Disclaimer: I don't own Street Fighter in any way, shape or form. It and all associated characters, trademarks, etc. are owned by Capcom. I'm just telling some stories about them.

Epilogue:

Antarctica, May 19

The gale-force winds howled across the face of the vast, icy plain, ripping up fallen snow and sending it screaming through the air, like countless tiny knives hurled at incredible velocity. The storm raged like a living thing, bent on scouring the surface of the most desolate wasteland known to man.

And the deadly winds only intensified the worst part—the unimaginable cold. The temperature alone could easily kill a man without the proper gear. It was the hallmark of that terrible climate, the true ruler of the frozen hell.

Visibility in the storm was almost non-existent. Everything had been reduced to a consuming whirlwind of white—not that there was anything to see in that barren place.

Except for the single, impassive figure standing in the midst of it.

The winds broke around him, pulling hard at the tattered gi he wore, at the black belt tied around his waist, at the red headband tied around his forehead. If the cold bothered him, he gave no outward sign.

He had fully expected to die in the explosion that had destroyed Bison and his headquarters. It had been a blast of horrific power, something no human should have been able to withstand.

But then, "human" was perhaps not the best way to describe his capabilities anymore.

And so, he had found himself awakening—hurt, but alive—in the ruins of the Shadowlaw base. It had only been then that he had realized, with a sinking heart, just how far beyond his friends' ability to kill he had grown.

But somehow, he had summoned up the willpower to teleport himself here. Here, to this haven, the most isolated place on earth. The place where he would make his last stand against his bloodlust.

He did not know how it would end. Even cut off from the remotest shred of human contact, murderous desires still hounded his thoughts. It might be that he would fail in the end, and give into the dark urges. Or it might be that he would succeed in holding them at bay, living out the rest of his years in this self-imposed exile.

His eyes stared deep into the raging storm, as though trying to discern what future this frozen land had in store for him. Damnation? Death?

Or perhaps... even redemption?

With nothing else to do, he began to walk forward. Even as he did so the winds picked up, the icy tempest increasing in force, and soon he had vanished from sight completely.

~ fin ~