One, two, three.

Deep breaths. . . One, two, three. She felt the wind breezing around her body as if it caressed each of her curves and every single part of her skin, like how it did each day. She counted the days. It has been twenty one months, six hundred thirty days ever since she found nothing but gray in her solace, the gray her sorrow has crafted.

Solace, that went too well with this wind and the killling weather of september. With the unadjusted sky and the in between weather, that could actually represent the strange weather of her own too well. Lately she was troubled with nightmares once again, her lack of sleep was back. Whenever she thought that she was back on her feet, she fell once again. Not that she could not manage on her own, hell, she wasn't to be underestimated and she knew; however it was that. . .

At the first months, she was fine. She really was, rejecting the reality, living her life, knowing who was where, what was happening. But then something sparkled. Something happened, a spark had relapsed.

A familiar spark relapsed that was followed by a familiar fear and from then on, she knew she was trapped. She knew the circle and the consequences. However the complexion of mania, cigarettes and tears she chose to ignore. And with that, came her slowly becoming a living ghost. It all made much more sense that way, truly. After all, ghosts were crafted from a blank page. Cleansed from their sins, insecurities and loss. They were a canvas that had lost their true colour and became a pure yet sickening white. No rage left, nor happiness. Nor any sort of emotion.

Logic and numbness only, with a wise mindset because of their previous life. The question was, did ghosts really were victorious at the end?

It was cold, yet not. After all, she grew up in Brazil. Every weather was cold to her anyways. That included the weather of Liverpool too. Liverpool being another story of her uncertain state of mind, she thought that getting away from Brazil woulf be a new start; would make her forget.

Would kill the ghost and make her heart beat once again. However, that wasn't the case. Not at all.

She got off from the small balcony and walked back in, reeking of cigarettes inside her sweatpants. She knew that it was morning, perhaps eight. She didn't sleep and was too lazy to walk all the way back to the kitchen; where the clock was. She didn't own a phone ever since she left her hometown, she prefered to be completely alone. That meant zero signals and a hundred percent of her. It felt empty at first but after realizing that a phone would be the least of her worries, she was more comfortable. (The building manager had a phone anyways, she could use that when it was needed.) Her comfort also came within another fact: She was completely off the radar. No phone, none of her old belongings, her old house sold, her last name changed to her mothers old one. No one could find her, him especially. Why would Eddy want to find her anyways? Wasn't he the one who left time and time without saying anything?

It was. .

Stupid. Just stupid.

She took a quick shower because of how uncomfortable her clothes felt, they were really sweaty; she had to do her laundry. After combing her long hair, (It had gotten so long, it was uncomfortable. Christie hated it. Hated hated hated. She hated her messy hair, bitten off nails, chewed lip and her knuckles that had gotten numb and been painted with scars because of punching the walls; at really mad nights.) she decided to put on her lilac sundress. It was one of the few things she grabbed from her old home and it was only because it was her mothers. Her things always made her feel more safe and the lilac dress was the only thing that had that power at the moment.

One, and only.

Back from the laundry place, Christie found herself wandering around the streets of various shops. She liked to wander. Especially on mornings, on saturday mornings. Even though she had lost track of days, it was a fine morning. She liked the fresh air and the good view from a near cliff right next to the old cinema building, so she walked to the bench on the cliff and decided to sit and enjoy the view for a few minutes. Far, there was a lake. A crystal clear lake right next to the lonely field of lavenders, accompanied by the greenest trees she could ever see. She could also see a set of stones around the field, in a lilac-ish gray colour. The sun rays sparkled on the lake perfectly, it reflected right inside her eyes and made her adore the view. The breezes moved the lavenders and there were too much of them; she swore, she felt like the scent was present for a second.

Christie then found her breaths steadying, which made her take out her small notebook, the thick ruby red one. She started to take some short notes, as the voice of the pencil felt appealing; after filling a few pages she closed it. Even though she would love to keep studying the view, she felt her need for coffee returning. So she got up and went to the diner right beside the cinema building.

It was rather quiet at the early morning, but still filled with late night workers. Christie was quick to find herself a spot, instead of wasting her time with goofing around. She looked outside the window. Not much. A teen with his bike, a girl with her headphones on, a couple walking down the street, some guy jogging. . . The sun was reflecting through the window, only to make her looks deeper.,

"Miss? How can I help you?"

