Terry Bogard

Worlds Collide: A Merged Universe Superhero Roleplay

_{Been fightin’ longer than I can remember… I’d like to say I’m not a violent man. That trouble just has a way of findin’ me. But I’d be lyin’. Doesn’t matter where I go, how far I run, death’s always waitin’. Just not for me. ’Cause I ain’t no hero. I’m…}

THE UNCANNY WOLVERINE #1

_{Gastown Bar, British Columbia, Canada | Evening}

◀ ♫ ▶

POW!

DING!

DING!

DING!

“Ladies and gentlemen! Please give a round of applause for the winner of the bout! All the proceedings will be given to the winners of today’s betting game!”

This had been Logan’s life for over the last decade. Just when he thought he could ignore living a violent life entirely, his bestial instincts continued to push him forward and drove him into competing in the Canadian underground fighting scene. So far, he’d made a name for himself within the business, his special gifts allowing him to win matches after matches and making a decent amount of money for both himself and his darling back home. Despite vowing to lead a tranquil life, he wasn’t planning on retiring just yet. He’d been fighting against his animalistic tendencies his entire life, yet overtime, he came to learn that it was simply impossible to erase them completely, as it’d been embedded into his genetics since the moment he was born. So instead of using those tendencies to hunt and claim one’s life like he used to, he instead opted for something far less harmful, even though he sometimes ended up crippling his opponents due to what was hidden beneath that short, hirsute exterior.

It took time for half of the crowd to warm up to Logan, yet despite their eventual support, he didn’t quite buy what they were saying. He was clearly nonchalant, just blowing the cigar glued between his crusty lips, not even bothering himself to celebrate his triumph with his so-called supporters. He knew, deep down, that they were only in for the money, just as much as he was. They cheered on him and rooted for him solely because he was the best at what he did, and that he could help them win the betting games, not that they really liked him, anyway.

The feral competitor watched, as the officials dragged his opponent’s limp figure out of the mock-up stage situated at the back of the spacious bar. He could sense that the man’s heart was still pounding under that toned chest, albeit weaker than how it was prior to the final blow he gave him. He could hear some of the attendants legitimately wishing that he could’ve finished his opponent right there and then, though he’d (inwardly) made it clear that he would’ve never claimed another human being ever again. Just when he thought he could’ve picked the cash and gone back home already, another announcement—and probably the last one—was addressed.

“Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce you to the final challenger!” the announcer initiated over the mic, as an Asian man in a Taekwondo uniform stepped into the stage. Given his enormous size, he seemed like he could give Logan a run for his money. “Hailing all the way from Seoul, South Korea, please welcome the undisputed national Taekwondo champion, Hwa Rang Ree!!”

As if to emphasize his immense capability, one of the officials hurled a brick in the direction of Hwa Rang, in which the latter reciprocated by tearing the brick in half with just a high-angled, axe kick. The crowd was jaw-dropped, mesmerized by the display of velocity and raw strength. Finally, they thought, somebody could hit as hard as the undefeated Wolverine himself. As he soaked in the roaring support from half of the astonished crowd, Hwa Rang closed the distance, tightening the black belt around his hips and taunting Logan.

“Oi, shortie! Think you’re so tough, huh? Well, you better give it up now ’cause you’ll be facing the man who’s gone face-to-face with Richard Dragon.”

Logan didn’t seem intimidated. He’d faced karateka who could shoot fireballs and kung fu masters with lightning-fast kicks before, so a Taekwondo champion shouldn’t be any different, should it? He merely grinned, his sharp canine bare. “Wanna try your luck?” he taunted back, slowly cracking his knuckles. “Bold of ya to say that to one o’ the big boys. I can beat you with just two or three moves at best.”

“Heh. We’ll see about that, wimp!”

DING!

DING!

And the announcer rang the brass bell gripped by his hand. Both Logan and Hwa Rang circled each other, stances assumed, waiting for the right moment to maul each other. The crowd watched in anticipation, beginning to place their bets as the betting game started. They were fairly divided, with half of the crowd voicing their support for the defending champion, while the rest rooted for the challenger to break the champion’s impressive winning streak.

After being in countless battlegrounds, Logan knew it was better to appear weak when he was strong to give his opponent a false sense of security. So when Hwa Rang bombarded him with alternating kicks, Logan decided to let them connect with his bare torso, absorbing the impact of the hardhitting lower limbs. He was yet to topple on his back, still capable of withstanding each and every swift kick thrown in his direction. He was more surprised that his opponent—a flatscan—hadn’t even broken his bones yet after his feet grazed against his skin, given the strongest metal contained underneath. Perhaps, the Taekwondo champion was truly as powerful as they made it out to be. Growing frustrated, Hwa Rang boosted the strength of his swinging lower limbs before turning around to deliver a leaping side kick, his bare ankle firmly knocking the Wolverine’s dark temple.

WHAM!

The hammering ankle managed to force his eyes shut, his wrinkled face scrunching and the cigar between his parting teeth hurling out of his mouth. Logan staggered a few feet back, feigning unsteady as he dropped himself on one knee. Hwa Rang frowned and gnashed his teeth, slanted eyes glaring as he approached his kneeling opponent.

“Aigoo! Why won’t you fight back!?” he protested, then kicked Logan’s ribs, the tip of his foot faltering his lowered form completely. Logan fell on his torso, the impact erupting a loud, metallic thud across the ligneous floor. “How did you keep winning? Are you even the same Wolverine they told me?”

Although barely harmed, Logan flinched, his toned arm around his ribs as he attempted to pick himself up. He pressed his free palm atop the floor, letting his hand support his entire weight. Little did Hwa Rang know, Logan had intended to retaliate when he least expected, and it appeared that his turn was now when his opponent had started to get a little too confident for his own good.

When the prideful Taekwondo champion raised his leg then slammed the back of his foot against his back, the Wolverine—to everybody’s surprise—reflexively held him by his calf, already assuming a crouching position. Hwa Rang gasped and widened his eyes, completely shocked. As he rose out of his prior position, Logan delivered a devastating elbow smack across his opponent’s leading leg, the metallic impact audibly crushing his bones.

CLANK!

CRACK!

“Agh… Ssi-bal!”

Once Logan released his grip, Hwa Rang set his injured leg down, holding his thigh in pain. He stood unsteadily, barely able to move, let alone retaliate now that one of his two greatest assets had been fractured and disjointed. Like most Taekwondo practitioners, one of Hwa Rang’s greatest strengths was his kicks, and Logan—having mastered a wide variety of martial arts disciplines known to man—was aware of this.

Now that he’d been robbed of his ability to deliver devastating kicks, Hwa Rang was left with no choice but to utilize his fists to good use. And it showed. Once again, like most Taekwondo practitioners, Hwa Rang wasn’t taught to refine his fists to perfection, so by the time he flailed Logan over and over, none of his flails managed to connect. Instead, it only seemed like he was flailing the air the whole time, while the Wolverine continued to step left and right out of harm’s way.

When Hwa Rang deployed a sloppy right cross, Logan caught him by surprise, as he held him by the wrist, his opponent’s knuckles mere inches away from the bridge of his nose. With a sharp snap, he squashed and twirled his wrist, bringing his unfurled hand below his mandible.

“Arghhh—!!”

The rabid Wolverine continued to tighten his grasp, applying bigger and harder pressure to the already damaged forearm. He gauged his opponent’s reaction, his oriental features wincing and his larger fingers twitching uncontrollably. He couldn’t say he enjoyed the look on his visage, but in a no holds barred match like this, he had to give his all to gain an upper hand, even if it meant wounding his opponent with the certain appendages stowed under both of his hands. Of course, he wouldn’t unsheath his secret weapons, unless somebody decided to bring a knife to a fisticuffs. So instead, he pulled Hwa Rang closer, their foreheads collided, a staggering headbutt given.

CLANK!

THUD!

