Match of the Millennium

Description: Heihachi Mishima returns to Southtown, the city he had once locked down in the face of nuclear annhilation. His purpose? To stare furiously at Geese Tower, blocking traffic the entire time. When a busker decides to throw a rock at his limo, a melee breaks out first between the musician and Mishima's driver, and then, with the Zaibatsu head himself.

[HEIHACHI]
It's been some time. Heihachi's defeat was a bitter one, and the old man had went back to his hometown to take stock of his life. The Zaibatsu was in ruins and when he had returned a few days ago, he found the Tekken Force incompetent, a fragile comparison to what they were during the war with the Gears.

Heihachi wears sombriety well. The window to his limosuine is rolled down, and Heihachi stares up at Geese Tower, his trademark frown plastered over his face. The driver stands outside the car, nervously staring at the door connected to Heihachi's window, wondering if he should open it for the man or not. Unfortunately, this indecision from both men has led to a bit of a traffic jam. A cacophony of honking horns and angry shouts make the city buzz of the Business District that much louder.

[CROCK]
See, for Crock, it wasn't about Heihachi.

It wasn't about what happened in Southtown, what happened to Japan, wasn't about the war, it wasn't about the Zaibatsu. It wasn't about all the little things the Mishima Zaibatsu did to the common people, to the planet. Though definately, if he thought about these things, he'd dedicate more of his free time just railing into the organization. No, this wasn't about anything Heihachi was as a person, the Zaibatsu as a corporation.

It was about the limo.

That long status symbol of the rich and powerful, the automotive boot on the throat of the little guy. Crock wasn't the cause of the traffic. He wished he was, staring at the cacophony building behind the source. He was outside too, looking at that giant insulting Geese phallus. But admist the noise, he was just at the side. A brown-skinned busker, lean and mean, dressed in ragged jeans, black for the pants, green for the jacket vest. A red mohawk of long dreads sticks from his otherwise shaved head. Hung around his neck was a rusted electric guitar, dinged up and scratched far from its red paint. He was playing it noiselessly. There was no hat for the money. He'd watched the limo stop the traffic. A spasm goes through him, as he lowers down, a sneer suddenly twisting across his studded face, as he touches on the concrete sidewalk. Gripping a chunk free from the ground, he pulls it up, and with a twist, he chucks it. Not at the driver.

But aiming a nasty chip against the windshield of the limo.

[HEIHACHI]
The driver doesn't notice until he hears the impact of concrete against the windshield -- it spiderwebs immediately, and it looks to have sagged a little, though in truth, it just dented inward. The driver stumbles backwards and immediately spins to stare at Crock, his hand immediately shooting towards the gun he has holstered in his jacket.

Heihachi, on the other hand, reacts when he hears the impact as well, his face snapping towards the front of the limo, prying his eyes off Geese Tower to stare.

Who would dare?

"You!" The driver on the other hand is now screaming at the busker angrily. "I will call the police!" It's an empty threat, but one both the studded-face man and the driver's employer can hear. It prompts Heihachi to open his door himself and leave the limosuine so that he can survey the damage. He's wearing a black suit that hugs his absurd physique tightly, an overcoat and a scarf lending an air of opulence to the old man. When he speaks, he speaks in Japanese.

"You will do no such thing. Bring him to me," the old man commands instead.

The instruction seems to shock the driver, and he looks between the two men quickly, anxious first but emboldened second. He begins to approach the busker, aggression clear in his stance.

[CROCK]
At first, the busker seemed to enjoy the threat of police.

The idea of the authorities pouring down, making a scene right here in the heart of Southtown; it'd be delirious. He chuckles as he gets back into his stance, playing on his guitar as he just watches the exchange. That audacious man, that rich bitch; he had gone and scratched his car. Maybe even he would come over and slap him around on it. But when the driver approaches, the expression dies a bit.

No police?

The disappointment fades fast. A -personal- touch in enforcement? Crock could feel the boot down on the back of his neck. As the driver comes closer, the punk rolls his neck. He touches his fingers on the strings, no sound coming out of the electric guitar minus electricity. "Oh, I'm sorry, was that your master's car?" He asks all coy, a faux innocence slithering out of him. "I'm so sorry! Tell you what, I'll make it up to you." he stops his soundless music, and bends down.

