With this site's limited tagging options and smaller summary space in mind, my major warnings: MPREG, A/B/O dynamics, tho that aspect is pretty mild, swearing, violence, minor character death, AU. I'll try to update with squick triggers as I undoubtedly accrue more of them.
It's a full house. The cage is shaking, there's so many people pawing at it. Like sardines in a can. But they don't want out. This is what they came for.
This is the Black Dragon's specialty. Can't leave anyone wanting for more.
No unsatisfied customers.
Kano likes to think it's his motto. They either leave satisfied, or maybe they just don't leave.
Reputation's everything in this business, after all.
Broken glass, broken teeth, all over the concrete. Blood and puke, too. Cuts and bruises all over the blokes—few broads, too—taking turns inside the cage. But they knew what they were getting into.
It's nothing but sweat and heat where there should be air.
So much fucking sweat and heat that there's no way Kano should be able to pick out any one person's scent.
But he can.
For the exact same reason Kabal won't quit fucking fidgeting—shifting his weight, cracking his knuckles, tugging at his shirt like he's on fire. He's already only in a tank top.
It's not the heat. It's a heat.
Must've just started, given that either of them's got still any self control. But it's a heat.
Fuck it all.
Oh, Kabal'll make a great piece, Kano's got no doubt about that. But it's water better left uncharted. Uncharted, and unmuddied.
They're mates.
Maybe not mates.
Definitely not mates.
But they work well enough together. Keep the Black Dragon running smoothly enough that the Emperor stays off their backs.
Kano was already plenty ready to get laid after all of this; a good fight always gets him going. He was ready enough he didn't really care who it was. Now he does. In all of the wrong ways.
He stands up, snags Kabal by his damp tank top, and growls, "Office. Now."
The shirt moves. The defiant omega wearing it doesn't. Oh, now he stops fidgeting. He's still as Death now, but it sure isn't out of fear.
Smug fucking prick.
"I said—" Kano tugs again, and the sound of fabric tearing punctuates the end of his sentence. "—now."
Erron sees Kano and Kabal leave the fight in a rush, from his position across the cage. He nods just a bit, ackowledging their exit, but doesn't follow. Someone's still gotta keep an eye on the fight, and the crowd. Besides that, he's damn well smart enough to know when something's personal.
It's a quick enough walk from the basement to, and through the bar upstairs. It's quiet topside, but the noise, the chaos, the danger—it's still just behind Kano. Kabal, too. Just below the surface, like always.
They're just stepping out on it, like always. Kabal's no longer being held—as if he ever really was. If he wanted to put up a fight, he would have.
Kano flips the light switch with one hand, and slams the office door shut with the other.
There's even less air in here.
"What the hell, Kano?" Kabal growls it out. He can pretend it's that he's just pissed off Kano dragged him from the fight. He loves a good bloody Kombat night as much as anyone. But he's edging closer and closer to being all hormones and no resolve and they both know it.
It's gonna be the one time ever Kabal can't not be exactly what he is: an omega doing everything but outright begging for it.
Sweating and shivering at the same time. A goddamn walking contradiction. Well, that's just him in a nutshell, isn't it? Hard, rugged features, unlike most omegas. Bulk, to match his height. Not just bulk—muscle. Big mouth, and plenty of fight to back it up.
Zero inclination to cater to anyone's baser desires, just 'cause that's what was written into his parts.
Most of the time.
Kano's circling Kabal like prey and he can't help it. Okay, he can. But he's sure as shit not planning on it. Kabal either doesn't notice, or doesn't care. Probably trying to stay in control and all.
Nah. He's never been intimidated by the alpha. Any alpha.
Try to pull status on him, he just digs his heels in deeper.
It's what got Kabal the job in the first place. His ability to match wills, wits, and blows with anyone threatening the Black Dragon, any day of the week.
But one of these days... That bravado's gonna get him killed.
Or fucked silly and filled to the brim by his boss.
Tomato, to-mah-to.
"Moths to a flame." Kano's voice is thick and he's removed all space between himself and Kabal.
"I'm not the only omega around here." He's still steady. Well, that's damn impressive at this point.
"You're the only one with your high-beams on. And I sure as hell ain't the only alpha who noticed."
"I can take care of myself."
There's a twitch at the corner of Kano's mouth, and way more than a twitch in his pants. "Now where's the fun in that?"
Kabal knows he looks like trash. He feels worse. Reminds himself he better get used to it. What's done is done, and he only knows how to go forward.
