Ultra Street Fighter II: The Final Challengers | Buy-Now!
Features a stellar line-up of characters, including all of the
original fighters and bosses, the characters added in Super Street
Fighter II, plus the first new additions in nearly 20 years: Evil Ryu
and Violent Ken!
Choose between classic pixel-art graphics for a retro nostalgia trip, or enjoy a refined new modern look!
Utilize the motion controls of the Joy-Con in “Way of the Hado”
mode, a new first-person single player experience where players attempt
to defeat the Shadaloo army using signature Hadouken and Shoryuken
Team-up with a friend to take on the CPU opponent in “Dynamic
Battle” mode. Create new two-character combos and attack the CPU on both
Battle it out with a friend in local multiplayer or take the fight online in Ranked and Casual matches.
Browse through a beautiful 250+ page digital artbook featuring
over 1,500 illustrations throughout Street Fighter’s 30-year history.
In the comparative Dirk-Todd conversation, Todd says 'you really are some sort of Holistic Detective’ - which is the term Dirk used. But Bart’s never called herself an angel. She’s bemused by the term, in fact.
But Ken calls her angel. A proper, old testament, slayer of evil angel. Ken has been looking for this proof, this proof that something otherworldly, protective and righteous, exists.
For someone who is so able with technology, that has a less-than-legal past, he leaps to religion, to faith.
She is what he has been searching for - proof of divine retribution. His angel. And he isn’t scared. He doesn’t run - despite the fact he’s probably broken enough rules, committed enough sin, to deserve retribution himself.
You know who would be a better villain than Infinite? Scourge! Think about it, he is the same idea only made intentionally stupid and ironic and could be good meta-commentary on OC culture. What do you think?
“I’m an evil Sonic but I love it and I obnoxiously rub it in everybody’s faces” is certainly better than the direction they’ve been going, yeah. Instead of the stoic, stonewalled edge lord, get somebody in there who enjoys throwing his weight around and has fun dunking on Sonic WITHOUT making him in to a goober like the Deadly Six were.
She had tried to be sad when Frank died. She really did. She went to the hospital to identify him. She looked at his bent and broken body for a long time.
She’d been married to the man for a long time. Loved him once. But at that moment she felt nothing. Well, that wasn’t completely true.
She was free. Free from his condescension. Free from his judgement. Free from his mocking. Free from his lying. His cheating. His cowardice.
So this…this pain. This was something she wasn’t equipped for.
Everything hurt. Her head. Her eyes. Her heart.
Her heavy, dirty soul.
She was such a fool.
Every time Claire wiped the tears from her eyes, her cat, Adso, would lick the salt from her fingers. She rubbed the scruff behind the gray’s ears.
She was disgusted with herself.
She let herself hope. Albeit a little. But she had dared to hope. And that damnable solid, mahogany-haired, clever, sexy, decent man, when he realized what she had done, had looked at her with complete horror.
It was nothing less than she deserved.
How could she explain to a man who hunted murderers for a living why she did what she did? How could she explain that it was the only way to gain her freedom? Her self-esteem? Her worth? How could she explain that those things were worth a man’s life? It was impossible.
Curled into herself in the pitch dark of her room, she couldn’t stop the flow of tears. Slowly. Silently. Continuously. This was why she liked to be alone. This was why she preferred the dead.
The dead could not judge. The dead could not be disappointed. The dead didn’t care about her secrets.
The dead let her live.
His feet hit the pavement in a rhythmic pounding. It was late, and he really shouldn’t be running at this hour. But he was trusting that his 6′4″ muckle-sized frame would put off any would-be assholes. Besides, he needed the exertion. Needed to push himself into pain.
A different pain. A physical pain. He could bear that kind of pain.
He ran along the Thames, feeling the breeze off the water. The damp chill on his overheating skin.
One minute he’d held the world in his arms. Next, his arms were empty. He kept seeing her standing there. Panicked. Alone. Withdrawn.
He couldn’t find the words. Any words, to tell her it wasn’t her fault.
Instead he stood there like a eejit, and watched her run into her house.
It all made sense now. Why she became an M.E. Why she preferred to be alone. Why she didn’t date, or let herself get too close to a man.
Because she believed she killed her husband.
Except, she really didn’t. Logically, even if she had told Frank, he might not have listened. Even if he hadn’t gone out that night it may have happened the next morning. Just because she ‘saw’ it, didn’t make it her responsibility.
How he could he explain that this wasn’t murder? How could he explain that Frank’s accident was the result of his free will? That maybe Karma handed him that black ice for his lying, cheating, controlling, abusive behaviour? How to explain that Frank was a grown man who disregarded his life, and his wife when he drove out into Mother Nature’s wrath? It was impossible.