To pick up another chunk of concrete right off the sidewalk.

COMBATSYS: Tekken Force Thug has started a fight here.

[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  <
Tekken Force Thug0/-------/-------|

[HEIHACHI]
The driver does hesitate when the busker plucks up another chunk of concrete. This was getting out of hand fast.

Heihachi stands in the background, watching the pair, his hands clenched into tight fists at his sides. The driver turns briefly to look towards his employer, and all he finds is a stoic expression of expecatation. The driver had to admit, working for the Mishima Zaibatsu was the most highest paying job he's ever had, and he did go through some pretty intense combat training his first few months on the job. Maybe the boss has faith in him. So he turns back towards Crock, his face curling into a sneer. "Put it down before you get hurt, punk," he growls, lifting one of his hands and clenching it threateningly into a fist.

COMBATSYS: Crock has joined the fight here.

[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  //////////////////////////////]
Crock            0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0Tekken Force Thug

[CROCK]
"Before I get hurt?"

Crock jabbers a laugh, his grip tightening on the concrete, his knuckles tensing on his fingerless gloves. Crock actually looks back up at Heihachi, and gives him a knowing glance. "Oh, I'll put it down. I really don't wanna get hurt by a tough guy like you. Oh." He does the wind up. And then, the pitch, right for the man's chest.

"Whoops!"

COMBATSYS: Crock successfully hits Tekken Force Thug with Thrown Object.

[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  ///////////////////////////   ]
Crock            0/-------/-------|==-----\-------\0Tekken Force Thug

[HEIHACHI]
Heihachi's eyes meet Crock's, but his expression doesn't change at all. Those eyes leave the busker when the concrete smashes right into the driver's chest, causing the man to be thrown off his feet and onto the ground. He rolls onto his side, wheezing and clutching his heart. Eyes that are rapidly turning pink lift up towards Heihachi, but the old man pitilessly watches on.

The driver was recently married. She was the girl of his dreams, but she came from a wealthy background. He needed this job. He needed to give her the life she deserved. And so he determinedly rises to his feet, brushing some of the concrete dust off his clothes.

"Alright, punk," he says, imaginatively, "If that's how you want to play it." He then rushes forward, aiming a swing for the busker's face.

COMBATSYS: Crock endures Tekken Force Thug's Fierce Punch.

[    \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  ///////////////////////////   ]
Crock            0/-------/-----==|===----\-------\0Tekken Force Thug

[CROCK]
Nobody needs a job.

The thought rattles in Crock's head without any initiation. As he is declared a punk, and is told how he is going to play it? He actually steps forward, chin out, eyes wide. Stepping up, the swing comes... and it hits his face, -hard-. Lurching his head back, mohawk flapping, he stifles a snicker. As he keeps moving in. He doesn't let the poor guy recover from the punch.

He's already lunging in.

Face swelling like a cauliflour, it's impossible to hide the manic grin as he lashes out a single hand, the opposite hanging on the base of his guitar. "Name's Crock by the way, that's C-Rock!" Should he get a grip on the driver? He'd headbang. Smash his forehead again and again into his driver's counterpart, headbanging hard while his mohawk flaps. On the third smash, he would pivot, swinging the driver around to slam him on the concrete with a stomp.

But only if he got that grip.

COMBATSYS: Crock knocks away Tekken Force Thug with Over The Skin She Sleeps Under.

[     \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  /////////////////////         ]
Crock            0/-------/----===|=======\-------\1Tekken Force Thug

[HEIHACHI]
The driver finds himself gripped as planned by the busker, and then over and over that head smashes into his own, his own forehead beginning to split open, leaving little bloody marks on both domes. His hands go up to wrap around Crock's wrist, but it's too late and he finds himself planted hard onto the concrete. The man lets out a low groan, but is amazingly still standing, and his hands slowly push himself up. He staggers to his feet and his eyes, now a little bloodshot, look between C-Rock and his employer.

Would he really kill to keep this job?

