Wiping the sweat off his brow, Ranma stepped over to the house the locals had pointed him to. According to the locals this Yoga and Ki master Dhalsim lived here with his wife. He had raised his hand to knock when he felt a presence off to his left. Turning his head his jaw dropped slightly,
Under the shade of a tree a man sat cross-legged with his eyes closed, tattered yellow shorts and a necklace of skulls on his dark skinned body, seemingly on the verge of being starved to death. However what made his jaw drop was the fact that the man floated above the ground, a visible white aura about him. Gulping slightly Ranma turned to walk to the man, the glow fading as the man floated there. When he was five feet away the man finally lowered himself down to the ground.
“Welcome young man.” He said, opening his pupil-less eyes. “I am Dhalsim. Tell me what brings you here and share with me your story Stranger.”
0---0
Lined up on the platform two rows of men stood, nearly shoulder to shoulder as the aircraft landed, each man standing as straight as an arrow, their uniforms unblemished and unwrinkled. The craft settled upon the ground before a hatch opened, a stairway descending to touch the floor. Soon after four men stepped out of the craft and assumed a formation as they walked pasted the rows of men at attention.
Flanking the lead man’s left side was a six and a half foot tall black man, his short hair in cornrows and his fists taped up, boxing gloves hanging at his waist. He wore blue shorts, a white shirt with the sleeves torn off and a blue tank top, brown boots clacking against the floor as the four men walked through an open doorway. He was Balrog, considered the weakest and lowest ranked of the four, but the fact that he walked with them was enough to show one fact: he was tough. Three Shadowloo members once tried to prove otherwise, each one standing over six feet in height, the tallest two inches taller than Balrog himself.
Each one now left the room when the heavyweight boxer entered, no longer having teeth to swallow. Now no one questioned his strength; they had learned to fear him.
Two of the bases technicians plastered themselves to the wall as the four walked by, the man flanking on the right side barley batting at eyelash, the snake tattoo on his six foot two body enough to warn them of who he was. Vega, adorned in blue and yellow pants, white socks and brown shoes, his other telling features being the three claws on his left hand, each a foot long, and the shiny mask on his face, his long blond hair tied in a braid. Once a man in Italy had claimed to be the most beautiful man in the world until Vega paid him a visit.
He had enjoyed carving his face off before licking the blood clean from his claw. Only a few did not fear the Spanish assassin; among them the men he walked with, as another door opened.
The four stepped into the elevator, the rear man ducking slightly to get in. Standing at seven feet five inches tall the bald headed Sagat was a man best described as a mobile mountain of muscle whose body bore the scars of wars past. His eye torn apart by an upstart, Go Hibiki, a man he swiftly killed soon after. One on the back of his thigh told the tale of a hungry tiger seeking a meal. Sagat could tell you the tale of any scar on his body, and enjoyed telling people how he broke the neck of that animal. But the man, clad in red trimmed blue shorts, his fists and feet taped and a patch over his right eye, had one scar that told a tale of humiliation and defeat.
The one on his chest, left there by a Japanese upstart named Ryu. Of the four he was the least feared, but he commanded absolute respect; he kept some honour, even in his never-ending quest to avenge his loss.
The elevator stopped, it’s doors opening as the four resumed their march through another hallway, the lead man’s face in a seemingly never-ending scowl. A red cap adorned his head, matching the red military uniform he wore, metallic silver-coloured pads on each shoulder, forearm and shin. A cloak hung about his six foot two frame as another door opened to reveal his command room. The man with pupil-less eyes sat down upon his chair as it spun about to face a large screen, the other men moving to stand behind him.
Beyond all of the gathered men he was the most feared, the most hated and the most loathed. He was the single most powerful man of them all.
M. Bison.
The screen flicked to life, his leading scientist, Senoh, appearing on the display. “Is it ready?” Bison said simply.
“Sir.” Senoh responded. “They are complete.” The screen changed over to a humanoid figure, a number of statistics appearing on the screen. “Our new Monitor Androids, more human looking than our previous versions and more lifelike, the images and data they receive is beamed back directly to headquarters for review.” The screen changed again, the balding and aging scientist coming back into view. “Our field tests have proven to be very exciting! In fact half of our older models have already been replaced. We will have the rest of the older models phased out by next week.”
“Good. And our candidate’s chances at the next election?” Bison replied.
“The current President, as you know, is not doing so well in the polls.” Senoh said. “We’ve also decided to add a new scandal in, just to be sure. By the time voting starts he’ll be able to waltz right on in!”
