A/N This is the first of several stories spanning the MK timeline. Each story will differ from established canon, this is not a retelling (hence why I'm writing a fanfic, not a transcript for a blog). There will be multiple POV's for each story. For this story, they are Johnny Cage, Kenshi, Kano and Cyrax. There will be strong violence, language and maybe some suggestive content. Please enjoy, and review to help me improve.
THE ACTOR
The deck swayed beneath Johnny's trainers, making him dread the resurgence of his breakfast as he clung to the rail. If you could call it a breakfast. Stale bread and the thinnest tomato soup God ever saw, he thought, two weeks since the Thunder God left port, and not a single proper meal since. Couple that with my near-mute companions and I may as well have spent the last two weeks camping with eskimos. Woulda been more fun, too.
He'd only gotten a few words from Raiden, the man who'd invited him to the tournament, since he'd came aboard. Everyone else kept to themselves, or with the people they knew. The hot blonde stayed with the Australian dude in the handcuffs, the two monks constantly trained in one corner, while Johnny, the blind dude, the ninja and the Native American just kept to themselves. Wish someone had told me it was fancy dress. I'm the only one without some crazy costume.
The Captain, a stout man with a bushy beard and giant's lungs, shouted orders from behind, in a voice that sounded similar to the waves crashing against the hull. Johnny turned to watch the sailors scrabbling across the deck and up the masts. A few took to a bank of oars and began to row, shoulders hunched low. As if the crazies in the cabin weren't enough, we hired a freakin' pirate ship. Maybe the press is right. Maybe I have gone off the deep end. Letting myself get stuck on a pirate ship with these lot.
He frowned as the Captain continued to issue commands, marching down port and starboard, growling at his new recruits and patting the veterans on the arm. How can he know what to do, when we can't even see through the fog? The thick wall of grey had strangled the boat since they set sail, so the crystal blue water could only be seen twenty feet in every direction. When he'd asked Raiden how The Captain managed it, he'd simply replied, "But he can see through the fog." Johnny called bullshit on that.
Thinking of the devil. Raiden marched out the cabin, and walked to Johnny's side silently. Hey to you too. His lightning blue eyes were set in stone, staring at nothing in particular over the water. What's he staring a-
Johnny smiled for the first time in days as the grey split over the water, dissolving around them faster than he ever would've assumed, melting into the blue. On the horizon, a massive island loomed alone, stony shores, forests and huge mountains rolling closer with each stroke of the oars. "Purgatory", Raiden said blankly. "Where the tournament will be held."
"Woah," Johnny replied. "I expected something a bit . . ."
"Smaller?"
"More desolate. You didn't make it sound all that great before," he muttered.
"Looks can be decieving."
"Says the guy in the straw hat and robes. Wait . . . are those sandals? With socks? Tell me I'm going crazy," he joked, staring at Raiden's feet.
"You should speak to Lord Raiden with more respect," a voice snapped. Johnny glanced back to find the rest of the competitors wandering out onto deck, one of the monks glaring at him. This monk wore red and black robes, and a bandana tying back thick black hair. The other wore a metal-brimmed hat, with black and silver robes. Neither of them knew how to smile.
"Sorry, Mr. Lee, but not even the tournament organiser can get away with that," he replied, brushing off the man's anger. No point in getting annoyed. Just play it off.
"Tournament organiser?" the black haired man asked. He looked to Raiden. "You . . . did not tell him?"
"Would you?" Raiden replied. A blue medallion shined bright on his chest under the light from the now-exposed sun. The sky was clear, save a few seagulls circling overhead.
"Tell me what?" Johnny interrupted, stepping closer. "You aren't the tournament organiser?"
"No," he admitted. "I am the God of Thunder."
Johnny froze, eyes locked on the older man's from behind his sunglasses. He watched for a hint of hesitation or dishonesty. Not a muscle twitched, not a flicker from his eyes, not a slight smile or snigger.
He burst into laughter, clutching at the rail, slamming a fist off one knee. The sound easily carried across the deck, and many of the people looked over at them. "Man," he said, as he struggled back to his feet. "Your dedication to your roleplaying is fascinating, really. But count me out. I'm just Johnny . . . my "Lord"."
He barely contained another fit of laughter as he sauntered off, moving to sit by one of the masts. The ship eventually made its way to a rickety pier jutting out of the clear waters, but it was easier for him than before, being able to see land and listen to the gulls. He didn't feel light-headed anymore, and any uneasiness could easily be washed down by the sight of the blonde girl. Now there's a woman. Muscled and curvy. Shame that she's probably as crazy as the rest. I know police officer costumes are kinky, but Special Forces, with fake weapons? Just looks ridiculous.