The Taekwondo practitioner was stunned, red fluids making their ways out of his nostrils. He covered his visage upon impact, awkwardly wobbling back with hunched shoulders. The roar of the crowd intensified, both excitement and frustration filling the atmosphere. The Wolverine’s die-hard supporters rejoiced, hopping and flailing the air, as they urged him to finish his opponent. Meanwhile, those who’d counted on Hwa Rang were enraged—some booed aloud, while the rest just walked out of the bar before the outcome was even determined.

As for Logan, he couldn’t bother. Despite the encouragement from his supporters, he still refused to kill. Instead, he tried to end the bout with a sweeping leg, his smaller figure ducking beneath the gigantic challenger. The sweep collided with the outside of his calf, toppling Hwa Rang on his back with a loud smack! With one hand and one leg injured severely, the Taekwondo practitioner laid still for the next couple of minutes, struggling to recover from all the attacks. He blinked his eyes a few times, his vision blurry, unable to keep them opened for a bit longer. Rushing into the mock-up stage, the referee initiated the count, all while checking on the laid competitor’s condition.

“One… Two…”

Still no reaction was elicited. The referee continued the count, reaching “five” and “six,” yet despite the loud cue, the best that Hwa Rang could give was a mere twitch of his fingers. It was palpable that he was starting to black out. The referee lifted his healthy arm, trying to make him react to the gesture, but to no avail. He did it again and again, and still no signs of consciousness were found. Instead, Hwa Rang’s arm continued to slip away over and over, lacking the strength and energy it once had. As the count reached “ten,” the referee stood and gestured at the announcer to ring the brass bell, putting the bout to a halt. The winner had been decided.

DING!

DING!

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have our winner!” the announcer stated over the mic, then strode towards the center of the stage, his echo slightly overwhelmed by the concoction of cheers and boos. “And he is still your undisputed champion. The Untamed, The Uncanny… WOLVERINE!!”

Standing back up, Logan cracked and stretched his neck, hissing and letting his canines bare, not bothering to give the rioting crowd a look. Love him or hate him, they could say all they liked about his performance, as long as he was coming home with a monster-sized cash. As he lazily strolled towards the unconscious Hwa Rang, Logan spewed a small drop of saliva onto his visage, glaring at him with a hint of mockery.

“Rookie…”

He turned around, then pulled an unused cigar and a lighter out of the pocket of his trousers, clicking the lighter on and lighting the cigar’s tip until it became hot red. He stowed and sucked the lit cigar between his crusty lips, silently absorbing the crowd’s restless roar. With his nonchalance at full display, the Wolverine combed through the crowd and shoved plenty of attendants aside, much to their exasperation. The bruises on his face and torso were miraculously cleared, and he was ready to make his way out of the mock-up stage.

──────── 《 ⊗ 》 ────────

Logan didn’t plan on leaving the bar just yet, even as the bout was finally concluded. Sporting back his dark leather jacket and white undershirt, the feral midget approached the counter, intending to savor some alcoholic beverage before he could call it a day. He took a seat and tidied his jacket’s shriveled fabric, about the same time the owner of the bar closed in on him from across the counter separating them.

“Got anything to drink?” the owner asked, his voice one of familiarity.

“Beer, please,” Logan simply answered, then as the owner left to prepare his order, continued to savor the cigar held by the corners of his lips, the emitted foggy trail thickening and clouding over his head.

He paid attention to his surroundings, his heightened senses always on alert, as if believing that threat was always around the corner. Who could blame him, after all? For all his life, Logan had been fighting and getting himself into the hottest conflicts possible, having survived both physical and mental torments that he couldn’t even quite remember anymore. It left him with such a huge mental scar that he decided to isolate himself in the middle of nowhere, avoiding troubles as best he could. It couldn’t help when the entire world had been witnessing a great resurgence of superpowered individuals—something that even he, a mutant, wasn’t certain when the trend started to peak and whether or not this was only a fad.

When his vigilant eyes fell upon the wall-mounted TV perching by the other end of the bar, Logan couldn’t be any truer. Most of today’s news reports revolved around several names who’d been making waves over the past year due to their otherworldly gifts. There was a spiderling combating a humanoid shark, a so-called Nordic lightning deity preventing a plane from crashing, and even what seemed like a mysterious virus plaguing the entirety of Capitol City where a certain ‘Green Lantern’ patrolled. Every story felt like it was stripped out of pages of comic book magazines, and each passing day felt like a major event worth catching up.

However, despite the positives of having men and women in their masks and capes guarding the entirety of the world, there were (also) talks about regulations—how these gifted individuals (especially mutants, inhumans, and metahumans) needed to be reduced into something more… manageable. This was further emphasized by today’s headline: the announcement of Sentinel One developed by Lex Corp. Logically, Logan was supposed to be concerned since he was part of the specific population this machine might be targeting, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to care, nevertheless. He thought the world out there was full of all kinds of crap and nonsense, thanks to the flawed, predatory system that continued to prey on those weak enough to support themselves. The world needed changes, but they certainly wouldn’t come from him. Because the last time he did try to make a genuine change, the same system failed him, treating him no less than a breathing, walking weapon to help the government win the fight against the Axis. And given the (mostly) peaceful solitary he’d been living in over the past couple of years, being a saviour was the last thing that’d ever cross his mind.

Yeah, who the fuck gives a shit whatcha do out there? The world ain’t gonna change. I’m just gonna mind my own business.

But perhaps, life had other plans for him. By the time he was going to savor the beer served, somebody had shoved his head from behind, close to making him choke on his own beverage. Logan let out a faint cough, wiped his moistened lips, then looked past his shoulder, discovering that the culprit was none other than the enormous man he fought beforehand. After having half of his limbs palpably restructured, Hwa Rang had to walk around with a crutch propping his unsteady frame, the bridge of his nose bandaged and his injured arm held by an arm sling. He reciprocated Logan’s apparent—or perhaps, feigned—obliviousness with a glare, a furrow drawn by his eyebrows.

“Oi, gae-sae-kki!” he exclaimed, scoffing the smaller man with the Korean equivalent of ‘son of a bitch.’ “Don’t lie, I know you were cheating. You used steroids, didn’t you?”

“’Roids?” Logan snorted. “I dunno what you’re talkin’ about.”

“Of course, you know!” he continued to accuse, pushing his shoulder. “Nobody can hit as hard as you did. Just admit it!”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. You ain’t got no proof that I did. Besides, the hell would I lie?” Logan argued nonchalantly. “Just face it, bub, I won and you lost. And I bet you fair and square.”

“Urgh… Ssi—”

Then, Hwa Rang stifled, right before another cuss word could leave his mouth. His mind immediately took him back to when the bout was still going. He remembered how Logan absorbed all his kicks with relative ease—how he was barely battered after having to endure rounds after rounds of stiff, punishing attacks. When his foot grazed against the Wolverine’s torso and temple, it felt like he was kicking the surface of a metal, instead of flesh and bone. With that in mind, he came to one hypothesis.

“Ah… I see now,” Hwa Rang muttered. “You’re a mutant, aren’t you?”

“’Scuse me?” Logan questioned, his keen eyebrow arching, neither admitting nor denying.

“So, it is true,” Hwa Rang said, quickly drawing a conclusion. “That means, I have every right to kill you right now.”

Reflexively, the Taekwondo champion revealed a higonokami from beneath his gi, his healthy hand unfolding the traditional weapon. He attempted to charge and thrust the knife in his opponent’s direction, trying to exert all his energy despite his crippled condition. Logan, having read Hwa Rang’s every move, quickly stood out of his seat to (finally) reveal his own secret weapon: three metal appendages that struck out of his knuckles with a loud…

SNIKT!

The Wolverine turned around and swung his claws backhanded, their sharp, pointy tips grazing against Hwa Rang’s functioning forearm. A wild burst of red kicked out of his wrist, the higonokami tossed away. In a fit of rage, Logan charged in his opponent’s direction, harshly pinning him against the wall behind. He gripped his throat tightly, lifting and pointing the tips of the Adamantium claws at the other bruiser.

“Jugeullae!?” Logan snapped with an accented voice, threatening the Korean man with the Korean equivalent of ‘do you want to die!?’ Hwa Rang swallowed, now legitimately frightened, his crippled frame quivering. “You’ve broken two arms and a leg. Would be a shame if I gotta cut your—”

BANG!

