Street Fighter: Dream Never Ends

by Talyn Rahman-Figueroa

  It was dark with a surprising chill in the air. The dazzling sky twinkled under the moonlight without the disruption of stormy clouds. Its serenity was in sharp contrast to the throbbing chaos going on inside Ryu. He hurriedly limped down the hill to an underpass, tripping over his own footsteps in a desperate attempt to escape to a silent safety. As he clutched at his heart, groaning with pain, he thought himself mad to have imagined that the appearance of the Dark Hadou tonight might have pleased him. He struggled to regain a rhythm to his uncontrollable breathing, forcing himself to fight the Dark Hadou from taking over his soul.

  Images flashed before his eyes. In a smoky red and black mist, he could see Akuma dragging his powerful body forward, the kanji ‘ten’ emblazoned behind him. Then, Ryu watched Gouken breathe his final testament to protect him, his white gi soaked in his own blood. His mind played tricks. He could feel hatred and evil rise from him.

  Ryu was struggling to keep hold of the energy ball that fearsomely filled up his palms. It was too weighty to hold, and too tempting to restrain. Losing his balance, his head swirled with dangerous thoughts. He lurched forward and screamed to maintain whatever control he had left, but the strong surge to discharge the ball was overwhelming.

  For a moment, his face imitated that of Akuma’s. Every crease on his forehead deepened with tension, his mouth widened to a horrifying snarl, his nostril crinkled to something small, and the fireball reflected red into his pupils. Ryu sweated profusely, not caring where his vicious manner might lead him in this moment of weakness. With a thrust, he flung his strong arms forward and released the fireball into the air.

  The car it hit gave one absolute burst before silhouetting the area with thick gray smoke. Relieved to feel the evil negativity leave him, Ryu collapsed to the ground with irrepressible panting.

  A great sense of emptiness replaced his drive to destroy.

  “Whoa, he blew the shit outta that.”

  “Oh man, those cops ain’t gonna mess with us again.”

  Ryu’s head pounded. He was crawling on his knees to escape the smoke that had started to suffocate him. His shirt was sooty and dark with blood. His shoeless feet scratched against the broken glass on the ground. Crouching, he could make out the shadows of people beyond the inferno he had created.

  The police car crackled violently as if it was ready to explode again.

  The dark-skinned teenager covered his mouth with an arm, lifting the cap from his head to gauge a better view of what lurked beyond the underpass. He pulled at his white boxers, his face scowling, then he grunted at the other two to join him.

  “Nah man, I ain’t gettin’ up,” the second teenager whined, remaining seated on the misshapen brick wall. But he stood immediately at the sight of the flat blade knife resurfacing from his friend’s jacket. The short boy pulled him by the arm, gripping onto the blade tight.

  “Don’t push me,” the second teenager said in a strained voice, pulling the hood around his face to hide his fearful eyes.

  “Man, you do that?” the short boy yelled to the dark boy, shuffling towards the car with his wide-legged jeans dragging in the dirt.

  “Yo, does it look like I’ve got a bazooka on me?” he snapped, waving his arm in the air.

  “No way, man. That ain’t no bazooka. That’s some crazy alien stuff going on here.”

  Slowly coming to his senses, Ryu noticed the gang of three ahead of him huddled in a tight pack. Swirls of green graffiti covered the tunnel walls. Empty cans rolled around lost, and cigarette butts carpeted the ground. The whole place smelled of marijuana and potato chips that couldn’t be masked by burning smoke.

  In his blurred-vision state, the boys looked like grown skinny men armed with kitchen knives. Ryu shuffled on his knees, then dropped to the ground, unable to find the strength to move until his lungs was filled with clean air. Coughing, Ryu moved his arm to his nose, sniffing hard against his borrowed suit jacket that smelled faintly of fish.

  “You hear that?” the second teenager muttered, looking around him with large eyes that seemed to glow under the fire light. He froze in his position for a moment with his hands behind his back. Seeing a shadow move beyond the mist, he nodded towards Ryu, who was squirming on the ground with half his face covered.

  “Hey guys, looks like someone got lost on the wrong side of town,” the dark-skinned boy laughed loudly, straightening himself up to his full height. “Yo man, China is a thousand miles that a way,” he said, throwing his arms over his head.

  His echoed voice forced Ryu to look up. He used his palms to struggle to his feet, ignoring the pain from the razor sharp glass that cut into his skin. He stood, swayed for a few seconds, then collapsed again.

  Ryu moaned, feeling his stagnant body tingle uncomfortably from the sudden fall. His body was unresponsive despite the aching command of his mind telling him to speed up the recuperation.

  “Who is this guy?” the short boy said, looking around desperately for another weapon to use.

  “Yo, let’s mug him. He looks loaded.”

  “I dunno, man, I don’t wanna get arrested again.”

  “Don’t be no wimp, man. He ain’t got nothin’ on us.”

