If it is in normal style, then it is speech.
If it is in italics, then it is thought.
If it is in bold, then it is the individual's natural tongue.
If it is underlined, then it is Devil and Angel.

Disclaimer: Don't own any characters except Razer, Seong-Hada and any non-Tekken characters that appear throughout the duration of this story (unless said/noted otherwise). All other characters belong to Namco. No further disclaimers will be entered, as they ruin the pace of the story.

Author's Note: It's that time of the year again… New "Me" fic. And it is absolutely the last one. No amount of ":D omg plz do it!" will get me to do a Tekken 7 one lol. The idea was originally put forth by an old friend of mine named Dynasty021 back in the "Better Than Me" days, and I thought "…fuck it" and started writing a little bit of it during "With Me" (and then panned it out more as time went on lol).

I want to make it absolutely clear that this will not follow Tekken 6 canon like my past stories, and it goes off of Jin's Epilogue (in "With Me"). When I started writing this, there was no indication to how any of the characters' stories or endings played out – we only (at the time) had the little CGIs and story intros and whatnot. So this is entirely an interpretation of what could've happened. I've not finished writing this fic due to Uni commitments (old fans of mine would know I'd finish the fic first, THEN start posting it), but I'm far enough ahead to start posting. But yeah, I hope you guys enjoy this. This is the last time you'll all be reading about Razer and Seong-Hada, etc etc.

And one last thing… happy birthday, AmberAnodyne :3

Chapter One: Echo

Darkness covered all.

She ran a hand along her side, shivering at her own touch, biting her lip fiercely. Even though the stroke was gentle, it was regardlessly painful. She tried hard to ignore it, tried to pretend that it was merely a figment of her imagination, or that the injury was bestowed upon her from a fall, or a misplaced kick. But it wasn't. She sighed.

The silence was disturbed.

Sound lightly echoed between the bathroom walls. Razer looked up from her side and peered into her silhouette in the mirror, frowning. She stared long and hard at the 21-year-old she had become. Only a year had passed since the King Of Iron Fist Tournament 5, but for the last half of it, it felt like so much longer. A tick of the clock dragged on for hours. Half a second was an eternity. Time's effects on her were clear to those closest.

She changed. At the end of the last tournament, she had changed so, so much, for the better. The devil gene mark, once branded soundly upon her hip, had entirely faded away in the year that past, once Angel came through – once the shadows of the corrupt angel had vanished. She was no longer helpless and powerless. If anything, she was helped. But…

She extended her shaking right hand and pressed it against the mirror. It was cold to touch, though it did not deter her. She ran her finger along the side of her face in her reflection, shaking her head with disgust. She breathed in and out harshly, firmly, still in deep thought. Eventually, her finger reached her chin, where it stopped. Forest green eyes looked harder.

How could I let this happen?

Her face morphed into a scowl. She clenched her fist, her knuckles barely touching the surface. She bit her lip, wishing she could answer herself. But for the last six months, those words reverberated in her mind constantly, with or without the angel within's help. She still had no answer, and that alone infuriated her, let alone her suffering.

Why did I let this happen?

She didn't know, she didn't know. That also ran through her mind continuously, seeking an answer desperately. Alas, nothing came to mind, and she was left to ponder this on her own. As hard as she thought, she could not come up with an answer, let alone a solution. It constantly eluded her. Sometimes she thought she had the answer, and then it would simply leave, or a new twist on the situation would occur, leaving her far away from the truth.

She was just running around in circles, like a guinea pig, following his sick game.

With an anguished howl, she slammed her fist into the mirror, watching the shards of the mirror, of herself, fly everywhere. They jumped from their former design, scattering themselves through the air, and all over the floor and sink. They were strewn in meaningless patterns, gleaming from their places like little beady stars as blood silently rained down in steady drops.

Her fist remained against the wall, red smearing the white, like faded ink on white paper. Her teeth were gritted closely together and her breathing was erratic and shaky, from anger, sadness and pain. It was difficult, trying to keep it silent, but regardless, she tried. She didn't need to be heard by anyone in this cavernous hell.