His thoughts stray to his wife's impossibly warm eyes and smile, and his hand reaches into his coat, where he swiftly produces a switchblade. He lunges forward with it, trying to drive the blade into the other man's ribs.

COMBATSYS: Crock blocks Tekken Force Thug's Shank.

[     \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  ////////////////////          ]
Crock            0/-------/---====|=======\-------\0Tekken Force Thug

[CROCK]
Blood.

The swollen-faced busker was covered with fresh blood. Not his though. It hurt to swallow, but he swallows as the driver rises up. He actually takes a moment to look back over to Heihachi, and even wink at him. Suddenly, there is a ringing noise. A sound of feedback, as the switchblade comes out. Now he could enjoy punches. But a knife for the ribs? He turns into it, letting the slice come right across his arm. Only a flesh wound, as his arm bleeds through the denim. He plucks his guitar.

And suddenly, noise fills the air.

The chords come alive as he begins to strum. He gives a hearty growl, the busker suddenly finding his instrument coming on. No power source, no electricity. But the harsh drone of each plucked wire comes rattling out as he breathes it in. "You feel that? Yeah, it's pretty good." He rumbles, as he turns towards the driver. He was pulling back his fingers, preparing the strum. "It never works, unless you really bring that violence." He sighs, as he brings his hands down.

And it explodes.

The street rattles, the glass nearby cracks, as the cacophonic wall of sound erupts all around him. Blasting both sides, the howl of the chords brings a hornets nest of concrete shards all around him. Whether or not the driver clears the blast zone around him, it was unmistakable to see the crater in the sidewalk all around Crock. The sound cuts out short, the busker's fingertips bleeding.

As he exhales, in irresistable delight.

COMBATSYS: Crock successfully hits Tekken Force Thug with Howling Hole The Whole Wall.

[      \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  ////////////////              ]
Crock            0/-------/---====|=======\====---\1Tekken Force Thug

[HEIHACHI]
He probably shouldn't have come to work today. When the busker doesn't react to the knife cut along his arm, the driver stumbles backwards in shock. His bemusement is clear when the guitar comes up and Crock starts to strum it, confusion and terror evident when he realizes, too late, what's about to happen. He finds himself ripped off his feet and smashing into a nearby street lamp, his back hitting it. He groans and sits there for a while, before a shaky hand lifts up for him to stare at.

His wedding ring reflects his bloody state, and that hand clenches into a quivering fist. Rising shakily to his feet, he begins to anxiously approach te busker, knife lifting threateningly again.

COMBATSYS: Crock endures Tekken Force Thug's Shank.

[       \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  ///////////////               ]
Crock            0/-------/--=====|=======\===----\1Tekken Force Thug

[CROCK]
When that man walks towards him, Crock licks his lips.

Rolling that tongue piercing over his cracked mouth, he watches that knife come out. "Come on, take your shot." He invites, as he begins to strum on his guitar. It only takes a few empty tangs before the sound begins to roar again. That knife comes down into his shoulder, and he winces in pain. "You a married man?" Crock hisses, as that bone-rattling sound begins to rise. He releases his guitar. "You got your next of kin settled?"

ANd hooks a hand for the man's crotch.

Should he get a grip? He'd scoop him up, and pivot over to -slam- him into his own crater once more, the earth coming up to meet him in a stone pillar. Should he get that far? He'd return his hand to the guitar, and finish with a explosive riff, grinding his guitar into a four measure barrage of stone splinters, concrete chips, and raw sonic energy. This time, he had a target. If he got it that far?

He'd launch the poor sap straight back for the limo.

COMBATSYS: Crock successfully hits Tekken Force Thug with Hot To Haughty Hollow Hammer Teeth.

[        \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  ///////                       ]
Crock            0/-------/=======|>>>>>>>\>>>>>>>\2Tekken Force Thug

COMBATSYS: Heihachi has joined the fight here as a boss!

                              HEIHACHI                              
  [ |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||| ]
                 0|---------------|---------------                


[        \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  ///////                       ]
Crock            0/-------/=======|>>>>>>>\>>>>>>>\2Tekken Force Thug

COMBATSYS: Heihachi knocks away Tekken Force Thug with Broken Toy.