Logan’s words were cut short when a loud banging noise exploded, a miniscule hole forming close to Hwa Rang’s dark temple around the wall. He darted his gaze past his shoulder, finding the owner of Gastown Bar closing in on them with a hunting rifle in his hands. The owner pointed the foggy muzzle in his direction, his visage firm.

“Get your hand off that man, mutie,” the owner reprimanded. “You’re not welcomed here.”

Logan was already too exasperated to talk. For a moment, his gaze leaped between the owner, Hwa Rang, and the rest of Gastown Bar, noticing that he’d drawn unwanted attention from other patrons. Thankfully, the bar wasn’t as bustling as it was when the impromptu tournament was being hosted, so not many people would’ve watched him tear the bigger bruiser from limb to limb. Not that he planned on doing so, anyway.

Eventually, Logan did as the owner told him, but not before chopping the barrel of his rifle with his claws like a hot knife through butter. The owner gasped, jaw-dropped, as he tightened his grip on the now decapitated rifle and distanced himself from the clawed berserker. Hwa Rang slid to the floor in a sitting position, wincing in pain, all while the rabid Wolverine withdrew his appendages.

SNAKT!

Holes were formed around his knuckles as the result of the metal appendages being drawn out, though they patched themselves up in less than a minute. Logan rummaged through his pocket, revealing a stack of notes banded together with a strap. He pulled just a couple of Canadian bucks, then shoved them against the owner’s clavicle, prompting the latter to hesitantly pick the cash the Wolverine had earned through the prior bout with trembling hands.

“Keep the change,” Logan told the owner with a scowl. “I ain’t comin’ back here.”

For a few seconds, Logan refused to move his glaring eyes away from the owner, given what the latter had just told him beforehand. As much as he couldn’t care less about the current political climate, he did take slight offense whenever some flatscans chose to refer to him with such a demeaning term.

Once the front door was reached, Logan took a moment to flick his jacket, then retracted his cigar away from his lips, blowing a scoffing puff of smoke towards the owner and Hwa Rang. He might not fully realize it, but as he walked out of Gastown Bar, a tall, mysterious figure had been observing his every move from the deepest corner of the building. Said figure was an equally feral man with long auric hair and sideburns, his cowboy hat casting shadows upon the upper half of his face. He grinned at Logan from afar, his fang-like canines revealed.

“Not bad, runt,” the ferocious blonde mumbled, almost to himself. “Talk ’bout embracin’ yer inner beast. Ya gonna hafta to do that one day.”

As he took the last sip of his alcoholic beverage, the ferocious figure readjusted his furred coat, then left his table, seemingly tailing the smaller Wolverine.

FIN.

World of Light: the Endless Now (The Ultimate Videogame Crossover)

Level 9 Terry Bogard

_{EXP : 88/90 (+4 pts.) ^{LEVEL UP!}
Location : Esaka’s Low Tier and Pools
Word Count : 3,596}

“Oh, hey there, you two!” Terry welcomed Sakura and Amaterasu from afar, giving them a big wave and trying as best as he could to maintain a bright demeanor. “Yeah, no cap, the explosion was as awful as it sounds. I do think it was a tad bit fishy. Everything from the Jacks being sent there and the chopper that came after indicated that one of those G-Corp higher ups could be the one orchestrating this mess. But I dunno, the more I think about it, I guess they could be the cover up for something far bigger than Kaz and his stooges. Did y’all know that they sold those Jack bots to other shady ass companies in Esaka? Even literal terrorists like Black Dragon own ’em, and it’s been, like, an open secret around here.”

Even he couldn’t believe that he just openly shared that piece of information in front of his (mostly) non-Esakan friends, but it went to show that underneath the ‘gatekeeping’ stuff and the fair, peaceful conduct, Esaka was about as corrupted as any place within Galeem’s twisted world. So corrupted that they allowed terrorists and serial killers like Freeman ran wild around the city unpunished. Hopefully, he couldn’t be the only resident who thought that the system was extremely flawed, could he?

Just moments after, both Koopalings made their surprising entrance to the coffee house, with Junior proudly claiming that he’d discovered ‘how to shatter Flame Clocks.’ Since he was relatively new to the team, it was evident that Terry was clueless about anything that they’d claimed to find and learn throughout their adventures. Instead of chiming in, Terry greeted them with the same gesture and feigned expression he gave both Sakura and Amaterasu, looking just as exhilarated as the Koopalings despite himself.

“Oh, hey there, err… Raphael and Venus?” he jokingly called both Junior and Rika, trying to guess their names. He hadn’t learned of their actual names just yet, as they’d completely parted ways with the squad the moment Terry introduced (or reintroduced) himself to the squad yesterday morning. “Well, those are some fine findings, you guys. _{And that makes me think that this Galeem freak’s just as clueless as the people around us are.} But anyway, yeah, like I said, the explosion was as awful as it sounds, so we’re totally not okay over here. A lotta peeps are dying, and we can’t do anything about it.”

And Terry’s expression went wry almost immediately, despite his efforts to remain cheerful and friendly like he usually was. As much as he wanted to admit, the sight of the prior sprawling corpses with their wide, glassy eyes was still weighing on him, even when he didn’t know each and every one of the demised guests personally. To make matters worse, Nadia was still palpably absent, nowhere to be seen nor found. It gave him a sense of unease knowing that one of them might’ve still been caught under the ruins. Or so, he believed?

Then, Pit revealed to Terry the truth about Nadia. The winged captain claimed that he’d found her arm somewhere nearby the demolished Flats, its condition ‘healthy… for a severed arm.’ It was later revealed that Primrose had been stowing said arm under her bag, but just the thought of a decapitated body part being kept inside a bag nearly made the notoriously compassionate bruiser throw up. And that was before he even had his breakfast, too! Nevertheless, he could at least sigh in relief, knowing that Nadia would’ve possibly survived the collapsing motel.

“Ouch, dude! That sounds like something straight outta the Mortal Kombat tourney!” he remarked, wincing and scrunching his nose in disgust. “But, damn, ’least Ms. Fortune’s okay. I’m happy about that. I just hope that—whenever we meet her again—she doesn’t have to feel so bad about, y’know, the thing that just happened back at the Flats. I don’t think it’s really her fault. ’Least not a hundred percent.”

By the time he reciprocated Pit, the prior Mii waitress approached their table, serving both the pretzel and the comically large cup of hot java the bruiser had been ordering. Once they were settled on his side of the table, Terry gave her a thumbs up, reciprocating her politely spoken “here’s your breakfast” with a friendly “okay, thank you!”

As he nibbled and gobbled his pretzel with gusto, Terry continued to pay attention to everything that his fellow Seekers had been speaking of, ranging from the possible suspect of last night’s incident to the Koopalings’ curious discoveries. While he had barely any clue as to what the twins had been elaborating, he did, however, seemingly take interest in the ‘Source Engine’ that was hinted to be the machine responsible for mass-producing variants of themselves, all while fixating on the wall-mounted TV ahead of their table. Apparently, the commercial break still went on, now showing an advertisement for the latest KOF tournament that was coming in an hour. As per tradition, Terry was left out of the promotional montage showcasing nearly every premier fighter from the last tournament performing eye-catching combo sequences before an offer was made by the end of the advertisement that said:

75% Discount. Grab your tickets… now??

Even Terry had to inwardly reiterate the offer being displayed on the screen to make sure that he was reading every word right. This had to be a joke, didn’t it? The tournament was already around the corner, yet they were still selling tickets an hour in advance? It was sad that the advertisement had to be made, but it went to show the current, unhealthy state of the KOF tournament that Terry needed to make peace with, as harsh as it sounded.

