control and dominance, for even a psychic can suffer in other ways. She dared not think of them, or she’d be sad yet again. Guy said he’d care, or so it seemed his mind said so, as he traveled all the way to try and save her. She never had a chance to thank him for his concern… only the chance to kill him, as far as she knew.

The violet eyed Italian needed answers, and needed them now! Hopefully her tarots still worked, even if she wasn’t quite as strong a psychic anymore. She had to know! There had to be hope still able to be found somewhere!

Mexico

Desolate and lifeless. That was how it was to describe the once beautiful Mexican lands that the gigantic Native American, Thunder Hawk, called home. The man was larger than life, eight feet in height, with muscles that would make anyone quiver in fear. Yet, in spite of his fierce appearance, Thunder Hawk was a man of reason and the land. Attempts to bring life to the dead soil were all in failure. At the hands of M. Bison, Hawk had lost everyone from his homeland.

As Thunder strode sadly through the dead sands that were once lush with life, his head hung low. ‘The great Earth Spirit is crying. I have failed my people! I shame this land by even walking it.’ Hawk himself never got to know these lands himself, they were destroyed before he was even two years of age, but this land was once brimming with life, or at least had life to it to an extent. Dust settled on the bottom of the light blue of his pants, and upon his black shoes, as he trudged the sands, dragging his feet in shame. The man hated himself for this failure.

“Mr. Hawk?” asked a dark skinned woman from behind him. This young woman was Noembelu, as she was codenamed called by that bastard, Bison. Hawk did not know her true name, and neither did the girl herself. The name Noembelu just stuck with her, and she was the only remaining member of their Native American tribe, other than Hawk himself. “Are you ok?” she asked. He always seemed so sad, which in turn, made her sad. The life they led was bleak and empty, trying to restore hope to a dead dream and culture. It made her feel empty, as though she was not meant to be human. Bison stole that humanity from her. She had as much reason to hate him as well, even if he did give her power, but power was so empty. As she held the two roped axes in her hands, she sighed.

“I am no better or worse than I always am.” he admitted. “Is something wrong, Noembelu?” he asked with concern. “If you are worrying about me again, then please don’t.” he said with a calm tone. “I’m only thinking about the past, and it’s usually not pleasant memories...” he said as his words trailed. ‘The great spirits of the Earth are probably damning me to hell, and I deserve it!’ He failed to save his homeland, after all.

Northern Siberia

Against the frigid, and seemingly eternal Siberian winter, a woman bundled head to toe in warm winter clothing was stalking her prey. Not much could be seen of this woman, except for a black mask and a few strands of blond hair, and two sharp prongs at the end of her hands. She was Decapre, once a doll of the vile M. Bison, and her prey was the Red Cyclone, Zangief. Though it was by far not winter, there were scant amounts of snow amongst the Siberian forests, and most creatures were out of hibernation, a perfect time to find wild boars, tigers, and bears! Oh my! Zangief was unafraid though, and he welcomed the challenge as a late morning’s workout.

Zangief was just up to his daily routine, wrestling bears in his underpants at ten below zero and surviving the encounter with ease. Yes, the masked woman would kill him. She needed to! She wasn’t entirely sure why, but she had to! It was as though this objective of hers was filling some sort of gap in her mind. Perhaps it was this gap that Bison meant when he said she was not meant to be human. She’d prove that wrong with the death of the Red Cyclone, and then Mr. Gorbachev!

‘Zangief is insane.’ spoke a calm voice, hardly chilling against the freezing winds of Northern Russia. The woman nodded, until she realized who she was talking to. “Huh? Who am I talking to?” she spoke quietly, and on the defensive. “How are you knowing my name?”

‘Decapre, I would not forget one of my most unique assassins, would I?’ the voice chuckled. It was obvious who it was, ‘It seems you’ve forgotten, so here’s your hint, name’s M. Bison.’ he knew it would be more than just a hint, it made her remember.

“Bison…” the word lingered in her mind. “What… what do you want from me?” she asked with a frightened hiss as she looked about, standing on the defensive.

‘Only to let you know how happy I am that you wish to destroy one of my enemies. I’m sure Vega will be glad to hear it too.’ Bison laughed. ‘Kill Zangief! Join Shadaloo once more… not that killing this homo has anything to do with joining, but I suggest you join. You’ll be allowed to keep your free will.’

Did she want to be his lacky once more? Under his rule, she had a purpose, but still... Decapre scowled as her mind dealt with constant and conflicting thoughts. The clawed doll would need to think on Bison’s words, carefully.

Vietnam

Rolento was unconscious. He’d maybe feel humiliated at being beaten by a young girl were he not. It seemed that Sutma had given Bison’s idea the ok, for now she was headed towards where he had told her to go. It would be a long walk however, but she was an assassin, and hiding and camouflage were a specialty she had. ‘This is for ruining my life, you bastard!’ her mind thought as she snarled, ‘Now, you’ll be sorry, Rolento! You will regret everything!’