  “Yeah, he’s just some drunk straggler askin’ to get--”

  The boys stopped talking. They could hear the dreaded heavy chains clatter. A humungous shadow loomed over them.

  “Move out the way, punks,” a deep hoarse voice cut in.

  An enormously tall man pushed past the teenagers with an easy shove, peering down at them with a lazily imperious expression on his face.

  “What? Birdie, the rich guy belongs to us, man. Get your own,” the short boy yelled, smacking the gang leader on the arm, even though the heaviest push would do nothing to move him.

  Birdie grumbled, holding a knife in his thick stubby fingers. He cracked his knuckles one by one, then with a deliberate slowness, fed the knife through the hole of his tall blonde mohawk. The metal chains wrapped over his arms jangled as his giant shoulders heaved.

  “Finders keepers,” Birdie guffawed, showing no signs of smoke suffocation or concern that the boys were starting fight talk behind him.

  Ryu groaned and scrunched his eyes in response to the crushing new ache he now felt in his fingers. Long pointed shoes were treading them. Without stepping off him, the gang leader bent down and clutched Ryu’s sweat-drenched hair with his ringed hand. The huge punk smiled crookedly, with gold glinting on his teeth, and scratched at the thick black sideburns that connected over his large flat lip. He was at least seven feet tall with a body built to intimidate, and arms that seemed strong enough to weaken the foundation of a building. The teenagers quarreled behind him but none had the guts to approach him.

  “What ya doin ‘ere? This ‘ere is my place,” Birdie said to Ryu in a deep cockney accent that made him sound depressed. “You deaf? I’m talking to ya, you rascal weasel,” he spat, hoisting Ryu into the air.

  His colorless face wilted over Birdie’s shoulder. His flaccid body hung limp in Birdie’s grasp.

  “You shallow lil’ shit lookin’ all sad...”

  “Boss, we can take him on,” the dark-skinned teenager protested, tapping a broken bottle against his palm with a look of madness. His beady eyes stared at Ryu with an eagerness that made Birdie scowl.

  “Yeah, give us a chance,” the short boy piped up, excitedly flicking a knife open. “Let’s mess him up and ask for ransom or sumpin’.”

  Birdie laughed a broken laugh, releasing Ryu from his grip. He bent low, retrieving a half-smoked cigarette from the ground and laughed again. He lit it, took a long drag from the tip, then blew smoke into the already murky area. The teenagers huddled protectively together, expecting Birdie to smack one of them with his meaty closed fist, but his punch smashed directly into Ryu’s expressionless face.

  “Take him,” he finally said, throwing away the stub. “This worthless git ain’t worth my time.”

  The second teenager mad
e a goofy face at his peers, causing them to laugh. “Sweet, our turn,” he said in an unusually high-pitched tone.

  He pulled his leg back and launched quick kicks into Ryu’s stomach. Birdie smiled slightly, hearing pounds on soft tissue as he walked away. It was about time he gave his subordinates the chance to dig their teeth into some real meat.

  Ryu peered at his assailants in silence, his eyes without emotion as they beat him. They kicked, punched, and even stabbed him in the shoulder with pieces of glass that pierced through his jacket. He knew that the slightest sign of a struggle would only set them off even more.

  These light knocks from unskilled brawlers were nothing compared to the struggles with the Dark Hadou. Blood oozed from his nose from their vicious attack. As they beat his flesh with weak punches, he braced himself for a final knife stab.

  “Shit, he ain’t moving,” one of the teenagers stuttered, noting Ryu’s absolute stillness. The eyes were wide and glassy as if there was no life in them. Gingerly, the teenager used his foot to push Ryu’s arm to one side only for it to limp back to its original position.

  “Shit man,” the boy muttered, his lips trembling at the thought of killing a man.

  “He dead?” the dark-skinned boy said, but before he had the chance to react, one the teenagers scampered loudly away into the end of the tunnel.

  The remaining two looked at one another, but they were caught by the fronts of their sweatshirts.

  “You run like ya pal and you’ll end up dead like our Chinese friend back there,” Birdie warned, watching the teenagers cower before him with quick nods to the head.

  “Boss, it wasn’t me that killed him,” the short boy said, shrugging his shoulders.

  “Let’s put the body in that cop car. Fry it real good,” the dark-skinned one argued, pushing his friend on the chest. “That way, we ain’t gettin’ in no trouble. Coo’?”

  “No way, man. I ain’t touchin’ that corpse.”

  Ryu blinked his eyes a few times, his head pounding. He listened to the conversation for a few seconds before finding the strength to stand on his feet. Open mouthed, the teenagers watched him.

  “You want a rich guy, I’ll give you rich,” Ryu said, cocking a smile. He was nowhere special. This situation was nothing new. Lowlife scums loved to fight him, regardless of whether or not he was wearing Ken’s Gucci suit.

  “Stinkin’ bastard,” Birdie mumbled, turning his attention to the stranger. He held onto his skull buckle, contemplating on how to get rid of this man.

