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Lee also thought of something to distract controversy away from him. Pride and/or guilt are hard things to hide. He'd need something, or someone for Kazuya to be more worried about. Interpol uncovering vital evidence is one, but that's the finale. He needed to think of the activity most endangered to become public notice in the Zaibatsu. He sighed.

"I need a cig." He moaned. He opened up his packet, with only one left. He took it out, lit it up and began indulging in the blissful smell of the black fumes swirling from the carcinogenic paper tube. It gave normal people cancer and coughing fits, but gave Lee inspiration! He checked up on vital files in the Zaibatsu, of which only he and Kazuya had access too, and looked up the rate of such illegal activities.

'Hmm, animal testing subjects have decreased…' he thought, he soon found the significance of the decrease. People were beginning to put up more missing animals posters, after treating their creatures like pets and growing emotionally attached to them, whilst other people were just observers, getting a glance or actually watching animals being taken by guards during the day. Kazuya quickly decreased the rates and made all smuggling at nighttime hours. He decided to set this up as his first basis…


As it was reaching 5pm, Kazuya was still hung up on his reminisces. Thinking about days lost, moments lost, chances lost, because of 'the rich life', he never experienced such things a young boy, or even a young man needed. He didn't gain friends because he didn't want friends, he didn't get girlfriends because he simply shrugged them aside as being gold-diggers, people who just wanted the same high life as him.

'The pathetic fools' he thought, looking down at his scarred wrists, 'If they wanted the high life, then I wish they could've taken it!'

That's when the vision came back, the same vision he saw before the first Tekken tournament. He turned around in his swivel chair and faced the vision, the creature, Demonis.

"You broke your promise Demonis!" Kazuya growled

"Why, sire," Demonis replied oily back, "Whatever are you implying?"

"My father lives! You promised he'd be dead as dust!" Kazuya exclaimed

Demonis frowned

"Don't ever think you are my master, sire," Demonis oozed, "Because I can retaliate viciously, and as often as I please!"

"Whatever…" Kazuya replied, then he felt a sharp pain in his chest, his mind remembering memories he had banished to the dark, black wastelands of his mind. The floggings, the suicide attempts, the brutal training methods that had born his fighting prowess

"You should take me more seriously," Demonis hissed, "I know all your weak points, all your traumatic memories, and everything else about your pathetic life!

Kazuya felt to the ground, clutching his chest and head, curling up into a ball in the middle of the floor. He was helpless, would he finally relent?

Then suddenly, a bright shining light burst into the room, burning Demonis' purple skin and sending him staggering off into the shadows and then disappearing. Kazuya looked up at the light, and then shielded his eyes with his jacket sleeve. Then suddenly, the light dissipated into nothing, leaving the figure of a woman behind. Demonis had long since disappeared, the light proving too much for a creature of the night to bear. The woman knelt down beside the trembling Kazuya and patted him on the back.

"Everything's all right now," she said, "Don't be scared"

Kazuya frowned.

"I'm not scared!" he growled

"Oh, alright." She simply said.

"Who are you anyway?" he asked, "All I know of you is that you nearly blind me and then you're trying to comfort me."

"I'm the mirror opposite of that creature you just had for company," she replied, "And that's all you need to know for now."

"You're leaving?"

She nodded.

"Yes." She replied, "But I'll be back, soon."

And with those words, she burst into a bright light that was so spectacular, and yet so brief. Kazuya was left, standing in the middle of his office, with his jaw dropped and his eyebrows raised. He blinked and shrugged the surprise off.

"Hmph." He grunted. He looked at the clock and saw that it had turned just past 5pm. He turned away from the clock, slung a black trench coat on, and left the office, and then the Zaibatsu, without any thought on what had happened. He didn't think about it, yet he would start speculating on it sooner then he thought.

Lee looked out of the window and saw Kazuya's car drive off into the red evening's sky.

'Good, now to put my plan into action.' He thought.

He took his cellphone and dialled in a number. He sorted out his plan in such a way that it was hopefully foolproof, even from the strict security at the Zaibatsu…with any luck. He would cover up his intentions using Kazuya's own tournament. He would negotiate with Interpol and WWWC for a crackdown on their 'illegal activities', using 1 operative from each group, any other operatives involved would arouse suspicion.

"Hello?"

"Yes, hello, is this Interpol?"

