1. Chapter 1 (1/2)

disclaimer: tekken and tekken characters are the property of namco limited. this is nonprofit fan fiction.

timeline: some time after tekken 5 (2008).

nevermore

by salysha

"i was born in jordan, 1973. the birth certificate says syracuse, new york. and that's not exactly the year, either. figures..."

raven pushed the controls, and the shuffling noise of the recorder stopped. he looked around the room, bare and empty except for his bags. he

eathed in and resumed recording.

"the lies started early on.

"the start had promise of something else: diplomacy. makings of a cosmopolite. rootlessness. the ubiquitous, fated feeling of not belonging. the privileges of that life left behind a cacophony of languages and an ambassador's son at large.

"somewhere down the line, the privileges of that life became an encum

ance. the mixed cultures, a recalcitrant dissonance. there was no direction, no grand design, until at the age of eleven, we landed in japan. my fate was sealed that day. we didn't stay long, but once i returned at fifteen, my path was laid out for me. you should know i was never happier.

"being the outsider gives you a certain outlook. it is a state of mind that never leaves you. i was the de facto outsider wherever i went; thus, mingling with a culture that never took me in didn't alienate me. no language skill could ever

ing me closer to the new country; my studies were for my benefit alone, not for pleasing anyone else. the fulcrum that shaped my design was practicing in one of the three remaining schools of ninjutsu, well hidden out of the public eye; no one in the west would ever had even heard of those.

"no one has been admitted before or since, and even my scholarship remains a carefully forgotten secret. i was the shadow outside all records. i saw my parents last at seventeen, and i've never seen them since.

"the ritual was a contrast to my otherwise unremarkable life. two heated blades, cut diagonally across the face. though an excruciating and unnecessary act of cruelty, i still chose to undertake it of my own free will, and i still withstood it. the sign of my secretive training, and the most blatant proof of it. the blatantly private symbol of a training that never leaves you, never lets you forget what you committed to. privately, i feel it stands for the same as my service in the agency."

raven ran his fingers along the scars. they had stopped aching years after the burning and healed to smooth edges, but the fierce burning was itself a scar committed to memory.

"my shift to espionage was arranged as inconspicuously as with the other agents. i was approached with what i perceived as premeditation. i was not the only american on nihon soil, but i was the best candidate. someone with my abilities, lack of connections, and familiarity with cultures made me a prime candidate for serving my country, and i fell for it. we did ill deeds for the greater good and the protection of our allies. it only made sense.

"i am now thirty-six. i believe a man should have a conscience by then. i never questioned that what we were doing was right. never, until..."

raven's train of thought wavered. he released the pause button and tried again.

"i don't know why it bothers me—"

raven paused and paced. the irritation gnawed at him somewhere deep and unreachable. unyielding, persistent. the repentance always pursued the same cycle: the irritation dwindled, became unreachable, and left behind insurmountable regret.

"of course i know why it bothers me! i had no problem doing what we did, as long as i believed it was right. there was a job to do—someone had to do it. but that last job was…not like that. we had no business being there, moral or juristic. you should have honor.

"you have to understand: i believed we were doing things right. i genuinely believed that." pain shook raven. he quelled the slight tremor in his voice. he rasped.

"i should have known better, but for all my education and knowledge, i couldn't see. through my actions, i participated in making bad things worse. i should have stepped up, but i didn't. self-criticism took long to develop, but it is done now. i have lately found traces of selfishness i wasn't aware of, but it will be to little avail. this is a life you never leave behind.

"kill many, and you're a conqueror. spy once, and you're a marked man. there is no retirement—you go with your cement boots on. nothing so transparent, of course. you pay a price that, at first glance, isn't much at all, and at a later glance, is everything. i have no name, no family. no life of my own.

"i participated in a king of iron fist tournament once, through a mission. it was almost a vacation. i met another assassin there—nina. she won't last. she enjoys it too much—i've seen it. you can never enjoy it. i stopped even tolerating it, and now i'm through.

"no more."

raven threw the recorder on top of his bags and turned to inspect the apartment one last time.

"i always knew you'd slip," a sly voice came from behind raven.

raven turned, though he didn't need to see the newcomer to recognize him. "johnny," he said with a voice of black velvet.

holding a handgun aimed at raven, johnny walker stood at the door, accompanied by field operatives. the agents held little regard for the operatives, likening them to cannon fodder, but the guns they were holding were just as real as the one in johnny's hand, and just as surely aimed at raven.

"did you really think you could escape? that there was no surveillance off hours, at home?"

"i must've been mistaken."

"mistaken," johnny imitated. "doesn't matter. a shame to lose you like this, raven. would've been more glorious to go out on a mission."