How it's all gonna turn out is anyone's guess. But it's gonna turn out.
He wishes whoever is shaking the damn polaroid would quit it, because he's beyond nauseated. Doesn't make the picture show up any quicker, or clearer, anyway.
It's still looming and foggy, but very present and real at the same time. Feels like waiting for the clouds to part, that fog to dissipate, and to see what the storm left behind.
For all the things it is, most of them both vague and intimidating as shit, it ain't moving to another zip code because it rains less there.
Still, Kabal knows he's been avoiding Kano for the past few weeks.
Tries to pump himself up by saying it hasn't been entirely on purpose.
It has been. But it's been mostly work related, and not just because they both lost all willpower and fucked in a frenzy in the Black Dragon office.
That's one way to deal with a heat.
If you're a caveman.
There's a couple of ways to deal with what happens after.
Kabal already wasn't looking forward to the discussion, and knows it's only gonna get worse when he tells Kano he plans on keeping it.
He's exhaustion and queasiness and irritation right now and is convinced it's gonna go terribly. He hasn't taken off his sunglasses and has the hood of his pullover cinched-up so tight that it could almost pass for a hangover if it so obviously wasn't.
Kano gives him a look up and down, and chuckles. "You don't have to say it, mate."
When Kabal finally responds, all he says is, "Good."
The you knocked me up is checked off, at least.
Kano's still staring him down. It's a weird mix of predatory and rueful. If pride and disgust had a lovechild—
Shit, they're going to.
It's clear Kano both wants to boast and to make this disappear.
Alpha pride that he put one where it counts, and just plain logic that it's a terrible idea to keep it there.
Well, he's not the one considering that. More than considering it. Kabal has made his mind up about it and is trying to figure out how not to be just terrible at this.
This. Having a fucking kid.
"Clean, sterile. Won't be one of those shoddy back-alley jobs. You have my word. Nobody'll say anything. Unless they want either of us blowing their doors off, down the road."
Kabal's not surprised Kano's gone straight into fixer mode. He knows Kano likes to think of himself as a problem solver and all. Must be bad if he's trying to make amends, though. Or whatever the hell the Kano version of that is. Except Kano's only got two settings when it comes to that. Make it bleed or make it stop bleeding.
Kabal appreciates the effort, if not the way its manifesting. I'll fix this is nice. I got your back would be a lot better.
Kano's already moving on, with, "A real clinic, with a real doctor. After hours. Couple days to sleep it off."
It's just so dismissive, and Kabal has every intention of telling Kano he'll just take care of it himself. That he can take care of himself—that's what he means.
Thinks about the last time he said that.
Irony, party of one.
Only it isn't one anymore.
It also isn't him and Kano.
As firmly as he can, Kabal just says, "Not interested."
Kano looks incredulous. He's pissed, but he's amused, too. He echoes, "Not interested?" like he's sure he didn't hear it right.
"Don't worry about it, Kano."
"Not going to," he insists, a little too quickly. Then he hisses something that sounds an awful lot like, "You stupid fuck."
It'd be insulting if it wasn't entirely expected. Still. There's something brewing inside Kabal—no shit there is—and he knows it's got him sending out all sorts of unanswered maydays.
A subconscious, I've got something that belongs to you. And a bright neon, I need you to want me for it.
Needs someone to understand why he wants this, because fuck if he does.
That didn't come out right. Probably won't be the last thing.
Doesn't understand, does want. Well, doesn't not want, anyway.
Isn't going to get rid of.
"I'm gonna go clean the cage," is all Kabal finally says, and turns to leave.
"Fuck me. If I'd known knockin' you up would make you volunteer to clean, I'd have done it years ago."
"Just my way of saying I'd rather wallow in blood and puke than be around you right now." Fits how Kabal feels. Or something.
"And here I thought you were getting domesticated or something."
Kabal's got no real response to that. Just flips Kano the bird as he's heading for the stairs. Even if he did have more to say, there's no point in arguing. Just heads for the basement. For a minute, he's sure Kano's following him.
Realizes pretty quickly it's wishful thinking and keeps on, until he's reached the cage. It's both bigger and smaller when it's empty.
Someone's there. Been there, and doesn't belong. Someone who found an opening and came in uninvited.
No, it's not just that weird vibe of the cage when no one's in it. How it always still feels like there's people in there. Like the fight's never really left it.