                              HEIHACHI                              
  [  |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||| ]
                 0|---------------|---------======                


[        \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >                                ]
Crock            0/-------/=======|>>>>>>>\>>>>>>>\2Tekken Force Thug

[HEIHACHI]
Relief numbs all the pain the driver had felt once the knife actually sinks into the busker's shoulder. He did it. He can see it now, the promotion coming. He was going to treat her to dinner. You know. Once he recovered.

When Crock's voice shakes the driver out of his delirium, the hand gripping his crotch bringing reality into a more clearer focus than the driver had ever experienced before.

Then he's off his feet, slammed down and then launched by both pillar and sound alone straight towards the limosuine.

He's already about to lose consciousness when he finds himself suddenly and abruptly halted by Heihachi's hand grabbing him out of mid-air. "Thank --" are the last words both hear from this poor man before he's thrown clean across the street, crashing into nearby street detritus.

"What a waste of time," the old man spits out in Japanese, beginning to approach Crock without hurry. His eyes drift down to the guitar the busker carries, then back up to his face. "I can not abide such weakness." While he otherwise makes no aggressive actions, his approach is undoubtedly malicious in intent.

COMBATSYS: Tekken Force Thug takes no action.

                              HEIHACHI                              
  [  |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||| ]
                 0|---------------|---------======                


[        \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  <
Crock            0/-------/=======|

COMBATSYS: Tekken Force Thug can no longer fight.

                              HEIHACHI                              
  [  |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||| ]
                 0|---------------|---------======                


[        \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  <
Crock            0/-------/=======|

[CROCK]
Crock was not expecting that.

The mean-spirited anarchist snorts as Heihachi gives the poor guy his severance package. At the very least, it gives him a moment to grab his shoulder, the fresh blood still oozing out on the denim jacket. The pointy-haired man... Crock could feel it. The raw power was radiating off. This was danger. Real danger. More dangerous that police, than revenge, than a driver with a knife. He liked it. As he watched the driver collapse in a heap, he turns back to Heihachi. He releases his shoulder, and begins to tune his guitar a moment.

"You know, I wish this city was razed to the ground." He begins to pluck at the guitar, fingertips bleeding. There was no sound at first. But it was going up and up, piece by piece, a faint murmur as he was pluck, pluck, plucking away. "Could you imagine it? That tower, a smoldering wreck, a burning crater, every point and passion of purpose roasted down into the most pathetic ashes every piled in the history of mankind." Strum strum strum. A crescendo was building. "But you? You stop the whole world, for your own satisfaction. You ruin so many lives, for nothing more than yourself." That drone was reaching an apex, as the chords begins to go multi-facet, the instrumentals reaching a peak. He nods at Heihachi. "I hate how much I admire such an easy asshole you are." And, he pauses, the sound drifting away. A wave of sonic energy was passing around the open street. It was going to return soon, on the rebound. And in that moment, he beckons.

"Come on, waste my time with your kind of weakness."

COMBATSYS: Crock charges his next attack!

                              HEIHACHI                              
  [  |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||| ]
                 0|---------------|---------======                


[       \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  <
Crock            1/------=/=======|

[HEIHACHI]
The busker's words were enough to halt the old man's approach, and Heihachi's eyes lift briefly up to the tower when it's mentioned, his perpetually furrowed brow growing deeper by the moment. His eyes drop down towards the anarchist when the challenge is made, and his features twist into a scowl. His teeth click together, and then he steps for the man again, hands clenching into fists so tight that the knuckles can be heard cracking under the straining leather of his gloves.

"You are a boy, speaking of matters you have little business speaking of," he growls out in his native tongue, his voice rising. He takes another step forward, and then as Crock did before moments ago, abruptly moves to launch his forehead into the younger man's own.

COMBATSYS: Heihachi successfully hits Crock with Stonehead.

                              HEIHACHI                              
  [    |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||| ]
                 0|---------------|------=========                


[              \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  <
Crock            1/-======/=======|

[CROCK]
The arrogance boils off of Crock, as the iron gaze drills into him.