  Ryu twitched on a smile, leisurely taking off the black suit jacket and draping it over a battered oil barrel. He unbuttoned his shirt cuffs and rolled them up to his elbows, and smeared the sweat off his arms. He then lifted his finger to swab the blood below his nose, and flicked the red liquid at Birdie. His only defense right now was to not be himself at all. He was ready to play the game like Ken Masters, with or without a crowd.

  Astounded by Ryu’s lack of reaction to his wounds, Birdie trudged forward, knife in hand. “Come ‘ere an’ get some action, pussy. Time to feel some real pain.”

  Ryu smirked, ruffling the back of his hair as if he had heard an amusing joke. He was beyond the hardest part of recovery from the Hadou. The adrenaline of this fight would diminish any remains of it now.

  Wagging his index finger, Ryu said, “Bring it,” daring Birdie to throw out his first mistake.

  Laughing, Birdie hurled himself at Ryu, expecting his first punch to knock him out, but his fist was blocked by thick and toughened arms that surprised him. He retreated, swiping the knife furiously in front of him, but Ryu kicked the weapon out of his hand.

  “Any more tricks for me?” Ryu yawned, stretching his arms over his head. One of the teenagers let out a hiss of dissent.

  “You dare taunt me? I’ll fuckin’ show ya, sucker,” Birdie growled, enraged.

  With a clunk, he released the heavy chains from his arm and spun them in the air until there was enough momentum to throw them. He released the chains but Ryu nimbly sidestepped behind his enormous body, forcing the giant to stumble forward with a mighty push.

  “Show ya self,” Birdie yelled angrily.

  “Here I am,” Ryu taunted, jumping high into the air. He ruffled Birdie’s sculpted hair before tapping him on the chest.

  Birdie spun his body, throwing himself off balance. He controlled his fall with one leg, swinging the chain at Ryu, who was ducking and diving from every move he made.

  This man was fast and mocking Birdie as though he were an imbecile. Sheer embarrassment painted his face red, and he grasped the chain tighter and tighter until he felt his fingers go numb. No matter where he turned, Birdie was unable to trap his rival with his weapon of choice.

  Ryu bowed under a kick, then backed away from a powerful punch that would have easily knocked him out if it hadn’t been so slow. While Birdie wasn’t the quality rival that Ryu would expect at a tournament, he was enjoying this taunting the way Ken always did whenever he was bored in a battle. Ryu moved swiftly from side to side, listening for Birdie’s verbal insults during his attacks.

  “Good punch but try connecting it to my face this time,” Ryu laughed, blocking a sidekick with his forearm.

  It was no wonder that Ken always smiled while he fought. It took great skill to fight with focus, and make it look like nothing but fun. He knew that he could never keep up this charade with a skilled martial artist like Akuma, but for now, Ryu felt better doing what Ken did in an effort to escape and trick himself.

  The teenagers howled, cheering to support Birdie. The two fighters spun in a circle, Ryu cocking his eyebrow in an effort to further embarrass his opponent. His goading led to more outbursts of fury. Birdie threw his arm back, ready to strike with the chain again, but felt it caught against a rail fence. Growling, he tugged to release it.

  “No weapons? ‘Av it your way. Now I fight ya for real,” he said, shouting over the jeers of the others. He had to prove that he was fearsome. “Show some respect an’ maybe you keep breathin’.”

  Running, Birdie managed to grasp Ryu’s already reddened neck. “Sod you, punk! I’ll finish you off nice an’ easy,” he said, squeezing Ryu’s neck hard enough to cause fatal strangulation. Birdie laughed, thrilled to see an inkling of desperation appear in Ryu’s distended eyes.

  “You ain’t got long now before I send you up to Papa. Boys, I fink you gotta start chantin’ me some prayers,” Birdie laughed, pulling his head back for a butting.

  “Not...so...fast...asshole,” Ryu managed to wheeze, maintaining a haughty smile.

  He clasped his legs around Birdie’s arm. Then, with all his might, Ryu swiveled his body upside down, turning his head to one side to loosen Birdie’s grip, then jumped down to the ground.

  “Now, time to take out the trash,” Ryu smiled, sensing Birdie shuffling behind him. The sounds of his heavy feet were like elephants stamping across a field.

  “I’m gonna get ya, sucker,” Birdie howled, chains rattling off his leather waistcoat.

  Ryu smiled, then thrusted his leg straight out, forcing the giant punk to stumble over it. There was a harsh thud. Birdie lay knocked out onto the ground, his huge body at the end of Ryu’s bleeding feet. Ryu stood in his stance breathing errantly, feeling a slight wave of relief in his body. The teenagers fell silent, cowering into the darkness, before Birdie had a chance to come to.

  Ryu leered at the punks for a moment, then very slowly draped the black jacket over his shoulder. He looked down at his fallen opponent, smiling ever so slightly before he walked away.