Timothy D. Tucker

Mortal Kombat: The Chariot

Chapter 1: Disciple

Kobra delivered a final, devastating kick to the battered heavy-bag. Despite the fatigue coursing through-out his legs and arms, a wry smile began to form across his lips as fine sand began to creep out of the bag. Kobra brushed his blond bangs away from his eyes and slumped to the dojos floor. Along with the steady hiss of the cascading sand, the only other sound was Kobra's ragged breath, deafening inside of the empty New York Martial Arts academy.

For a while, Kobra sat there. The sporadic thump thump of his heart returned to a normal tempo as he deeply inhaled the dank air, the smell of padded combat equipment and his own sweat pervading his lungs. Along with something else...

Kobra sniffed the air cautiously, nearly animal like. He could almost taste the new scent, a fragrant musk, which had made its way inside of the dojo. He snapped his head to the right, only to find an untouched rack of sparring gloves. Kobra sprang to his feet and readied his fist in a defensive posture, all feeling of soreness in his muscles replaced with a heightened sense of tension. Through the shadows and moonlight, Kobra spotted him leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. Kobra watched for any signs of a threat, noting that the intruder wore a dark formal suit and loafers, his face obscured by a pair of dark sunglasses.

"Who the hell are you?" Kobra demanded. The intruder swayed from his position almost lazily and swaggered towards Kobra, a toothy grin plastered on his face.

No way...

Johnny Cage thrust his hands into his jacket pockets and nodded at the mound of sand at Kobra's feet. "You're pretty good kid."

Kobra tried desperately to open his mouth, to say anything, anything, to his martial arts icon, only for his silence to be punctuated by an incomprehensible squeak

Of all places...New York? This ratty shit hole of a dojo?

Cage chortled and shook his head, seemingly amused at Kobra's bewilderment.

"H-how did you get in here?" Kobra finally managed to stammer. Cage ignored him, his attention turned to the undamaged heavy bag in front of him.

"Y'know, you have good form kid. Power, speed, technique...it's good to see the art of Shorin Ryu isn't dead."

Pride began to well in Kobra's chest. Coming from a three time Shorin Ryu World Champion and the man responsible for single handily re-popularizing traditional martial arts in the mainstream really meant a lot.

Cage rubbed the tips of his fingers over the bags vinyl surface. He clinched his fist and firmly pressed into the cover.

"What are you doing?" Kobra's curiosity had risen to its peak. He felt like a child, wide eyed and excited.

"Just watch..." Cage reared his elbow back and thrust it forward, a sharp grunt escaping his mouth as his fist connected with the bag, creating a light thud against the mass.

Neither spoke as Cage grinned maniacally at the heavy bag. "Yeah...I still got it."

"What exactly were-----" The soft hiss cut Kobra off. Kobra peered down to the floor, and marveled at the surreal sight. A torrent of sand gushed from a tear made in the bag, on the other side of Cage's punch.

"How the hell did...?" There was no questioning Johnny Cage's technique. The punch, simple in its execution and mechanics, delivering such a controlled force...unreal force.

"Just a little something I picked up in China." Cage raised his fist triumphantly. "But these are just punching bags, they don't hit back..."

Kobra shook his head, amazed at his turn of events. "Alright man, what is this!? Is this like your new hidden camera show? Where are they?"

Cage idly paced the dojo. "No tricks kid, no camera show, just an open invitation." Cage stopped in front of the schools worn motif, a black and white Yin Yang emblazoned on the wall. "What kind of sparring sessions your school has?" Cage asked.

"Light contact, full gear type deal."

Cage nodded, his attention still fixed intently on the symbol. "Light contact, eh? And here you are, two o'clock in the morning, beating the holy hell out of a heavy bag..."

Cage had a point. His school had never allowed full contact training sessions, instead opting for useless 'love taps' of light contact. The only reason he even delved into martial arts and Shorin Ryu in particular was to help quench that primal need for violence, only to see it be diluted by self professed 'grand masters.' No matter how much he trained, the nagging feeling of not knowing whether his time spent studying Shorin Ryu Karate was in vain always lingered in his heart.

"What are you getting at?"

"What I'm getting at is this: it's two in the morning; New York City. There's plenty of other things to hit besides heavy bags."

The lingering feeling of doubt had now become a twisting knot in his stomach as he contemplated Cage's offer. Ever since he had started training, he had always wondered whether his techniques could be used in an actual fight; a life or death situation. Could he break bones and snap tendons, or was he just deluding himself?

"You got someone in mind?" The words spilled from Kobra's mouth without thought for his own being, or the person unlucky enough to oppose him. Cage finally tore his attention from the symbol, his face an undiscerning mask behind his glasses.

"Yeah, I think I do..."

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Author's note: Two words: Fuck Canon