Bleeding and bruised, the busker stares back, letting his smirk build as his opponent comes up. Let him come in. As those fists ball up, he keeps his footwork tight. As he is growled back in Japanese, he lets Heihachi come. But in a brief glimmer, Crock realizes that Heihachi was coming too fast. The Mishima was right upon him, forehead ready. Crock decides to bring his own forehead up, to meet the other.

There is an audible crack.

The rhythm breaks, as the man stumbles backwards in his crater, almost falling away. Feedback rings out, as blood rushes out from his mouth, his skull. His skull was broken. He broke his bone. His teeth- why was his mouth tasting like blood. Everything was turning red, as his eyes bulge out. The energy within was leaving. He tightens his grip on his guitar, and leans forward -hard-. "Man, F-f-fuck you!" He sputters out, shattered teeth flying out with the blood.

And he slams his riff.

Unleashing the full might of his guitar, he begins to play a wild, manic riff. Building up and down the crescendos and appregios, a wave of stone splinters surge forward, attempting to knock Heihachi in the air. Whether he would go up or not, the busker would rock, rock, rock, the sonic energy cruising like streams with the shards of skin-shredding concrete shards. Rock, and rock, and rock.

UNtil it stops cold, the sound ceasing. Crock gasps for air as he falls over, barely keeping himself up with his guitar. Gripping the neck, he tries to ease back up into a stand...

COMBATSYS: Heihachi endures Crock's Empowered You're Harmful To Minors Mister Yuck.

                              HEIHACHI                              
  [                |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||| ]
                 0|---------------|===============                


[              \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  <
Crock            1/------=/=======|

[HEIHACHI]
After sending Crock stumbling backwards from the headbutt, Heihachi continues his approach, his chin tilted backwards and his sneer growing as the busker speaks. "You wish for this city to be razed to the ground? What have you done to accomplish -- "

The last of Heihachi's dark wisdom is drowned out by the sudden riff as stones and concrete shards rise from the ground and rip into the old man, cutting into his clothing and causing him to have to lift one of his arms to shield his eyes. The blast doesn't quite launch him as planned, but it does cause him to take a step back, gritting his teeth as blood trickles out of his ears. He takes another step forward, his foot planting into the ground, and hard.

And then Crock's focus breaks, and Heihachi takes a quick step forward and tries to deliver a powerful backhand into the busker's face. He never finishes that sentence from earlier.

COMBATSYS: Heihachi dazes Crock with Aggressive Strike!

                              HEIHACHI                              
  [                |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||| ]
                 1|------------===|===============                


[                      \\\\\\\\  <
Crock            1/=======/=======|

[CROCK]
That backhand comes, and Crock is floored.

Spinning completely around twice, he slams into the wall of the building headfirst. Crashing into a heap on the ground, he gropes around blindly, his guitar driven hard into his own leg. Limping up, he just... just reaches around. That arrogance was slapped right off his swollen, bloodied face. He might be trying to say something.

But he couldn't make his shattered jaw work

He can't help but wheeze a scream from the depths of his throat though. Blinded, dazed, and confused, the busker wildly and aggressively flails his guitar around by the neck, smashing it around on the concrete, on the ground, at the vague shape of Heihachi. All showmanship and style was gone. The wild anarchist with a chip on his shoulder was gone.

Just a reckless man, with a reckless axe swinging around.

COMBATSYS: Heihachi interrupts Fierce Strike from Crock with Heaven's Wrath.
*KNOCKED AWAY*

                              HEIHACHI                              
  [                     ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||| ]
                 1|--------=======|===============                


[                                <
Crock            2/<<<<<<</<<<<<<<|

[HEIHACHI]
The first few wild swings are evaded by Heihachi as he circles the younger man, covered in bloody cuts, his expression twisted into an angry scowl. One of the swings connect, however, smashing directly into the old man's face, already beginning to bruise.

Heihachi's hand comes up as quickly as the guitar came, hand wrapping around a part of it to grip onto, fingers trying to crush the poor instrument. A sudden pressure can be felt, and what looks like some kind of electricity courses through the old man, before his leg rises and his foot tries to smash directly into Crock's stomach, to launch the busker away -- while also attempting to keep a hand on whatever bits of the offending instrument he can.

