Guile has one of my favorite back-stories in video gaming, so I figured that I would write up my own version so as to pay homage to Capcom’s wonderful character design. I will continually edit this thread, but suggestions are always welcome!
Chapter One: The Visit***
Silence filled the air as a brisk breeze tiptoed between the tombstones. Darkness seemed imminent as the Sun waved farewell to the St. Silverius Cemetary through bordering cypress trees. The mournful visitors have all come and gone to pay their respects: all but one.
A bold being knelt stiffly, akin to the grave marker in front of him. He bowed his head solemnly, hoping that memories of his friend’s fate would pass over with the wind.
"Yesterday was your birthday. Jane and Amy helped me celebrate in your honor. We cooked bourbon steak with some spinach: your favorite meal. Yeah, I know it’s cheesy, but the family and I wish you were here. The squadron misses you too, man. We went out to the bar last night and raised our glasses to your name. We drank the night away, just as us good soldiers do. Don’t worry, the beer was American. Sam Adams, to be specific.
His hand broke the silence as it wrapped around two dog tags dangling from his neck.
“Just like the night we arrived in Thailand. We made the most of our one night of vacation before the morning assault. Do you remember that? Shit, we couldn’t find one person who understood our inquiries about local bars. Finding one that served American brew was damn near impossible. What a relief it was, though, when we found a convenient store selling some Budweiser. Yeah, that usually isn’t our drink of choice. However, I think we chose well over the piss water that they brew over there. We emptied the case as if we had nothing to worry about the next day. We downed it as if we weren’t heading into the Hell forged by M. Bison and his Shadowloo puppets. Yeah, waking up with a hangover was the least of our worries that next day. We took one last can each heading into the fight. You were hesitant, but we’ve proven to be quite functional with hangovers. Shit, remember my brother-in-law? The martial artist who I beat flawlessly in a fight? Yeah, I did that with a hangover. But…”
His smirk retreated as quickly as it had come about; he strengthened his grip on the tags. Memories far less glamorous began to surface as he proceeded through his journey into the past.
“But I couldn’t save you with a hangover.” The words gave him an encore. “I couldn’t fucking save you.”
His fist quickly released the tags and proceeded to crash into the ground underneath him.
“So many soldiers we knew died at the hands of his cronies. We did away with them, but we couldn’t avoid casualties. His masked assassin and relentless mercenary did away with half of our troop. We handled them and found him- we had Bison in our hands. We had him.”
He opened his mouth and dictated what had until then been kept within his mind: “we had him.”
With those words, he rose. As he stood, he remained fixated on the gravestone. He reached into his pockets and rustles through them intently. In them is a Purple Heart medallion he had earned upon his return. He opened his eyes and spoke again: “The military bestowed this honor upon me. They do not know of your deeds initially due to the fact that you vanished without leaving a corpse or trace of life. I have tried to lobby for you, but the army does not know of your cooperation in the assault. Yes, my name is attached to it, but you, Charlie, you deserve this recognition. You were the truly selfless one as we tried to neutralize the wretched dictator.”
All grew quiet again, and the only movement within the cemetery was the transfer of the medallion from his hand to the tombstone’s base. The grass accepted the award on his friend’s behalf as it surrounded the silver emblem. He took in a breath, and departed upon exhaling the autumn air back into the young night. His right hand points towards the parking lot: a quick beep disturbs the quiet. He arrived at his pick-up after trekking through the falling leaves, the rows of marble, and finally the iron gate. He reached for the door’s handle to finally escape the reemerging demons of his past. He halted though, stopped dead: paralyzed in thought. He seemed to immerse himself in thoughts related to what had happened at the Shadowloo base. However, gloom swiftly brightened to hope as he looked back to the cemetery one last time. He spoke words of farewell to his friend: “I know you’re out there, Charlie. Someday we will meet in a world rid of Bison’s presence.”
He retired to the truck’s cab and turned the key in the ignition. The engine’s roar accentuated his goodbye as he departed the lot. He reached the lot’s end, took hold of the steering wheel, and then began the drive home. He merged onto the intersecting street after turning right, and eventually he faded into the October night.