Raiden led the competitors down the pier once the ship had anchored, towards a group of people gathered around a fire on the beach. The beach's white sand didn't stretch far, before reaching rocky outcrops, the sea or the edge of the forest. Benches sat in the shade of the trees, the firepit in the centre of the sand. A large pit had been dug just beyond, 15 feet deep, and at least 20 metres wide and long. Torches were set at each corner edge, along with flags. They bore a golden dragon on a white field. Guess that's the symbol for this "Mortal Combat" tournament. Wait, no, "Kombat". Because the "K" must make it so much cooler. He snorted as they came to a halt, lined up opposite the people at the fire.
If I thought they were crazy before . . . Their opposing team had to look even stupider than the ones who'd came with him. Some even wore prosthetics that looked fake enough to be from the 80's. This is why you don't do your own prosthetics. They look like a 90's dance troupe. Makes me seriously doubt whether Raiden lied about this being a way for me to redeem myself. All I'm doing is making myself look like an idiot.
An asian man, with long black hair coming up to a widow's peak, stalked forward and opened his arms. The long robes he wore flapped in the wind, making the flames embroidered on them seem to come alive in a flurry of red and gold. "Welcome, Earthrealmers, to Mortal Kombat!" he shouted, his voice both a whisper and a scream. "This is the tenth tournament, after nine consecutive Outworld victories. If you lose again, Earthrealm will be merged with Outworld, free for Shao Kahn to conquer!"
That got some of the opposing team to cheer, but Johnny had to cover his mouth with a hand to contain his laughter. The blond girl stood beside him, and she looked just as dumbfounded as he felt.
"It has begun! The preliminary matches will be held today, now, to decide who enters the winner and loser brackets. No killing is allowed until the brackets begin. You have already been assigned matches and opponents," the man announced. I've only just started feeling sure-footed again, and they want us to fight? Not even a night's rest?
Evidently, Johnny wasn't the only person to feel this way, as the woman next to him had cursed under her breath. "You heard 'im, sweetheart," the Australian man mocked, holding up his handcuffs. "Time to unlock these bloody things." Before now, Johnny's eyes had always snapped to the blonde, but now he looked at the bearded man fully for the first time, and had to sigh. I guess we're using prosthetics too. Terminator eye, seriously?
Raiden turned to his team. "Do not let this phase you. It is an attempt from Shang Tsung, the man who just spoke, to put us off guard. It will not work, you are all formidable fighters," he told them, before turning back to this Shang Tsung. "What are the matches?"
The man unraveled a scroll, a freakin' scroll, to read off the matches. Johnny swore as he said, "Johnny Cage and Reptile are the first match." He looked straight at Johnny. "Mr. Cage, if you wouldn't mind?" he asked, motioning towards the pit.
Feeling extremely uncomfortable fighting while wearing his jeans and a collared shirt, he strolled to the pit. He heard one of the opponents mutter, "The actor?" as he hopped in and rolled his shoulder. You'll do great. Prove to them what you can do. You're Johnny freakin' Cage. No special effects required. The real deal.
Another man dropped opposite him, dressed in boiled leathers and combat boots. Bandages coiled around his face, only leaving large, pointed yellow teeth, and beady reptilian eyes visible. Those fake teeth can't be comfortable to fight with. And contacts, seriously?
The competitors had lined up above them, either side of the pit. Intimidating. He whipped off his five-hundred dollar sunglasses, folding them up and chucking them up to the blonde. He gave her a quick wink, before turning to "Reptile". If a sexual predator ever got a codename, that'd be it.
The man hissed at Johnny, and he grinned. "You ready for your beat-down, sunshine? Not every day you get a go with the A-list," he taunted, flicking a strand of hair from his face. Needs more gel. Shit, did I forget my gel?
"Mr. Cage, could you focus for one moment?!" a harsh voice snapped.
Johnny stared at a very pissed-off looking Shang Tsung. "What?"
"As I was saying: Each match will consist of a maximum of 3 rounds. Each round will last two minutes maximum. If you win two rounds in a row, you win. A round is won when your opponent takes longer than ten seconds to return to their feet, or if the time limit runs out. If it does, I will judge the victor, as the host," Shang explained, garnering a grumble of dissent from Johnny's team. "Round 1, FIGHT!"
Johnny barely managed to turn in time to counter Reptile's rush. The bandaged man focused on quick jabs, trying to work around any parries or block Johnny tried to use, not giving him time to adapt or launch an offensive. The jabs didn't hurt all that much, but the sustained impacts would numb his arms soon, or tire him out.
The sand underfoot made for difficult movement as he tried to work his way around Reptile, who'd begun to push him back towards the corner. His opponent grabbed him as he passed, fingers digging into his shoulder. Red spread beneath his shirt as the pain in his shoulder rocketed, and his vision began to blur. He instinctively leapt forward, swinging his knee upward. Johnny didn't even feel the impact, as next he knew Reptile had stumbled back and he had fallen to one knee.