Frank Randall had killed her spirit. And that was the horror that struck him to his core.
He ran, and ran, and ran some more. And even though he tried to tell himself that it was a coincidence, it really wasn’t. He’d run to Claire’s house.
Panting he stood outside the darkened home. He braced his hands on his knees and took great, gulping breaths.
He straightened finally, and dug out his mobile. He pressed her number.
He waited for the voicemail and began to talk. Hoped for a light in a window. When he ran out of time, he dialed and spoke again. Again. And again. Until he said everything he could think of.
He hoped it was enough.
The ringing phone startled her. She jumped, and Adso flew to his feet. The light from her screen momentarily bathed the room in a ghostly glow.
She let it ring. She heard the ping of a voicemail notification.
When it rang again, she jumped. Same thing happened.
He called seven times in all. Each time he left a message. When it was obvious he wasn’t going to call again she hit the icon to start her messages.
His warm Scottish burr filled her bedroom.
“Claire. I ken what yer thinkin’. It’s no’ yer fault. I ken ye think I blame ye. I don’t. Yer husband made a choice, Claire. He made a few, to be honest. All of them poor. The choice to not honour his vows. The choice to not be faithful. The choice to be jealous.” The message ended abruptly. She hit the second one.
He didn’t miss a beat.
“The choice to let his pride get in the way. The choice to get behind the wheel of a car and drive off into a winter’s storm. That’s his choice, Claire, and sight or no, ye couldna have stopped him. Ye know this. Ye know it in yer heart. Just as ye know that I am not him. That I am a man who-”
Quickly, another one.
“-a man who makes his own decisions, and blames no one. I dinna need yer sight, Claire. I’ve my own, in a way. I’m a cop. With a strong instinct. I ken good. I ken evil. And my gut tells me yer a kind woman who brings justice into the world with her gift. My eyes tell me yer the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” He paused here, and time ran out.
“My soul tells me that we were meant to be together. Yer gift just confirms it.” He chuckled low into the phone, and the sound filled her bedroom. She sighed heavily. “I’m actually outside. On the sidewalk.” She sat up in bed, and dislodged Adso. She dare not risk a look. “Claire. Sorcha. There is light in you. That’s yer name in Gaelic. Sorcha, means Light.” His voice broke. The call cut off.
She fumbled for the next message. Gift? Did he just call her burden a gift? Her tears fell anew.
“Dammit, Claire. He’s lucky he’s dead.” A longer pause. The sound of his breathing. Then, “I will wait. I promise. If I have to wait 200 years,” a small laugh, and the next words in a rush, “which I’d rather not to be honest because I’m looking forward to the sex, no’ gonna lie. But, I’ll wait.” She half laughed, half cried at that.
She pressed the next message.
“Stop punishing yerself, Claire. For there is no crime here. It was Frank who lied, who killed yer spirit, who stole yer confidence, betrayed ye and broke yer trust. It’s his crime, no’ yers. Think. Really think. Would he have listened had ye told him?” His words cut off. She sat for a moment. Thought hard.
She hit the final message.
“Truth is, I’m no’ really concerned. Ye’ve seen us. Ye already know. Ye ken there’s nothing to forgive. Ye just need to wrap yer head around us. Give us a chance, Claire. Trust me. I will love ye, and love ye well.”
She bolted to the window. The sidewalk outside was empty. He’d gone. Claire crawled back into bed. Pulled the covers up around her ears. Adso adjusted himself on her pillow. She raised her phone up, feeling like a child in a blanket fort.
If the evil Ken IS named BurntToastKen, then would he have tattoos of smoke and cloud textures? Would he have a black bear hat instead of a brown bear? Also, would you make a version of his video game "skin" with a polar bear and a bathrobe? Cus polar bears live in the cold and bathrobes are warm? It would be cool if you used all of the bears! ^.^ alSO I LOVE YOUR JACK DRUM ATTACK
the name doesn’t have to obviously affect the chara design of a character(and vice versa)- (๑☆‿ ☆#)ᕗ but sure that would be an awesome idea! Plus in the original design ,he’s smoking !So that fits pretty well to his dark version !
And he would be SOOOO kyote as polar bear!
I sincerely love this idea! Plus he had his hair blond (for having them purple just after) so he would be so damn adorablu!
(⋈･◡･)✰ And i discovered a new version of Ken yesterday, during his stream. The manly manly ladybeard man with ponytails . //mah kokoro// //hHHhh//