"Yes it is, how did you get this number?"

"I have reliable sources. Now then, I have some news that you may want to hear about. Mainly involving the Mishima Zaibatsu"

"What is it?"

"Well, I can't really say it over the phone. Can I arrange a meeting?"

"Ok, where will you be?"

"I'll be in the Harajuku Shopping District at noon tomorrow. I can't say specifically where, but if you see a man with silver hair around then you have your man."

He ended the call and breathed a sigh of relief.

'One down, one to go…'

He dialled in another number, this time to WWWC, and was basically going to tell them the same as what he told Interpol.

"WWWC? …yes, I have some information on the Mishima Zaibatsu that you may find appealing…I can't say right now because I'm inside the building. Meet me at the Harajuku Shopping District, look for a man with silver hair. If someone's with him then join in. We'll have a big discussion…well, if you miss out, then I guess the Zaibatsu can go on with their 'animal smuggling'…ah-ah-ah, Harajuku, 12 noon. Be there or be square."

Another call ended, another sigh of relief.

'This calls for a celebratory cigarette!' he thought, smiling. He looked into his empty pack and remember that he smoked out his last one earlier today.

'Damn! Ah well, plenty more at home.'

 

Kazuya returned to his giant white mansion on the Tokyo outskirts. It was a long drive to work, and it was just as long on the way back, surprisingly enough. Kazuya began to think about the white woman he saw only half an hour ago. Though oriental in looks, her skin was pure white of a cream complexion, her blonde hair done up in a bun held on by a simple laurel wreath, or so it appeared. She wore a simple white top with simple white trousers and brown sandals. Weirdest fashion sense Kazuya had ever seen, and he had LIVED through the fashions of the 1980's! He sighed as he stopped his car on the crunchy gravel driveway, opening the door and easing himself out from its plush leather seating.

He walked into the building and, save for a few servants, he had no company. He liked solitude, but yet, something in him wanted someone around for…well, anything. Talking, hanging out, beating the crap out of, the usual stuff. Stuff he longed for in his lonely childhood, with pain and misery as his best friends. He shrugged.

'Stop repeating the same old sob-story!' he scolded himself in his thoughts, and then he sighed.

'The tournament has to be prepared soon,' he thought, 'I'm beginning to get out of practice'.

He wandered through the long lonely corridors, with priceless artworks cascading down them. He frowned at his father's indulgence, a man who thought him to withhold against personal gain, yet relished in it himself. Hypocritical conduct was to be expected though. He bore many scars from his father's training, of which 'daddy' said was all part of the training. If that was so why didn't HE have any scars or blemishes? Kazuya knew that maybe the only company he would have in later life would be his scars…whether self-inflicted or not. As he reached the end of a corridor, he entered a room, similar to a gym in building and structure. With paintings of men fighting tigers, this was, and is, the dojo of the Mishima Karate where he learnt all he needed to know about martial arts. No deviations, no derivatives, just the plain style. Mishima Karate moves were different, depending on what build you were. His father was heavyweight, he was middleweight, and a few distant relatives were mixed varieties of the 2 previous and lightweight. Lightweight consisted of counters, quick hits and evasion. Middleweight was a mix of lightweight and heavyweight. Heavyweight was powerful striking manoeuvres and hard throws. Once again, he shrugged, and sniffed.

'Musty.' He thought, 'Needs cleaning before I can practice.'

He looked back on his family legacy. Many had been vicious samurai warriors, martial arts masters or, from the roots they started from, simple peasants growing crops to last through the cold winter days and nights. Now in the legacy, the Mishima's were businessmen. Starting from Eiji Mishima, his great-grandfather, then to his grandfather Jinpachi, then 'daddy dearest' and now, he, Kazuya Mishima, owner of 1/3 of the world's finances and defence mechanisms. It used to be a quarter, but after he put up his father's plans to buy a Russian robot army factory, the company's stocks kinda grew a bit. The only time he regretted this decision was when the original prototype, Prototype Jack, keeps appearing in his office, asking to be improved.

'Of all the strange things I've witnessed,' he reminisced, 'That had to be at least…I dunno…a first'.

He walked out of the dojo and made his way back along the long corridors. It was getting late, about 8:30pm. He had to get up early in the morning, and the earlier you sleep, the earlier you'll wake up…