Christie got out of the trance quickly and muttered a quick apology to the waitress to keep her waiting.

"It's alright, I have time. You must be working late, that's tiring, huh?"

"Yeah, I guess," Christie shrugged her off. "One black coffee,"

"Please." She didn't like being rude.

The coffee was there. The coffee wasn't there. The coffee was there. The coffee wasn't there. The coffee was there. The coffee wasn't there. The coffee was there. The coffee wasn't there.

The coffee was there.

The coffee wasn't there.

She let out a deep breath.

"Close your eyes," She muttered to herself, chewing on her lip. "Easy, Christie, easy. You can handle it,"

The coffee was there. She took a sip, it was okay. It was calming. Good, she thought. Maybe I can eventually get a handle on it. I mean, I got over it when I was little. I should be okay. I will be. Good. Good.

All good.

The coffee was there and it was great. Like the painting on the wall, or the piano at the end of the bar. It was wooden, really old like her mothers. It was too bad that Christie could never learn the piano like her mother, it would be another things from her. A part to keep and play on forever.

Christie saw the hot coffee dripping on the sundress.

A part to play on forever.

Except it had never occured.

On the other side of the diner, a blonde man with headphones had entered the diner; returning from his night long training. Even looking at him could fill one with energy, and it certainly had.

"Steve! Hey man," Will almost shouted behind the bar, which bummed Steve out a little. He already had a headache. "Easy, Will. . Just here for some breakfast,"

"No drinks? I thought that we would drink our arses off this morning? It's friday! You know how things work on friday the twenty sixth." (Each month's twenty sixth day, Steve and Will would drink from morning to after noon. It was a tradition for seven years with zero purpose.)

"I'm sorry. . But I have to train more today. I have a match next week and I have to win this one if I want to be in the league this year," Steve shrugged as an apology, though he knew it wasn't really enough. He had been neglecting his friends a lot lately. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy them- god no. It was. . Something internal. He had been thinking ever since the fourth tournament and after a few more tournaments it did sort of go away - the thoughts- but lately he had been plagued by the strangest dreams. All leading to one certain direction, Steve made sure to write all his dreams down. Multiple times a week, the same dreams about the same people, the same place. . If only he could get a fine grip, something he could hold on to. But nothing was present, there was always a blankness. Such as Doctor Kliesen.

Seriously, where even was doctor Kliesen?

He had too many questions, too many thoughts, lonely nights, thunderstorms, lack of sleep and zero cigarettes left.

And at the precise moment especially since his matches were close, the least of the things he had was time.

"Will, I really am. I'm terribly sorry if it doesn't sound sincere but I am. Please know that," He sighed when he saw Will taking in a deep breath.

"One month. That, Fox, is how long you have until I start to dig in to the shit that has been bothering you. Just. One. Month."

Steve found himself smirking with his friends reaction and reached for a quick hug, which Will returned. "Oh, and who will you fight next week? I completely forgot." Will added. Steve's mind raced to the part where it kept the career he managed to save.

"Guy named Barton Ross, American. I have to train harder,"

"Huh, well, I think you should. . But not like he's much better than you." A feminine voice came from behind the bar, the chains on her boots echoing as she walked next to both men. Steve could smell her perfume the minute she arrived, as if she poured the bloody bottle all over herself, especially inside the wind that hit his face caused by the movement of her blonde, wavy hair.

"Cindy has been catching up lately, with boxing." Will pointed out. "Since you have been so terribly bad at it, she decided to be your. . . What was the word again? Mother?" Will turned to Cindy with a puzzled expression, which made Cindy roll her eyes. (Which had the thickest and the most expensive eye pencils all around it, so much, it had to be thought of at least once.)

"It's called being a friend, dumb arse. When was the last time you detected potential threaths for your friends career's- or even your friends sake? Anyway, Steve. I really don't think that he's thay much of a trouble- How, the fuck, ever; be prepared. You own this but still be. If you win this one, that creepy danish dude will be definitely intimidated." Cindy expressed her observations, poking his shoulder lightly.