Following the advertisement promoting Armor King’s blazing return to the latest Tekken tournament, the prior news broadcast was shown finally disrupting the lengthy commercial break, the reporter welcoming the viewers with a formal “and now we’re back for another news update in regards to the recent explosion incident,” which immediately elicited an uneasy expression from Terry. His free hand balled, and his inner burden escalated, the moment the group’s conversation deepened and the television’s loud echo reached every corner of the building. It was reported that the investigation team led by Heidern and Sonya was still examining the remains of the Jack droids found under the ruins, confirming that both the Gun Jack and Jack-8 models were deployed alongside the preceding Jack-5 droids. The estimated numbers of the casualties were also announced, their names listed. Some were tourists visiting Esaka, but most were local grapplers working for several wrestling promotions within the city and beyond. “Including Andore Jr., Keiko Asano, Morio Smith, Jacob Cass, and the former WWCA champion Pulk Hogen.”

Upon hearing the names of the casualties—both dead and injured—being reported, Terry weakly gobbled his pretzel and swallowed hard, suddenly losing his appetite. He was crushed, devastated. It was almost as if the incident had claimed the lives of hundreds of guests, even though there were barely a dozen of them. The patrons around him didn’t seem too bothered (save for his fellow Seekers), but he did. Even if he was still gleaming at this point, he would’ve still cared. He’d seen his beloved hometown nearly getting demolished and wiped out of the map once in his first life because he didn’t care enough, and regardless of the casualties, he’d hate to see history repeat itself in his second life. The difference now was that he, at least, cared about what truly went on behind the curtains, but even in spite of his efforts, he still failed to save everyone. The brawny blonde sighed and settled his half-eaten pretzel back on his plate, his head dropping and his weary eyes flicking close.

No… No, Terry! Nobody should’ve died. I could’ve saved everyone, but I didn’t try enough. I was too slow. Too… reckless! I put everybody in danger because of what I said. Shouldn’t have said what I said last night if this was gonna happen. It was all my fault. My fault!

Absently, Terry tightened his balled hands on the table, scrunching his face and nearly slamming his fists against its solid surface. After what happened to his loved ones, he should’ve known better to run his mouth than to grumble senselessly yesterday. Mustering the courage to own up to his mistakes, the erstwhile KOF champion swallowed again, then answered to Band’s question, flicking his eyelids open to look his fellow Seekers in the eyes.

“This is all my fault,” he admitted, his voice shaky. “Ms. Fortune did nothing wrong. I shouldn’t have bitched about Rugal, Esaka, and the KOF tourney back at the lobby if it ended up attracting unwanted attention from the Four Kings. It did cost my family back then, and it damn near cost everyone of us, too. I’ve done more harm than good to the team. And… and…” He stifled his mouth hesitantly, his lips clenching tight. He didn’t know how he was supposed to address the next revelation in front of his team without sounding like the biggest snitch. His tongue clicked, his lips finally parting to speak. “And I shouldn’t have told Geese what I saw back at the Teahouse. We were involved in a heated argument last evening, and I… stupidly blamed him for running South Town to the ground after learning what I learned when Ammy set me free. Sure, it was accidental, and I didn’t mention something like ‘Galeem’ nor ‘Seekers of Light’ that might’ve potentially put him on alert, but still… he seemed to notice. And I just remembered now that his company owned some of those newest Jack models sold by G-Corp.” Terry weakly exhaled, then covered his embarrassed face with both gloved hands, his fingers running through the wild strands dangling over his forehead. He shook his head in defeat before drawing his hands away, glancing back at the other Seekers. “God, I’m such an idiot! Look, I don’t ask you guys for forgiveness, okay? I dunno if I can be trusted anymore after what happened. If you’re gonna disown me after we take down the Four Kings, then… so be it. I won’t object if that’s the consequence I have to face. But wait…”

His eyes narrowed observantly as if coming to a realization. All of a sudden, Terry was reminded by the conversation he had with Earthrealm’s lightning deity and two other Seekers at the Kyokugen BBQ. He remembered how the deity referred to them as the ‘Seekers of Light’—something that he was surprised to hear initially, but didn’t pay any mind until this morning. The brawny blonde darted his keen eyes towards Kim (who was present with him and Yayama at the restaurant), unfurling his balled hands.

“Kim, I got a question,” Terry initiated before calmly asking: “You investigated Lord Thunder God last night, didn’t you? I’m sure you didn’t say something off, but… how did he know that we’re ‘Seekers of Light’?”

Raiden couldn’t be involved with the incident, could he? While he wasn’t thoroughly familiar with what went on within the Mortal Kombat Dojo, Terry knew Raiden enough to conclude that he was one of the few good guys left among the sea of apathetic, able-centric Esakan crowd. After all, we’re talking about the same compassionate deity whose life goal—as he told three of the Seekers—was to assist the ‘mortals’ to the best of his ability. Perhaps, it could be argued that he knew about the Seekers through the Elder Gods or whatever magical components comprising the world of Mortal Kombat. The chances of anybody within their inner circle spilling the name to him were slim, especially not from somebody as vigilant as Kim.

Don’t be silly, Terry. It’s still your fault, either way. Not Ms. Fortune’s, not Lord Thunder God’s, not anyone else’s. You’ve owned up to it, so live with it!

Before he could receive an answer from Kim, the prior Mii waitress had returned to hand him his own bill. Terry picked and inspected the bill, his burdened eyes immediately falling upon the estimated number printed at the bottom. It was barely a hundred zennies, not exactly expensive until he checked his wallet. He unfolded, then obliviously spread the wallet wide enough for anybody within his proximity to witness, only to be embarrassed when he discovered that there was only a single 10-coin left beneath his wallet.

Aww, man…

With his visage dimming further, the erstwhile KOF champion drew the only coin left in his possession out of the wallet, giving it to the Mii waitress. The Mii waitress gasped mockingly upon receiving the coin, her features puzzled.

“I’m sorry, sir, but this is only 10 zennies,” she politely protested, gesturing at the coin clipped between her fingers.

“Yeah, my bad, I’m so sorry, but that’s the only money I got left,” Terry elaborated with a wry, hesitant grin, a drop of sweat comically streaming down his forehead. Considering the many bills he’d racked up wherever he ate, he hated having to keep the reputation alive, even though he was left with no choice. “But can I pay part of the bill now and then the rest after the tourney? I seriously hate to do this, but I’m short on money right now.”

The waitress huffed, facepalming. “Old habits die hard,” she quietly grumbled, having heard of Terry’s reputation beforehand. She moved her hand away, revealing the irritated look on her face. “Fine then. Only this time. And if you don’t pay the rest like you’ve promised…” With her spherical hand, she gestured at a towering Caribbean man sporting a pair of blue shades and golden dreadlocks, grinning maniacally upon stepping into the scene. Alongside him, came an even heavier man sporting a uniquely styled flat top and a dark facepaint that made him seem like he belonged to a certain glam rock band. Together, they silently revealed themselves as the coffee house’s bouncers, belittling Terry with cackles. “...They’ll have to make you pay for it.”

“Oh…” Terry widened his eyes at the sight and gulped, nervously cackling along the scoffing titans. He saw Thrasher drawing out a knife from beneath his pocket and toying with it almost casually, his gesture playful yet threatening, giving Terry a slight sense of unease. It might come as a surprise that the seemingly friendly coffee house around the neighborhood recruited at least two former Mad Gear members notorious for their past crimes, but knowing Low Tier and, heck, even Esaka as a whole, anything could happen. With hesitation no longer weighing on him, he nodded and told the unnamed waitress “okay, why not?” before offering her a hand. “You have my word.”

The waitress—with a satisfied smile on her face—accepted, shaking his hand. “Deal!” she said. “And don’t you dare violate our deal, mister.”

“Sure, miss!”

After the deal was sealed, Terry quickly finished his coffee, stood out of his seat, then picked his duffle bag, joining the other Seekers towards the Pools.

──────── 《 ✪ 》 ────────

Rightfully so, the Pools wasn’t exactly that crowded by the time Terry arrived at the place. When he observed his surroundings, he only spotted a bunch of early birds and a group of yokai eagerly waiting for the next—and perhaps, the biggest—betting game ahead. It was funny now that he thought about it since he’d normally come way later than anybody else, but here he was, gathering by one of the bulletin boards alongside other early birds like Band and Zenkichi.