He stared at Reptiles red-stained hand as his vision cleared. Are those . . . talons? How's that fair?!
His opponent snarled like a berserk animal and leapt forward, sending sand shooting up after him. Johnny rolled under and whipped around as Reptile landed hard where he'd been knelt a moment before. Prosthetic talons shouldn't have been able to do that, not without tearing off . . . no way. They can't be real. Those crazies aren't telling the truth. He's tied razor blades to his nails, and painted them black. That's all it is.
Curved razor blades.
He struggled to his feet, fists raised in a defensive stance. Or so he made it look. If he's as aggressive and crazy as he seems, then he won't be the type of opponent to focus on feet positioning. He's all about the attack. The rushdown. He doesn't think.
He laid his front foot flat, but stood on the balls of his back foot. Reptile predictably launched himself forward, and Johnny spun backwards, lashing out with a kick. It cracked against Reptile's jaw, sending yellow, pointed teeth scattered through the sand like pine needles.
Reptile lay on the ground, unmoving. Johnny tapped him with his foot, but he didn't stir. "Heh, you got caged, bitch," he taunted, trying to draw his attention away from the hammering of his heart, the sweat coating him like an armour, the fear and uncertainty racking through him like the ebbing of the tide. I need to know.
He walked over to the unconscious body, grabbed a fistful of ragged bandages and pulled. He heard the blonde gasp. Holy shit, he looks like those aliens off of 'V'. His name is disturbingly accurate.
"Round one goes to Mr. Cage," Shang called down with more than an edge to it.
Reptile's eyes snapped open and Johnny backed away, giving himself more space to move. He won't fall for the same move twice. He'll take his time, think more.
Reptile swayed when he moved opposite, his hands raised clumsily into a weak defensive stance.
"Round two, fight!"
Johnny charged, flipping forwards with a kick once he was close. Reptile slid underneath, moving on the floor as if it were ice, leaving an oozing liquid in his trail. What the h-
Reptile's taloned fist came at him again, and he leaned out the way, countering with two punches under the creature's upper arm. He flicked his leg round Reptile's own, grabbed the outstretched arm and slammed him to the ground.
Johnny kicked at Reptile's side, but he rolled away and came up to a crouching position. Johnny followed, trying to continue his assault with a well placed kick, until Reptile opened his mouth. Something shot out, and before Johnny could react, something long and rough began to constrict his air supply, tightening round his neck like a vice.
His tongue. It's. His. Freakin'. Tongue.
He placed his fingers around the tongue, fighting to stay on his feet against a wave of dizziness. I'm losing consciousness.
He pulled at the tongue, drawing Reptile closer, closer, just need him close enough for one punch. Just one . . . one more . . ..
A blue sky and many concerned and agitated faces stared at Johnny when his eyes flicked back open. "Johhny, can you fight?" Raiden demanded, crouching next to the edge so he didn't have to shout. "Are you okay?"
"Fine. Felt worse. Once," he muttered, clambering up against the wall. His shoulder had fallen numb, and his head pounded like music in a nightclub. Looking up, he couldn't even make out Raiden's face.
"Final round, FIGHT!"
"Wha-?!" Johnny shouted, diving to the side. He rolled onto his knees, gasping at the pain. His entire body tingled. A dark shape rushed towards him, talons bared, shadowy hands grasping for him like hungry animals. He swung out his fist, far too early, and the figure easily parried, moving to grip his throat.
He kicked out at the shape's leg and scrambled back. His hand brushed over sand, blood and then something hard. Sharp. A . . . a tooth!
He gripped it, hanging onto what seemed like his lifeline. There's no killing in the preliminary matches. Aim for somewhere non-vital. Like a limb.
Talons grasped onto his legs and dragged him along the sand, pulling him towards the figure. Reptile. I'm fighting Reptile.
Reptile leapt, landing on Johnny's chest with his knees, sending a crack echoing through the confined arena. Johnny yelled, drawing on the last of his energy. Now!
He stabbed one of Reptile's wrists, sending the creature snarling away, and leapt forward, tumbling them both back to the floor. He kept one hand locked on his opponent's wounded wrist, digging his fingers into the gash, while stabbing down at the arm with the canine.
After enough green blood had been spilled, from a dozen gashes, and Reptile had stopped thrashing, Johnny got to his feet, his sodden clothes clinging to his skin. He's knocked out . . . I won.
"Johnny Cage, wins," Shang Tsung mumbled. "Someone get Reptile out of there."
Johnny staggered over to where Raiden had kicked down a rope ladder, climbed with one hand to avoid aggravating his shoulder, and collapsed onto the floor when topside. "I need . . . that blonde's number."