It isn't some metaphorical overthinking brought on by fatigue and hormones—both omega and pregnancy. Ugh.
No, there seriously is someone else in here with Kabal.
It's not Kano.
"Who the fuck are you?"
It's a man. Late twenties? Early thirties? Sandy brown hair, and everything about him is too clean. But he's smug, too. Cocky. A real holier-than-thou type.
He's got size. He's not huge, but he's big enough, and has a sort of manufactured athleticism about him. The kind who may work out, but doesn't work for what he's got. Takes his swings at dummies that don't hit back.
Kabal wonders how fast he is.
He knows he's being sized up the same way.
"Just wanna talk," the guy lies.
Then come in the front door.
Kabal snorts. "This definitely ain't the place for that. Who sent you?"
He doesn't get an answer. Just another question. "You work here...?"
The guy's obviously fishing for a name. Kabal isn't gonna bite.
Is he a cop or something?
Because fuck, if he is.
Two-bit rival snooping around is one thing. They'll tell the Emperor, he'll either send out some feelers or give them the green light to stamp it out themselves.
5-0 is another mess altogether.
"You work here? Promoter? Fighter?"
He's definitely a cop.
"Which do you think?" Kabal asks, a smirk playing at his lips.
It's been a while since he's raised hell. Job's been pretty lackluster lately. Lots of babysitting other people while they fought. A few escort missions for the Emperor. Even a couple nights of playing doorman at Outworld and turning away ugly chicks for a buck.
He'd be all about getting in a few good licks if he didn't feel so fucking terrible. On account of being pregnant and all.
Doesn't have a choice, though. Whoever this squeaky-clean intruder is, is gonna have to answer a few questions. He's definitely gonna need some softening up first, too.
If there was a bell, consider it rung.
Kabal bum rushes the man. It's the kind of charge that usually spins his opponent around a couple of times, trashes their equilibrium, and gives him the upper hand from the get-go.
But this guy's got some balls, and he charges right back. He and Kabal near-miss headbutting one another, and lock arms in a grapple, instead.
Wrong person to play Chicken with, pal.
They break hold and Kabal barely blocks a knee to the ribs.
He knows he's not on his game, that he's usually much quicker than this. Fighting unarmed, too. Hookswords aren't exactly discreet. He doesn't just carry 'em everywhere.
Worse, he's squared off against someone legitimately tough. Squeaky Clean's actually got some moves. It'd be respectable, if he wasn't on the wrong side of the law.
That being the right side.
They dodge knees and trade blocked punches back and forth, until a roaring, "What in the fuck is going on here?!" draws their collective attention.
It's Kano, and Erron's right next to him, too.
Well, now it's a party.
Outnumbered three-to-one, the guy raises both arms and allows Kabal to grab him. His willingness to surrender might have a little something to do with Erron's pistols being trained on him.
Kabal's fishes around in his pockets for ID of some sort. Comes up with a bi-fold wallet and tosses it to Kano. Nudges the man forward.
Kano catches the bi-fold and declares, "Supposed to be cleaning up, not making a bigger mess." He flips the wallet open and whistles over what he sees inside. Kabal can't make out the details, but there's a badge to go with the ID card.
Kano murmurs, "Special Forces." Pauses, then offers a taunt, "Don't know about you, mates, but I feel right special. Now what the fuck are you doing here?"
Mr. Special Forces decides to answer that by turning and sucker-punching Kabal in the gut. It's a desperate, last-ditch attempt at gaining some leverage, and a hard enough blow that Kabal doubles over.
He stifles a groan as Kano's pulling his knife from its sheath.
"Ah, shit," Erron mutters. Reaches out to help Kabal up and is shoved away out of pride.
He stands up on his own, with a hand clutched to his stomach. It hurts, and he's pissed, but it's nothing like the expression on Kano's face.
There's something in his eyes, and just in him in general that Kabal has never seen before. Kano sounds way too calm when he says, "I hope that was worth it, mate." He doesn't give the man a chance to respond. "Because it's the last thing you'll ever fucking do."
It'd be cinematic—poetic, or something—if it was a nice, quick, sexy slash. But Special Forces here, is clearly a fight guy when it comes to fight or flight. He shields himself from Kano's wild, indiscriminate slicing as long as he can. Long enough that when Kano does finally get his throat, it's because the his arms have already been cut to ribbons and he can't raise them anymore.
One step forward, and one last slash.