Once an auric light magically brought the board to life, Terry began tracing the board with his finger, his vigilant eyes carefully following the traces that his finger made until the bracket for his own tournament was located. Having been familiar with all the symbols and numbers written all over the board, it didn’t take long for Terry to find what he was searching for, the tip of his finger halting right atop of the word “The King of Fighters.” He dragged his finger further down, his scanning eyes stumbling upon popular names like ‘Team Japan,’ ‘Team Yagami,’ ‘Team Psycho Soldier,’ and ‘Team Ikari’ until his fingertip landed upon the name listed at the bottom of the board. Yes, it was his own team, ‘Team Seekers of Fight,’ being positioned beneath the rest, as if the sponsor was so hesitant about including him, Cap, and Amaterasu to the roster. The erstwhile champion craned his head and inspected the board closely, not expecting to find that their first opponent was…

Team MUGEN??

His eyebrows arched. He hadn’t heard that name in a while. When he initially arrived at Esaka, the MUGEN Dojo was the first dojo he attended before he was promoted to the Fatal Fury Dojo and, eventually, the moderately prestigious KOF Dojo. Known for their unorthodox training regime that’d put the now-defunct Kyokugen Dojo to shame, the MUGEN Dojo was once a massive hit among up-and-coming fighters desired to make it big in the competitive fighting space, giving birth to a lot of Esaka’s greats like himself and his former team. The dojo was so successful in creating durable yet adaptable fighters they were promoted to the Middle Tier in less than a year since they were established. Unfortunately, their popularity was cut short after numerous complaints were filed. Due to the same training method that pushed their applicants to their very limits, various sponsors would’ve pointed out how MUGEN alumni like Crazy Catastrophe and Rare Akuma were unfairly ‘cheaper’ and more unstable than most competitors, resulting in their temporary ban from Esaka’s main tournament outlets. The ban didn’t only hurt the dojo’s image, but also (and unfortunately), forced them to be demoted back to the Low Tier due to the low number of applicants. They’d barely recovered ever since.

Well, that’s surely unexpected. Been a hot minute since they sent anybody to a tournament at all. Let’s see, uh, what do we have here? Kung Fu Man, Kung Fu Girl, and… Rare Akuma!? Holy cow, we’re cooked!

Far beyond cooked, perhaps, and this was only the first round! Terry knew both Kung Fu Man and Kung Fu Girl. They were occasional sparring partners back at the MUGEN Dojo, and safe to say, while Kung Fu Man was one of the most vanilla looking fighters around Esaka, his ‘Kung Fu Palm’ technique and mastery in the art of ancient Chinese martial arts weren’t to mess with. There was a reason why he was the dojo’s champion, after all, and one of the few faces that Tu Shou sent to major tournament outlets like KOF. Kung Fu Girl, on the other hand, was perhaps a slightly improved counterpart of Kung Fu Man. While she might not be as seasoned as her older brother was, her speed, strength, and ability to stretch her limbs and shoot energy blasts that could rival Takuma’s Haoh Shoukou Ken made her an equally formidable—if not, surprisingly ‘broken’—opponent. However, it was Rare Akuma that Terry was worried about the most, seeing that he was a distant relative of the original Akuma of the Street Fighter Dojo. Adding to his already notorious reputation as a ‘cheap’ competitor, his classic tactics involved bombarding his opponent with unforgiving maneuvers, parrying or teleporting out of harm’s way on the spot, and lastly, self-resurrecting in the middle of a bout once he was close to getting knocked out. Of course, he was nowhere near as threatening nor deadly as the original was, but still. Just seeing how glaringly unfair the sponsor treated his team made him smile wryly, even when he knew his team still had a winning chance at the Losers’ Bracket if they lost this round.

Heh. They really hate to see us advance to the next round, huh? Is that why they allowed these guys to—

“Ouch! Hey!”

The exasperated blonde broke out of his reverie once a miniscule fist nudged his cheek, jolting to his side and rubbing the part where he’d been hit. It was only the lightest hints of jab, thankfully. At first, he thought that a smaller fellow contestant was trying to mess around with him before the tournament started until he turned his head to his left, blue eyes widening to find that the fist was, instead, coming from his long-lost pet monkey.

“Ukee??” Terry asked and blinked his eyes, making sure that what he saw was true. The monkey hopped and flailed the air vigorously, happily squeaking as if to tell his owner that he’d returned home after a long vacation trip. Terry’s smile widened, his expression one of surprise and gratitude. “Ukee!!”

Immediately dropping his bag, Terry scooped Ukee up into his arms, then rocked him like a precious, little baby, his nose nuzzling his bestest friend’s. “Aww… aren’t you a cute, wittle wascal?” Terry teased, then pinched Ukee by his earlobe, feigning punishment. “Caught you runnin’ away again! Where have you been? You made me sooo sad. I thought I would’ve never seen you again!”

If only Terry knew that Ukee had been staying at the neighboring small town this whole time where Sakura and Amaterasu just so happened to stumble across last night. Knowing how much he enjoyed their company, he must’ve been slipping out of the town in secret just to pursue the female Seekers, which eventually led him back to his bestest human friend in the world. That said, Ukee’s arrival perfectly coincided with that of Amaterasu and Cap, almost as if he was trying to inform Terry that his team was here. While Ukee rushed out of his affectionate arms to hug the furred deity, Terry gave his teammates a big wave and a smile, his mental burdens and exasperation partly wearing off.

“Hey!” he greeted. “Sup? Y’all wanna talk about our… first opponents?”

FIN.

Worlds Collide: A Merged Universe Superhero Roleplay

I think @Taka wanted Bronze Tiger and for him to be Wakandan for his Black Panther story.

@King Kindred

Ah. Now I remember. Well, it’s all good. I have Richard Dragon and Wildcat as backups. All I need is for either of them to fight Wolverine in a match.

And I’m still struggling to finish my first Wolverine post. Please don’t get rebooted again before it’s even wrapped up (T_T)

Worlds Collide: A Merged Universe Superhero Roleplay

Regarding Charles, I envisioned him setting up the academy decades ago and still leading it to the present day, albeit humans still despise him and his X-Men. Other tidbits include that he was in a relationship with Amelia Voght and broke it off due to differences in opinion about mutantkind (she wanted them to hide while he didn't, standard stuff). Tho, how old do y'all think Charles is?

@Terry Bogard, I do wonder what you have planned regarding Krakoa. You can PM me if you don't wanna reveal too much on here.

@Mao Mao

Sorry, I haven’t read much into it yet, but is Prof. Xavier supposed to be the co-founder alongside Magneto? Because, if yes, my best bet is to have them be around the same age. Now, whether or not they should be around as long as Wolverine has is all up to you because usually, they are about as old in the comics, aren’t they?

As for Krakoa, I haven’t really thought of the details just yet, but to give you a big pic, it’s basically an adaptation of that one storyline where the OG X-Men were held by Krakoa, then Wolverine and some other newer X-Men at the time (Colossus, Storm, Nightcrawler, you name them) were recruited by Xavier to rescue them. It’s not gonna be the exact same, of course, especially not when Cyclops is still being used by Stormy, meaning that it might not involve Cyclops at all like in the OG. I did, though, have thought of how the aftermath was gonna be like if Cyclops was involved. Long story short, it should’ve been the start of the rivalry between Wolverine and Cyclops. If I have more ideas in mind that might be considered as huge spoilers, I’ll let you know in the DMs.

Also, I’m still working on my first Wolverine post. Might be halfway there. Once it’s done, I’ll be giving a full list of the characters I’d like to use as NPCs, but so far, all I can say is that Bronze Tiger and Circle of Six are the newest additions to that list I made the other day. Unless changes are made and/or Bronze Tiger is taken, they’ll play minor roles in Wolverine’s stories (at least the early half of them).

That said, I’m not quite sure if Wolverine can join the mini event ASAP. I have to say, it’s interesting to have the heroes fight the Fire Trolls, but then again, it might still be a long way till Wolverine can get to that part, but hopefully, if it lasts long enough and somebody wants to claim Krakoa, I might make the mini event the reason why the X-Men recruits Wolverine, instead.