“Excellent.”
“Yes sir, but not all of our news is good.”
“The bombing of our base in the Amnat Charoen Province?” Bison asked. “That is where the Psycho Drive was being tested.”
“Yes, the damage to the Drive is not irreparable, but it has set us back by about three months. We’ve moved it to our Si Sa Ket base, just to be sure.” Senoh replied. “As for how that base was found, we don’t know but we suspect it has something to do with the new alliance.”
“Alliance? I’ve heard nothing of it.” Bison said as his scowl deepened.
“I’ve just learned of it myself, the report came in this morning. A union of Interpol, the American Military and MI6, with their best agents leading the investigations.” Senoh said as the first picture came up, a Chinese woman in a blue dress. “Interpol Agent, Chun-Li. Nationality: China.”
“Li... Li...” Bison said to himself. “Ah, Chow-Li’s daughter!” He spat out, remembering the man. He had infiltrated Shadowloo for far longer and far deeper than anyone else ever had. He had to admit, he had a small amount of respect for him and his abilities. Chow-Li had taken a special interest in his origins, tracing a path back to an aristocratic General of Nazi Germany that Chow-Li believed to be the father of Shadowloo’s lord and master.
He had taken great pleasure in beating the man to death with his own arm. The picture on the screen changed to a military man with a flattop hairstyle.
“Next up, US Air Force Pilot, Lieutenant William Guile. Nationality: United States of America.” Senoh’s voice said through the speakers.
“The plot thickens. Barley.” Bison spat out. Why did this man want to kill him again? Did he kill his mother? Sister? Best friend? His dog?
Bison had a lot of people who wanted to kill him; he couldn’t be expected to keep track of them all!
“Yes, but it truly thickens with this next one. It took me by surprise.” Senoh said as it changed to a blond haired woman with her hair in long pigtails, a scar on her left cheek.
“The Killer Bee?” Bison spat out, a rare bout of emotion crossing his face.
“Cammy White. Nationality: England.” Senoh reported. “According to our reports she was found on MI6’s doorstep soon after her disappearance. She has amnesia. She does not recall being a Shadowloo assassin or anything else before arriving at MI6, however her subconscious must remember something. She thinks she’ll learn her past through you.”
“Interesting, but I’ve little interest in that failure.” Bison responded, his eyes narrowing. “Even if she was once my favourite...” As much as he kidded himself he did miss his dolls. Even insane dictators had sex drives. “We’ll recover her if she seems useful, but for now we have other things to worry about.” Bison continued. “The men I’m looking for?”
“Little, nothing and less.” Senoh replied. “Akuma still hasn’t been seen. We had a lead on him, up until he managed to sink an entire island. Since then we’ve been unable to account for his whereabouts. He is a hermit, so I doubt he’s in any populated areas.
“We’ve had better luck with Ryu, but we haven’t found his exact location. We believe he is either in Japan or wandering about China. We cannot be sure.
“We were about to scout out your new interest, Ranma Saotome, however he has up and disappeared without a trace. We think he decided to go on a training journey, but he’s told no one of his destination. As of now we’re scouring Japan for him, but he’s been gone for over three weeks, we cannot even confirm he is in Japan.”
“Events are not working out in our favour.” Bison muttered. “Find at least one of them. I don’t care how you do it, just do it. If you need to fly an android to the MOON to do so then do it. Am I clear?”
“Yes sir.”
“Any other reports.”
“No sir.”
“Then you are dismissed.” Bison said as the screen shut off. “As are you three. You know your duties, go do them.” Each of the men behind him bowed slightly before turning to leave, the door opening to let them pass before closing behind them. “Psycho Power...” Bison muttered as he pressed a button, three images lighting of the screen. A static filled picture of a dark skinned man in a black gi made up the first image, a Japanese warrior in a white gi the second and a Japanese youth in Chinese clothing the last.
“My Psycho Power grows so great my own body will be unable to contain it soon.” The dictator muttered to himself. “But this shell is disposable. So long as my essence can be moved to another body it matters not what form I take. But my form must be powerful. Strong. It must be able to channel Psycho Power.
“I know Akuma and Ryu are able to do it, either one would be ideal for my purposes. This ‘Ranma’ may have been able to work as well, but until I have the data on him I cannot be assured. Until then I must remain in this shell. And wait.”
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(Posted Tue, 24 Apr 2007 07:47)
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