[CROCK]
Crock manages a smile, briefly, when he feels something less solid getting hit.

That smile is hammered on his face, when the guitar based is crushed. As the electrical energy surges, the busker suddenly gets the wind blown out of him, as he takes that finishing kick to the gut. The guitar doesn't come with him, a bloody palm releasing it by the sheer force. The mangled guitar stays with Heihachi, as Crock? Well.

He comes to his descent into the same lamppost as the driver collided with, or at least, what's left of it.

He doesn't get up, bent over into a drooling, bloody heap, moaning faintly as he breathes. Barely conscious, but all too aware. He was hurt. But he was alive. But now, his fate was all in Heihachi's hands. There was silence now.

For some reason, the honking of traffic behind Heihachi's limo had gotten -very- silent.

COMBATSYS: Crock takes no action.

                              HEIHACHI                              
  [                     ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||| ]
                 1|--------=======|===============                



COMBATSYS: Crock can no longer fight.

                              HEIHACHI                              
  [                     ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||| ]
                 1|--------=======|===============                



[HEIHACHI]
The cruelty of Heihachi is at times nothing less than petty. Guitar in his hand, he lifts the instrument up, looking it over with undeserved disdain and contempt. Then he snaps the instrument in two, while approaching Crock's downed form, staring down at the man with stern eyes. He drops the instrument's remains to the groud and crouches in front of the busker, grabbing for the lower part of his face so that he can get eye contact with him. He takes a breath. A monologue is coming. They always do with men like Heihachi.

"You are clearly more competent than what remains of the Tekken Force. You wish to change the world, boy? I can make you strong. I make this offer only once. If you accept, you will follow me for as long as I remain stronger than you. Defeat me in combat? Then I will help you realize your dream." The old man's bruised face holds no expectations. If there's any hope for Mishima that Crock would accept the offer, it's certainly not coming FROM him.

[CROCK]
Not too long ago, Crock would have taken up Heihachi on his offer.

When he was thrown out, he had no where to go. No future. No ambition. No hope. Just the endless toil of a world where everyone had their place. Heihachi, at least, could ruin people's lives. Crock hated how good Heihachi was at that. His pettiness, his spite. It was admirable. Even when his broken tool of his trade was laid at his own feet, he couldn't help but be impressed. He hated him, yes. But the words of the Mishima leader spoke to his soul. Maybe some day, Crock would be stronger than him, and then, everything would go his way. It was a beautiful promise.

But it wasn't the first promise he made.

"What I follow." Crock begins, agony rattling in his throat, in his chest. "Is a power, greater than what you can ever imagine. Greater than you, and your Tekken force. I will serve no man like you, a man of the world." He lifts his head, his neck screaming at him in pain. But his... hamburger of a battered face glared back at him. "And when the time comes, this whole world will be wiped clean, and you and all your so called strength will not even be a memory. So. Go fuck yourself!" There is a great sucking sound, as he gargles up the saliva.

He doesn't even have the strength to spit at Heihachi's feet, only dribbling blood down his chin in pathetic weakness.

[HEIHACHI]
"I want you to remember this moment," seethes Heihachi, releasing Crock's face and rising up to his feet to stare down at the man. "When you denied me." Whatever the case, it was clear that Heihachi underestimates the younger man, as his foot then comes down on the hand he recalled the guitar strumming from earlier. He puts pressure down, pressure that would break a lesser man's bones, but not enough to destroy a man's hand completely. "If the power you serve commands such weakness," pontificates the old man in his trademark growl, "Then it best remain unnamed!"

Once his foot rises, he turns to approach his limosuine, smashing the windshield in the rest of the way with the blade of his hand. He gets into the driver's seat and peels off, leaving the original pilot in the street.

The pilot would later be found in the hospital, his wife by his bedside. She would scold him on the life of violence, and he'd later come to work for her father, a shipping magnate known for integrity. He would father many children, and never get into another fight in his life. A happier ending than Heihachi and Crock can hope for, perhaps.

Log created on 11:17:15 03/26/2020 by Crock, and last modified on 16:36:59 03/26/2020.