Worlds Collide: A Merged Universe Superhero Roleplay

Take note that Scott Summers is in @Stormyx's list.

@Bounce

Oh, yeah, that one. I was actually posting back to you before I found out that he’s already part of their list. Might need to talk with them later about it. I don’t mind changing plans.

But anyway, so sorry to hear about your kid. Hope you had a good rest you deserved, chief.

TNT - The Nameless Tavern. (Always Open)

Hi, finally posted! :)

I was wondering, though, can I introduce Spidey after Terry’s next post?

TNT - The Nameless Tavern. (Always Open)

@Dark Light @Varicke

▶︎• ၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌၊|• 3:32
_{Bye Bye My Love – Megumi Yuuki}

The brawny viking reciprocated. For a moment, Terry drew his eyebrow up, not out of curiosity but out of concern. Clay didn’t seem quite sharp himself from what he could tell. His eyes were red and burdened, his movements a little clumsy. Quite a stark contrast for somebody who appeared as physically fit as himself. Instead of focusing on the eerie figure ahead, the brawny blonde turned his attention towards the viking near the bar for a while, subsequently facing him.

“Oh, right! I should’ve introduced myself earlier,” Terry reciprocated, then offered a gloved hand towards the drunk viking. “The name’s Terry. Terry Bogard. Somebody told me this is the best bar around the neighborhood, so I came and picked a drink.” As he introduced, he smiled, the bright expression betraying the bruises on his face and the miniscule cut on his lower lip. “And yeah, I know, don’t ask why I look the way I do. Knockout Fest was a bitch.” He snickered heartily. “And you are, buddy?”

FIN.

Worlds Collide: A Merged Universe Superhero Roleplay

Realized that there were a few elements that I think I could add that would help connect my next Jason post to the larger world.

Any objections to introducing the following concepts as existing at least by 2013: Mutant Registration Act (introduced, not passed) and the Friends of Humanity (one version at least, as a Political Action Committee)

And any objection if I add Sammy Pare to my list for Jason?

Going into the Douglas Carmody story, his main motivation in the comics for attacking children was the belief that they were mutants, so I'm wanting to flesh that out some more if it can add to people's stories and not intrude on them.

@Bounce

No prob. My plans haven’t involved him so far. However, since you brought up wanting to write Krakoa the other day, I have to say that I’ve been taking interest in adapting Wolverine’s X-Men debut where he and the other new X-Men went on to save the OG X-Men from the island. That, of course, if we get to the part where he finally becomes the member of X-Men (which will eventually happen unless there’s an abrupt change of plan).

That said, I’d begin writing my first post either today or tomorrow. Just to make sure, also, is there anyone else interested in using a X-Men character like Bounce did? Because my plans would involve Silver Fox, Sabretooth, Krakoa, and obviously, the team themselves (possibly Professor X, Cyclops, and Jean).

World of Light: the Endless Now (The Ultimate Videogame Crossover)

TWENTY FIVE YEARS AGO

_{NESTS HQ, South Town | Daytime}

“Everyone, get away from here!”

BOOM!

BOOM!

BOOM!

RRROOMM!

“Oh, nuts! We won’t make it!”

Explosions continued to flare wildly within the self-destructing headquarters, as Andy and Joe loudly alerted each other. A massive quake emerged, the ground trembling, rubbles beginning to bury a number of NESTS operatives their team had been combating. Both fighters widened their eyes at the sight, horrors evident across their battered faces.

Throughout their respective fighting careers, this had to be one of the most frightening events to take place in the history of the KOF tournament series. It wasn’t only because of South Town getting partially demolished, nope, but also the fact that their team had been trapped within the enemy’s camp alongside the others. As to why they were gathered here, the purpose was simple: to allow a certain syndicate to collect their energies in order to feed the very cannon used to devastate South Town. The process, however, was undeniably grueling, as it involved continuous battles actively draining every fighter trapped within the tower while the final match between Team K’ and ‘Zero’ was played out somewhere classified. Team Fatal Fury was one of them, even when they didn’t make the cut to face the sponsor.

Despite the tower’s apparent collapsing state, their fellow teammates, Mary and the team’s captain Terry, were still left behind, surrounded by the remaining NESTS operatives hindering their track. They continued doing what they did best: flailing and kicking asses like there’s no tomorrow, although it’d become more and more jarring that they were outnumbered by the newly arriving Kyo clones. Mary did, eventually, escape the suffocating crowd after swinging and tossing one of the tan-skinned clones towards the others. Terry, however…

BUMP!

…was knocked several feet back after failing to avoid a heavy, descending rubble, all while battling several Kyo clones in unison. The impact sent his cap flying away, blood spilling all over his face. It was as if his cranium had been busted open upon collision with the rubble’s jagged figure, staggering him.

“Terry!”

Shocked and wide-eyed, Mary halted and pivoted, scurrying towards her best friend instead of the exit door. Terry stumbled back, his upright form wavering and his strides weakly drumming. He could feel his head aching and his vision blurring, seeing no less than a blur of brown, white, and violet. He was clearly in no shape to continue fighting, but he went ahead with it, anyway. Not when his loved ones were in danger.

“Mary??” Terry asked, then reflexively shifted his attention towards a blur of red, purple, and brown closing in his direction, recognizing it as his best friend. “What’re you doing!? Get the hell outta here!”

Mary nearly froze, gasping, startled by the sight of Terry’s visage covered in his own crimson liquid. He could barely even open one of his eyes at the moment, his features partly rearranged. “B– But, handsome…” she stuttered, her concern expressed. That was what she always called him: ‘handsome,’ even though she wasn’t sure if the nickname still rang true given his concerning facial condition.

“No buts, honey,” Terry sternly insisted, all while parrying the hardhitting flail coming from a Kyo clone’s fist with his wrist. “Just save yourself and everyone else! It’s too dangerous to stay!”

POW!

Eventually, an alternating fist managed to graze against Terry’s cheek when he was unfocused, the impact as rough as that of the talented lad whose genes the clone possessed. Mary hesitated for a moment, her blue eyes darting back and forth. It didn’t seem like she could leave immediately, either, now that a pair of Kyo clones had come to prevent her from proceeding forward. At the same time, her teammates were still present, striving to overcome all the operatives deployed by Clone Zero. Considering Terry’s brutally battered form, she didn’t feel it was right to leave just yet.

“No, I can’t!” Mary insisted and threw her gloved fists down, feigning self-assurance. “I’ve lost dad and Butch. I can’t afford losing you guys, too. Especially you, Terry.”

“Don’t you get it!?” Terry questioned, his flaming, flailing fist against the Kyo clone’s visage making it seem like he was gesturing at him. “These guys are dangerous, Mary! I don’t wanna see you hurt yourself. Just go. Now!”

“But what about you?”

“Just please, go!” Terry urged aloud, his voice close to cracking. “Just do it for me! You, Andy, and Joe. All three of you. I don’t wanna lose you guys, either, okay?”

“Terry…”

After knocking out two battered Kyo clones with a single roundhouse kick, the blonde man approached the blonde woman, desperately gripping her toned, bare shoulders. Their eyes held each other, beautiful sapphires glistening.

“Just don’t worry about me,” he reassured, his voice stern yet concerned. “I’m not goin’ anywhere. We’ll meet again.”

“Promise?” Mary asked with an equally worried visage, possessively wrapping her toned arms around his hips.

Terry weakly nodded. “I promise.”

For a moment, the couple stood still, blue eyes locking upon one another. Their faces were inches apart from each other, a comforting kiss nearly shared amidst the chaos until the noises of rubbles cut their reverie short. Gently, Terry turned his best friend around, his gloved hands pushing her forth.

“Now, move, Mary! Don’t ever look back!”

Which she didn’t quite follow, initially. Mary still stole glances at Terry past her shoulder for a couple of seconds, her boots absently jogging away. Upon shifting her gaze back ahead, she tried to strengthen her resolve, then ambushed the approaching row of Kyo army with a sliding kick, tripping them one by one. When came the final Kyo clone, she applied an additional touch by wrapping both sides of her boots around his neck, riding him down to twist his lower limb around her arm. The clone had been immobilized, and Mary hurried towards the other fighters still occupied by NESTS operatives, managing to depart only after the hurdles were dealt with.