Why did you lash out? Angel asked slowly and sorrowfully. She already knew the answer.

The sadness soon took over, capturing her wholly. The Greek's head dropped, looking down at the sink through cloudy eyes. Her hand uncurled itself, leaving a palm imprint on the wall, even as it slid down, like the rest of her body. She fell to her knees, still looking down, her bleeding hand hovering over the sink, the other clutching the edge of it.

What did you see in the mirror?

Something… I said… I would never allow to occur again…

Victim.

She breathed in a sob, tears trickling down at a tantalisingly slow pace. Her body was tired and weak. A firm knock at the door soon arrived, once again shattering the silence in the room. The sound echoed like her sigh had done previously. She did not lift her head or answer, and the moonlight that was shining in through the window seemingly began to fade.

Are you afraid to face yourself?

"Ma'am?"

Her lips slightly parted, she breathed in, still staring blankly at the floor. Her light brown hair draped over her shoulders, covering her face like a curtain. Her dark green tracksuit pants did little to mask the cold tiles of the floor, and her light green, slightly-oversized t-shirt couldn't shield her violent trembling. She tried her best to cover her cries.

That person in the mirror is not who I am today. I do not see an adult woman, smiling like she should.

"Ma'am, are you alright?"

At that comment, she could not help but chuckle slightly under her breath. She closed her eyes, trying to block out the dizziness she was currently feeling. Her left hand gripped the edge of the sink tightly, just for something to do. She was desperate for a distraction, just desperate. She had been for a very long time, but it never came.

Then what do you see?

The door was opened hurriedly. The maid who had been tapping away at the door entered the room cautiously, and was clearly confused by the darkness. She flicked on the light switch and then looked back to the woman on the floor, releasing an ear-splitting scream at the sight, her heart lurching and racing. More people's footsteps were heard pattering down the hall, wondering what the commotion was, wondering why their fellow worker had shrieked.

They rushed to her, saying things she couldn't understand. Their voices blurred into one, undistinguishable sound as they tried to tend to her injury and clean up the mess. The original maid had shouted something, either to chastise her or to have one of her other friends call for an ambulance. The depth of the injury was out of their knowledge.

They tried to move her, though she wouldn't budge. Athane's hair was moved out of the way, as though checking for a pulse. These people panic too much. The light from above her was blinding, even with closed eyes, and she couldn't help but close then tighter, her face scrunching up in the effort. She was questioned, but she remained mute.

That person in the mirror is who I was a long time ago. I see a child, crying helplessly, hiding for her life.

He couldn't ignore a tingling sensation in his right hand.

No matter how many times Jin shook his hand, the feeling was not removed. No matter how many times he wiggled his fingers, it did not leave. He tried to ignore it as he stood on the podium, his chocolate brown eyes scanning the sea of people standing before him, ready to serve him. The Tekken Force's size had vastly increased since the Fourth Tournament, which was the last time he had ever seen them prior to his ascension.

"My loyal servants! You have done well," he crowed into the microphone, tapping his fingers on the wood. The tingling sensation was still there, varying in its strength. For a brief moment, he wondered what was going on back home to his girlfriend to have caused this. Their mental connection was strong, after all, "Countless times you are met with a challenge, and united as one, and you overcome them with such effortlessness.

"Only three countries stand against our cause now – America, Russia and China. Everyone else is under our control, forced to obey my command. It is because of you that the rest of the world is enslaved. They have all fallen under the Mishima Zaibatsu's command, and it is that way, clasped tightly in my hand, that they shall stay. Many lives, on their side and ours, have been lost… but it is for the greater reason. Their deaths will be the foundation of a new world. And you, my loyal servants, will be the guardians of this world… And I will forever be your master.

"China is the closest to our home base of Japan, so we must strike them next. The Chinese Division of the Mishima Zaibatsu has already begun breaking down the government from the inside, so we must now send in you, the Tekken Force, to smite the mighty nation. A majority of their military have been destroyed from well placed bomb strikes, and their people are fearful of us already. All we have to do now is take them for ourselves. Are you with me?"

