I spent a good portion of the afternoon looking at Tekken 6 trailers and looking at characters and backstory and I wanted to write for it again. Man .. Steve has such a shitty accent .. I bet a North London accent would've been a lot better, though I can't remember what he sounded like in Tekken 4... anyway! Have some Hwoarang-centric fic. =D

Title: Roll and Choke
Rating: PG for language and violence
Series: Tekken
Warnings: Spoilers for Tekken 6 and specifically what's become canon for the game, concerning Jin's backstory in the game.



Hwoarang grunted painfully as he stumbled to his knees, his throat scratched raw by thirst and frequent coughing. He had no idea what day it was - it could have been the same day or weeks later, for all he knew. Roughly, he was yanked to his feet and a pistol was jabbed sharply into his mid-back, prompting him to continue walking forward, despite the fact the rough cloth pulled around his eyes prevented him from seeing where these steps were leading him. The only thing he could hear aside from his pain-addled breaths were the controlled exhales of the four men "escorting" him, and nothing else. Nothing to help explain why he was suddenly pulled from the streets like a bad tooth and taken to wherever the hell this was.

Not that he had gone quitely. But the men that had abducted him were prepared, and he was subdued with one tranq dart that had enough serum in it to take down an elephant. When Hwoarang had regained consciousness, he was blindfolded and bound by his hands, in a small room that was barely big enough to comfortably keep him sitting down. He hadn't taken to this lightly, demanding for the first few hours what the hell was going on, as loudly as he could.

It only took a few beatings for it to sink in that he wasn't going to be able to have the slim chance of fighting his way out of this.

The slow creak of what he imagined were two huge doors snapped him out of a painful reverie. His head was ringing from the constant headache he suffered from lack of sleep, food, and un-cracked ribs, but he could hear the slight shuffling of what had to be at least a hundred men. Where the hell was he? Despite the blindfold still being around his eyes, Hwoarang's eyes moved from side to side, as if trying to "sense" what he was now neck-deep in, and how badly he was screwed. Abruptly, he was shoved to his knees, which were exposed and sporting varying degrees of cuts and bruises due to the ripped holes in his once new jeans, and he hissed in pain.

"We've brought him as per your request, Boss," one of the men said in Japanese, and Hwoarang's blossoming knowledge of the language could only pick out "request" and "boss". Boss? Had he pissed off the boss' son in a fight? Punk must've deserved it, if that was the case.

"Remove the blindfold," came the order, from a voice that was low, devoid of emotion, and somewhat husky.

Hwoarang grimaced as the blindfold was whisked off fast and hard enough to leave an invisible line of white-hot pain. His brown eyes struggled to function, his field of vision blurring for painfully long moments before slowly settling and the young Korean was able to see that he was inside of a huge room, surrounded by grunts in sharp black suits. The ensignia on their lapels startled Hwoarang - he had seen that symbol before, on --

Roughly, a hand grabbed his bright red hair (which was now dirty with mud and dust) and yanked his head upwards, forcing Hwoarang's eyes to meet those of Jin Kazama. "It's been a while," Jin murmured, his voice no longer tinged with that tragic hero whinging, but instead, a powerfully dark edge. "Hwoarang."

Hwoarang swallowed tightly, trying to wet his throat, but it was only serving to further rub it raw. "K-...Kaz...ama.. t'hell ...?"

Jin's thin lips curled into a smirk, and he kneeled down, his grip on Hwoarang's hair still as tight as a vice-grip. "Things are different now ... but I didn't want to leave you behind, after you go to such lengths to follow me. I'm going to keep you around... as a pet." Before Hwoarang could balk at the statement, Jin captured his mouth in a bruisingly hard kiss. It was ended quickly, and Jin rose to his feet, giving the signal to his henchmen to pull Hwoarang back to his feet. "Take him to the prepared room ... see that he's cleaned up."

"Yes, sir!"

Hwoarang growled. "I'll get you for this, Kazama!" It hurt like hell to talk, let alone yell, but Hwoarang wasn't about to fall without a fight.

Jin merely smirked. "You're nothing. Soon you'll realize it."

"You bas -- argh!" Hwoarang yelled in pain as he was suddenly clubbed in the back, and fell into a crumpled heap. "Piece .. piece'a .. shit ... you're even .. more of a jackass than ... than you were ... before. Hah .. can't even do it yourself? Got someone t'piss for you too?"

Jin was the one to growl this time, and grabbed Hwoarang's collar, yanking him to his feet. "You don't know when to quit. Do you even know the power I have now?"

"Peh," Hwoarang answered, spitting on Jin's cheek. "Unless it .. somehow made ya strong enough t'beat me, I don't give a shit."

Several of the Mishima Zaibatsu grunts had their pistols out and ready to shoot Hwoarang's head off, but Jin raised a hand, staying them. He returned his focus to Hwoarang, who was starting to smirk smugly. "I'll take care of you myself."

Hwoarang pushed himself closer so they were nose-to-nose, his painful pants intermingling with Jin's partially-controlled breaths. "Bring it, Kazama."

=TBC?=

Author's Note: Oh it feels good to write Tekken again. I can't wait for Tekken 6 to come out .. whenever it does .... *giddy!*