As for Terry, he continued to fight the remaining wave of Kyo clones and regular NESTS operatives, as the rubbles slammed their jagged, gigantic feet upon them, an eerie silence taking over the blaring sirens and the noises of crushing bones. At long last, another NESTS headquarters had been torn down following the finals of a KOF tournament. With the battle now put to an abrupt halt, will the legendary South Town Hero survive?

Level 9 Terry Bogard

_{EXP : 84/90 (+4 pts.)
Location : Esaka’s Mid and Low Tier
Word Count : 3,907}

Present Day…

“BURN KNUCKLE!!”

With a flaming, extending fist, Terry propelled himself through a row of Jack droids blocking his path, parting the sea of towering automatons as if it was The Red Sea. The harsh impact successfully wrecked and divided the Jacks into several pieces, their iron craniums and limbs flying wildly around the spacious hallway. He wasn’t sure how long the machines had kept him busy or how long his fellow Seekers had—presumably—awaited him by the now demolished lobby. All he cared for was making sure that Alex and the other fellow guests were evacuated, leading them out of the hallway.

Rubbles of varying sizes began to fall upon them. Thankfully, though, most—if not, all—had been destroyed around the same time Terry executed his Burning Knuckle, the heavier ones reduced into miniscule fragments. Strides scurrying forth, the three-time KOF champion continued to lock his gaze ahead, not minding the theatrical sights of King executing a Muscle Buster and Julia Jaycee performing a Déjà Vu onto their respective mechanical hurdles behind him. As for Alex, he continued to jog next to Terry, almost acting as the group’s second leader. When a brawny midget with long, flimsy moustache and white headscarf hindered his path, the verdant-clad New Yorker became so exasperated and yeeted him past his shoulder, prompting him to broaden his once toned midriff like an inflating balloon. Terry watched as the small figure flew with his toned arms striking out, vanishing into red and yellow pixels as he dropped his entire weight onto a Jack droid.

“Err… Alex?” Terry called, his eyebrow raising at him in disbelief. “Just what do you think you were doing?”

“At ease, Terry. Y’know Karnov. Dude’s tough. He can handle that,” Alex argued with a playful smirk. “So, how close are we now?”

“I dunno, just keep movin’, alright?” Terry hurriedly answered, his long, undone hair graciously flowing along the gentle wind. “Shouldn’t take long…”

About the same time the blondes conversed, a pair of Jack-5 droids launched themselves in their direction, their jet-esque boots hovering just above the carpeted floor. Fortunately, both fighters were smart enough to anticipate the incoming interruptions, so by the time the latter closed in, they leaped forth to execute their respective techniques before their mechanical opponents could do anything. While Terry executed a Neckbreaker Drop, Alex performed a Spiral DDT, both successfully riding their opponents down and putting them to sleep once the back of their craniums collided with the floor with a loud…

THUMP!

“Jeez, man, I swear, these Jacks dunno jack squat about what they’re doin’,” Alex remarked, not even bothering to mince his assessment.

“Well, duh… What can you expect from a bunch of prompts?” Terry reciprocated, then sprung out of his seated position. “Just the kinda dumbasses who think Little Mac’s first name is ‘Little.’”

Alex rolled his eyes, then sprung out of his position just the same. “Yeah, right… And the badly coded ones at that,” he agreed, continuing to jog. “Can’t even escape my grip when they can.”

“For real! But y’know what I thought about these robotic shenanigans?” Terry asked, reflexively pummeling and sending an approaching Jack droid flying towards Alex with a leaping kick.

“Nah…” Alex reciprocated, leaping and catching the hurling Jack droid with a riding knee. The knee pinned the machine atop the floor and squashed his throat by accident, causing it to dysfunction. “What about it?”

“Nothin’ much. Just thought that they felt like a bunch of instant meals, is all,” Terry revealed, shrugging and continuing to jog next to Alex. “The thing is, they’re massively produced in such a short amount of time, yet no matter how many times they’re tweaked and buffed, y’know these shellheads just ain’t ever beatin’ us. Their movements are kinda clunky, y’see, and their fists lack emotions.”

“Heh. Right. Guess you got a point,” Alex agreed, the slightest hint of smile drawing by his lips. “That’s somethin’ that humans like us have, but these clankas don’t. It’s like they only know how to act like real fightas, yet they don’t have the brain nor the creativity to keep up with the real ones like us.”

Just as they continued moving ahead, another wave of droids blocked their path again. But not to worry because the leading blonde had it all figured out. Terry dropped his charged knuckles, channeling his energy into a shockwave crawling across the floor.

“POWER WAVE!!”

The shockwave ripped and tore the crimson carpet in its track before reaching out to the row of Jacks, launching them all over the interior like a bowling ball against a bunch of towering pins. Once their path was cleared, the lobby was reached, and to everybody’s surprise, it’d become nothing but ruins as the result of the prior detonation.

“Jesus…”

“Shit.”

They carefully entered the lobby, combing through glassy shrapnels and thick rubbles scattering around the floor. Their vicinity was about as messy as it got—even worse than both the courtyard and the hallway. At one corner, the same Mecha Zangief was crushed beneath a sizable debris, lagging and repeating his iconic jargons. Oftentimes, he still shouted “customer, look!” with a rather glitchy voice, as if his mind still went to Nadia. Poor guy, Terry thought. He knew the Gief bot was just trying to help, unlike the bunch of Jacks invading the area.

“Ha! There you are!”

As he spotted the gathering Seekers, Terry jogged in their direction, panting and taking a moment to control his breath. He’d been running around wildly for so long he appeared evidently gassy in front of his fellows. He’d soon be followed by Alex, the other wrestlers at the back subsequently joining.

“Finally found y’all. Are you guys okay? Is anybody hurt?” Terry asked, his worried eyes glancing between the available Seekers. So far, when the lobby was reached, there were only Zenkichi, Yayama, Band, Kim, and Harry in his… undies? That was such a peculiar sight to behold, but amusing, nonetheless. “I’ve been thinking about you guys. Don’t worry about the other guests, though. I’ve brought them all with me.”

As if to emphasize what he told them, Terry pointed at the group of wrestlers behind him with a thumb. He turned in their direction, making sure that each and every guest was present before they could leave the place. His hands clapped, trying to attract their attention.

“Alright, I hope nobody’s staying behind once we leave this mess. Now, to check if everybody’s present, I want you guys to say ‘Buster Wolf’ after I ask ‘are you okay,’ capiche?” Terry briefed, his hands holding both of his hips. The wrestlers didn’t say much. It seemed that the only answer they could provide was either a nod or an exaggerated jargon. “Okay… Looks like we’ve come to an agreement, eh? Well, then, let’s get this started, should we? Ready. Set. Are you okay??”

“BUSTER WOLF!!!”

And the wrestlers did exactly that, even complete with the same exaggerated pose that Terry would make whenever the battle cry was shouted and the desperation move executed. For a moment, Terry let out a soft chuckle, the amusing sight soothing all the tensions formed by his muscles.

“Alright, alright… That was a fine impression,” he complimented, clapping his hands then striking his thumbs up. “Sounds like we’re ready to go now, huh? Alrighty, what are we—”

“Wait, hold up,” Alex interrupted, his open hand extending at Terry. He’d been standing right next to the older blonde, narrowing blue eyes inspecting each and every wrestler when he came to one realization. “Where’s Ángel?”

“Angel?”

The misspelling aside, Terry recognized her. The erstwhile NESTS agent had been Alex’s training partner and on-screen rival for a while now, working a match together every week at Antonov’s GAW. He knew how Ángel looked, so all he had to do was to see if a black-clad, silver-haired lady was nestled between the crowd of towering, sweating men, but so far? He found nobody remotely similar. Instead, he only heard the slightest hints of pleading noises coming from beyond the lobby. He became alerted. He also noticed that there was one more fighter still left behind upon further inspection.