A firm cheer erupted from them, but he was not stupid. The 22-year-old knew that they were not enthusiastic. No, they were terrified. They only sided with him in hopes of him sparing their family and friends, not because they actually believed in his cause. To have an army of frightened soldiers was perfect, because they would do exactly as he said. They were too scared to realise that if they united against him, that they then might have a chance.

But anyone who thought of the idea had been immediately killed by he himself. There had only been four attempts at a rising rebellion so far, and he had personally murdered the leaders. Any discord that they had rattled throughout the ranks had been immediately ceased thereafter, and life returned to their terrifying norm, for those in the force. They resumed living their lives in fear and wonder, whispering under their breath the reasons they were doing this.

His right hand clenched. It was still tingling, and it was getting on his nerves.

He moved aside from the podium and looked out amongst the Tekken Force, a sly smirk on his soulless face. Standing straight, he observed for a few moments longer, watching as silence swept amongst them all. He raised his left hand in a stiff salute, holding it in place against his brow, and within a few moments, everyone else before him were in the same stance with the same salute.

He held it as they disbanded into their groups under the commands of their Captains. Soon enough, the place before him was empty, and the only people that remained were those on the podium with him, standing by his side, or waiting for him off stage. His hand dropped as he turned away, making his own exit with his personal guard and one of the more reliable Tekken Force members at his side.

Nina Williams and Eddy Gordo looked at one another for a moment before looking back at their employer. They noticed him clench his right hand and shake it vigorously for the umpteenth time today. It was the former assassin who decided to speak first, clearing her throat, "Mr Kazama, are you alright? You don't seem yourself."

The Japanese man nodded briefly, sticking both hands in the pockets of his trench coat, "I am fine. I am going to return to my home now. The two of you are free to spend the rest of the day as you see fit. I will see you at the Zaibatsu Throne Room tomorrow at nine in the morning, where you will resume your duties. Do not be late."

He ignored whatever statements followed and made his way to his motorbike, which was idly waiting for him nearby. It was a product of the Zaibatsu, designed by none other than himself, and in a true, Mishima fashion, he organised it so he was the only one with the machine. Quickly mounting it, he turned it on and fished his sunglasses out of his pocket. With one last look to the two, former Tournament participants, he was off, going back home.

I wonder what trouble your idiot girlfriend has gotten herself into this time, Devil mused.

The real Jin, powerlessly locked deep within his own mind, murmured weakly, Leave her alone…

Devil chuckled verbally, though spoke to his host mentally. It had been roughly six months since he had gained full control, and day after day, he made the most of it. He had successfully made the change over when she was in Greece for a month with Hwoarang, on whatever personal quest. And consequently, lie after lie after lie cultivated a break in Jin's defence, and through this, Devil seized him entirely.

The woman had no idea.

I won't allow you to keep doing this… he growled angrily, struggling against the metaphorical, mental chains.

He laughed again, speeding through the streets with ease. The cars that passed him were like meaningless and deranged blurs, as though a child had dipped its finger into paint and drawn a wobbly line across a piece of paper, or alternatively a wall, You won't 'allow' me to keep doing this? Fool… You have no choice.

He sighed, realising that he was right. He had been fighting the entity for six, long, hard months, and he was not any closer to gaining control than he was previously. He felt miserable and alone, but what was the worst of all was being able to hear and see everything. The death, the pain, the wounds. The agonising screams, the hate-filled cries, the sobbing whimpers…

He was standing for everything he was against.

Scream for me, Kazama. Let me hear your pain. No one will hear you.

The 22-year-old hissed angrily, tugging at the chains once more.

Devil laughed for the third time, weaving through the lanes and cars.

His arms slacked, giving way to the pressure. He had been fighting him all day, and he was so, so tired. He wanted nothing more than to scream out in anguish and hope to God that someone else would hear it; though he knew that if he did, Devil would simply see it as another victory. And after all, he was merely an echo of his former self now. An idea, a sound bouncing between the walls of his mind helplessly.

He looked up, staring into space idly, biting his lip fiercely, whispering, Help me.