There's gurgling, coughing, groaning. Blood dribbles, bubbles, sprays. Kano doesn't back away from it until he finally collapses. It's not loud, when the man finally falls, but it's not quiet, either.
Kano, Kabal, and Erron all stare a moment. Dead body's nothing new to any of them. It's not that. It's that someone got that close to them. Not just anyone, either.
Kano looks to his knife, his shirt: beyond bloody. He grimaces, as if it bothers him. Then asks Kabal, "You alright?"
"I'm fine."
Kano casts a glance down, toward Kabal's midsection, and immediately back up. "Socked you a good one in the breadbasket. Just asking."
Erron lets out a sigh. Does it loudly, on purpose. "I don't mean to interrupt." He pauses, and that's damn well on purpose, too. "But can we maybe do something about the dead guy in the middle of the room?"
"You care to explain what in the hell that was all about?" Erron's asking, even though he knows.
He mostly wants to hear Kano's answer. It's just the two of them, after all. No need to put on a show for Kabal. He's probably off puking into the porcelain somewhere, if he's okay. Bleeding into it, if he's not.
Because that's what it's about.
Erron's damn well savvy enough to know what the two of them got up to a few weeks back, and why.
He also knows what's become of it all.
If that show in the cage wasn't an alpha gone batshit nuts defending his omega, Erron'll be a monkey's uncle.
He probably will be, anyway. They'll try and appoint him godfather or something, a few months from now. He's as sure of that as he is that it'll be a joint effort, and just shit.
"What in the hell are you asking for? What's it matter to you? You got your own ideas, anyway."
Erron shrugs. "Doesn't matter to me. Long as it doesn't screw things up for me."
Except it already has.
Being right-hand man to a fella who's just carved up a Special Forces agent in a fit of rage is gonna have repurcussions.
"Mind your own business and it won't."
Erron feels fit to point out to Kano, "He's got friends."
Kano just chuckles. "No, he doesn't."
Erron groans. "Talking about that lawman, not Kabal."
"Oh. Right."
Point. Proven. Kano can play at not giving a shit all he wants, but it's pretty damn clear this has gotten to him. Worse still, Erron has to consider that it might not just be primal, anymore, how they feel about each other. Kano was exactly that in the cage. But now that the adrenaline's worn off and there's time to really think—
It's gonna be a goddamn soap opera around here and Erron didn't sign up for this shit.
It's exactly why he spent so long on his own, going from job to job. Never agreeing to anything official with the Emperor. Hell, even when he did, it was years before he accepted anything other than one job, one paycheck at a time. In case he ever had cause to move on real quick.
Now? Well, now, he reckons he's let himself get complacent, working at the Black Dragon. Worse than that, he let himself get friendly with the likes of Kano and Kabal. Let himself forget that they're all just hired help, and that forging anything other than a business relationship is just asking for trouble.
Kano breaks the silence. It's good. It's lasted too long, anyway. "Well, if his friends come around, we ain't seen him." He shrugs, and thickly—sickly—chuckles as he adds, "Even if we had, he could be in about a million places by now."
Erron laughs just a bit, despite himself. Well, just because it's sick doesn't mean it ain't funny. He mutters, "Shit, Kano."
It's true. One thing about Kano: he doesn't half-ass things.
They cut that agent into enough pieces to send one to everyone he's ever known. If anyone ever does happen upon a piece of him, it's gonna be damn hard to ID him, and trace him back to the Black Dragon. To Kano. To Erron and Kabal by proxy.
That's the whole damn point.
"Yup."
"Yup."
Erron feels it in his bones. The shitstorm of the century is on the horizon and the Black Dragon is right in its path. He can either help board up the windows and wait it out, or tip his hat and leave for higher ground.
Or run headlong into danger like a goddamn lunatic, alongside the likes of Kano and Kabal.
That could be fun.
Yes, Kano has both eyes. For now.
Probably way OOC, because Kano and Erron have always been portrayed as motivated solely by money and self-preservation. Kabal's been aligned with good before, but that's not part of the canon this Kabal was derived from. That being MK11 canon where he's hot as balls. Just let me have bros in their bar, tearing shit up, and having actual feelings sometimes. And MPREG. Don't judge. You're here reading it.
Mr. Special Forces is a hybrid of Sonya's various ill-fated partners. Lance from the old school non canon comics, Wexler from ?Legacy? and the nameless force she's forever been avenging from everywhere else.
More locations, characters to come as I update. Hope it's not terrible, as I've never played with these characters before.