“Damn, you’re right about that,” Terry agreed, his worried eyes going wide. “And it’s not just Angel. I think Cody’s missing, too.”

“Should we—”

“No, Alex,” Terry interrupted, then placed a hand over his shoulder, avoiding the New Yorker from striding further. “You don’t have to. You guys just leave, okay? I’ll go find Cody and Angel.”

“But—”

“No buts,” Terry told Alex. “Just go and save yourself! Get your fellas outta here. And you too…” He gave his fellow Seekers an urging glance past his shoulder. “You, too, just go and get my pals outta the Flats, okay? We’ll meet again, I promise.”

Of course, not all of them chose to leave, as Yayama decided to stay behind to save those who’d been buried under the ruins. Terry, too, did the same thing, as he followed the sources of the pleading noises he heard beforehand. Some he managed to save, while others, unfortunately, didn’t make it. It etched his heart to see the variety of expressions the demised casualties made upon being discovered—some rested peacefully with both eyes closed, while some appeared as if they’d left their vessels mid-thought with just how wide their glassy eyes stared at the broad hole at the ceiling. And to think that many of them weren’t even locals to begin with. Just a bunch of clueless tourists getting caught in a web of death. Along his path, as he rescued the injured guests sandwiched under the concrete, he eventually stumbled across Cody and Ángel at the courtyard, both fighters still occupied by the badly damaged Jacks. Even the motel’s collapsing state and the scattering corpses didn’t seem to bother them, either, given their gleaming conditions.

“Hola, hermoso!” Ángel greeted from afar, her smirk cheeky, as she laid the smacketh down on her opponent’s iron ass. “Do you smell what the cat’s cookin’~?”

“Sounds like the wolf wants to have some fun, too,” Cody quipped, picking and throwing a small rubble after another at the staggered Jack droid. He soon knocked the machine out cold with barrages of hardhitting kicks, both his latter spinning kick and its violet energy spark restructuring the metal visage completely. “Crash! Ha ha! FINISH!!”

At the rowdy sight, Terry sighed, then shook his head, realizing that he was the only one of the three not being affected by Galeem’s influence. “Yeah, yeah… Y’all cook ’em well, alright? But now ain’t the time to fight to death. Those Jacks are done for. Let’s get outta here!” he told the two, only to be ignored. He huffed, then crossed his arms under his broad chest, his cheeks puffing. “Hmph! Are you two blind or what? Can’t see there are dead bodies all over the place?? Jesus Christ! Sounds like it’s gonna take a long time till I can get you rascals outta here…”

──────── 《 ✪ 》 ────────

He’d heard Band loud and clear over his linkpearl. The Seekers had agreed to gather at Quick Rise, which means he’d need to take an elevator back to the Low Tier. Thankfully, the fight didn’t last as long as he’d anticipated, thanks to the Jack-8 unit’s damaged form, so he could catch up with the crew in time.

As the coffee house was reached, Terry pushed the front door open, appearing in his usual trucker getup. He’d tidied and worn his hair back in a ponytail, his iconic baseball cap around the crown of his golden head. Whistling, he gave Band, Yayama, Harry, and Kim a waving hand, striding close to their table.

“Yo, sup? Toldcha, right?” he asked with a feigned snicker, then joined the two, dropping his duffle bag close to where he sat. Thankfully, the bag was still in a decent condition, albeit slightly torn by one of the raining rubbles. He wished all those dead guests were as fortunate as all the items stowed beneath his bag. “Man… that was insane! Glad we all made it outta that mess alive. Could’ve sworn we were almost stuck right there and then.”

Which reminded Terry of both times he was trapped under the ruins of the self-detonating NESTS bases. It was a miracle that he survived both tragedies back to back, making him realize that maybe he was more durable than he thought he was. Thankfully, he didn’t repeat the same rookie mistake that got himself caught beneath the ruins, crushing the falling debris into smithereens before they came in contact with either himself or people around him. However, despite his success in rescuing half of the guests, it still bothered him that he didn’t get to save every single one of them by the end of the day, given the haunting sight of the inanimate corpses he encountered beforehand.

Heh. Right. I guess we can’t be heroes all the time, huh? If only all of us actually made it outta that building, both Seekers and not-Seekers…

He sighed, then pursed his lips, inwardly blaming himself for their deaths in spite of his effort to keep as many people alive. As Terry gave ear to the group’s conversation, his vigilant gaze wandered his vicinity, making sure that nobody suspicious was following nor watching them. At the same time, a Mii waitress closed in, taking his orders which consisted of a pretzel and some hot java. So far, nothing had alerted him, his burdened, blue eyes eventually stumbling upon the TV perching by the wall ahead of their table. It showed a popular news station in Esaka called ‘News Combo 7,’ and the headline was, to nobody’s surprise…

“And now we have an update on the recent explosion accident. The Ikari Forces had arrived at the Banishing Flats to start the investigation. Due to the sheer size of the explosion, unfortunately, several casualties were found injured and dead inside the building. According to the chief officers Commander Heidern and General Sonya Blade, the cause of the explosion is yet to be identified. However, the metal remains of what appears to be G-Corporation’s Jack-5 units discovered under the ruins are still believed to be connected with this unfortunate incident. We will continue to provide the latest updates on this hot topic moving forward after the commercial break.”

Terry absently watched as the newscaster reported the incident that claimed the very civilians occupying his mind, his knuckles propping up his cheek. He didn’t seem quite sharp due to the lack of sleep and the beat down given to him earlier by the Jacks. His mind wasn’t any better, either, especially after what he’d just seen beforehand. Following the news was an advertisement for the Fatal Fury Dojo offering a 45% discount for new applicants. While he was sad to see the downfall of the Middle Tier dojo he once attended in real time, he didn’t quite pay attention until two random figures were mentioned. The advertisement stated that the new applicants would receive ‘exclusive tutorings’ from Rival Schools’ Roberto Miura and Street Fighter’s Dee Jay. A peculiar decision, he thought. Despite being a rising star in Japan’s Under-18 soccer league, young Roberto hadn’t even graduated from the Rival Schools Dojo just yet. And while he didn’t question Dee Jay’s impressive feats and highly acclaimed music career, he thought why recruited somebody from the Street Fighter Dojo when they could’ve easily asked actual alumni like him, Mai, Tizoc Dinosaur, or even Geese’s own stooges to mentor upstart fighters?

Not that I wanted it, anyway, now that the dojo’s managed by Geese. Gosh, dude, he’s such a dumbass! I thought he knew better about fightin’ biz.

Disappointed, Terry covered his face and shook his head, trying to see how collaborating with literal celebrities who had zero connections with the dojo was good for business, let alone hiring them as mentors. What he saw on the TV screen really didn’t help at all. As other Seekers began to fill the coffee house one by one, the brawny blonde noticed something. Nadia was palpably absent. She was nowhere to be seen at both the Flats and the Rise nor had he heard anything from her over the linkpearl. With a worried look, he uncovered his face and shifted his attention back to his comrades, his gaze drifting from one Seeker to another.

“Hey, guys, I was just wondering, has anybody seen Ms. Fortune this morning?” Terry asked, forearms reclining atop the table, slightly fidgeting on his seat. “I don’t think I saw her anywhere at the Flats. Really hope she’s doin’ okay…”

Hopefully, Nadia wasn’t one of the people being caught under the rubbles. She couldn’t be eradicated, could she? He’d already seen firsthand how she withstood being hurled through a Teahouse wall yesterday, her body parts literally dissecting and splicing together in a split second. Even if she did survive (which she probably did), he could already imagine her feeling bad that she’d caused them enough trouble, though he’d like to believe it was barely her fault. While highly possible, it wasn’t guaranteed that Kazuya was the one sending the droids, either, since the G-Corp also sold them to other shady syndicates like Howard Connection and Black Dragon. After all, it might just be Terry’s fault, too, that he nearly revealed what he saw during the Teahouse debacle in front of Geese. With that being said, could the culprit possibly be…?

Oh, no…

FIN.

Terry’s Training Room

Nothing to see here.