"Wait, the creepy danish guy?" Will was puzzled again.

Cindy, for the first time, struggled to express what she meant to say. "Ahhhh, you know. . The guy with platinum blonde hair but a black thick mustache? Giant nose?"

Steve sighed. "It's the guy with the scar that covers his whole neck. Walking Dead guy?" He found himself smirking once again at the nickname Cindy and he had crafted a few months ago. (It was like his head was ripped off and stitched back together. Yes, that bad.)

"Yes! Yes!" Cindy almost found herself jumping from excitement, perhaps it was the pun or maybe how much he missed making fun of everything with her friend Steve.

"So, shortly, you got this. I'd still keep working on my arse though," She advised.

"Like how you should be right now?" Will pointed out the lack of service inside the diner bar. The crowd was slow since they were tired, however Will did have a point. It was calm yet still a work atmosphere.

"Will you ever stop bossing me around?"

"I'm not. I just don't want Kyle to fire you."

"Look, I'm alright. The only customer that I should maybe be checking is the notebook girl anyway. I'll be right back," Cindy waved at them with her left hand, both her and the voice of her moving bracelets going further quickly. She grabbed her own notebook just in case with a great speed, also picking up the thermos.

"What sort of a ridiculous nickname is 'notebook girl'? I mean I do understand that you guys just like to give out nicknames to regulars to remember but it's not even funny,"

"Honestly, that's not a joke. The girl is just really silent and odd, so we just happen to call her that because she always has this notebook around. Just comes in here on early morning or really late, has some coffee, sometimes eats; that's about it. She's a regular and we just remember her by that."

Steve was distracted, so he found himself asking to keep the conversation going. "Why odd?"

Will let out a breath, thinking. He licked his upper lip and fixed the caffeine patch on his neck. "Sometimes I see her fringe at nothing, sometimes when she writes in that notebook it looks like she's writing as if her life depends on it. . Like, too much force on a fucking pen. And when I think that she's more normal, she just starts to whisper stuff to herself. She just seems that way,"

"Can I get you anything else?" Cindy asked to the brazilian.

"Sorry but, what's the time?"

Cindy checked her wrist watch. "Nine thirty."

"Can I get the 'Breakfast Special' right here?" Christie pointed at the menu. "Oh, and a refill."

"Alright, let me know if you want anything else."

"Thank you,"

"But Cindy doesn't think that way. Cindy says that she's struggling."

Steve lifted one of his brows, as Will went on.

"But I, just think that the girl simply might be simply weird. Reminds me of my cousin Kathy. And well, you know Kathy."

"Yeah, yeah. . Look, I need to go. Could you please hand me my breakfast? I'm sorry but I need to get back," Steve muttered, knowing that he had to fulfilll the distraction that had occured.

Will grabbed the paper bag and handed it to Steve harshly with a serious set of mimics this time. "One month, Steve; I swear to god. One month and I'm getting into this. Now go."

Steve grinned slightly at his friend and then walked out of the diner bar with firm steps.

Later on, Christie had returned from her wandering, feeling a little better because of the fresh air and the coffee. Which did make a lot of things worse, -caffeine- but hey, it would be okay if she slept later on. (Thank god, pharmaceuticals.)

However as she was walking home, her eye had caught something. The current owner of her old place in Brazil had bought the house for a cheaper number for a certain deal: She would send Christie her mail, would give her a job she could work from home and let her know about whatsoever went on back in her home. And if someone ever asked her about Christie, the answer had to to be: "I don't know. She sold me the house and went away."

So after Christie saw the shipped mail, she decided to take a look. She would probably not work today anyways, mail could be a good distractor from some certain unwanted thoughts. The bank, the ads, the birthday cards, some letters. . . But beyond all, something caught her eye.

Black envelope, white logo. Her name was plated in silver in a fancy font, as she felt how many papers were in the bold envelope. It almost even had a fabric texture, it wasn't even normal paper. The corners were red and she felt that there weren't only papers in the envelope but also. . An electronic? It was stiff yet she couldn't tell.

She felt confusion running through her vessels as she read what wrote on the envelope. The letter. . . Was from the Mishima Zaibatsu.