I don't own anything of the Mortal Kombat universe except my own creations. All credits go towards Netherrealm Studios.


The torrent outside had been raging on for hours, like sharp fingernails tapping on the window, the single birch tree outside soaked in rain. The fireplace had been refreshed at least once, a crucial miscalculation on his own part, figuring the wood would burn a bit longer. The television had been on for a while, news flashing by every once or twice, with Prague receiving much of the screen time, along with some local feel-good news, like baby seals being born in a zoo somewhere.

He didn't rally care for the war, or the seals. He was more interested in his pizza he had ordered a while ago, his stomach rumbling, his lips moistened by hunger. Of course, he could have also easily prepared some delicious rare steak, but currently, he was much too lazy to actually get up and do something. He wasn't even wearing a shirt of all things, but he did wear some nice pants.

His doorbell rang, and his gut roared. He managed to lift himself from his couch and stroll up to the door, scrounging together all the spare dollars he could get. Up to the door, he could see the young fellow through the peep-hole, soaked by the storm, shivering from the cold, holding the pizza in his hands. He opened the door and the youngster's face lit up.

"Goodnight sir," he said, "you ordered a pepperoni pizza?"

"Yeah," Solomon replied, and the kid handed over the box.

"That'll be thirteen dollars and fifty cents, please," he said, and the shirtless man handed him a little bit over the total amount.

"Here, kid," Solomon gave him a stack of dollar bills, "and keep the change."

"Thank you, sir," he said jovially, his face plastered with a big smile, "and have a good meal."

"Thanks," he replied, "and goodnight."

The delivery guy turned around, and the shirtless man did the same, but he heard a voice from behind him, a woman by the sound of it.

"Excuse me, sir?" she called, "Sir, could you hold open the door, please?"

Solomon turned back around to see the delivery man just avoid the girl, who was hidden by a pair of boxes. Fairly large boxes, too.

"Sorry to bother you, sir," she said, and the lazy man chuckled at her formality, "but I have some boxes for you. Solomon King, right?"

"Yeah," he acknowledged, "From who?" he asked, and she slightly rotated to show the name of the sender.

Andrew King, his uncle. He wondered what he would even send to him, save his grandfather clock, which Solomon had claimed when he was nine. He placed his big pizza on the kitchen counter before talking to the girl.

"Let me take them," he said, and the girl handed over the boxes. She was clearly struggling to hold them up, her legs shaking, but he picked them up, barely breaking a sweat. He stationed them next to the door and looked back up to see the girl snatch a clipboard from somewhere, shielding it from the downpour.

He got a good look on the girl from his position, and suffice to say, she looked pretty. A petite nose, short hazelnut hair and big, blue eyes managed to catch his eye, and her frame matched her face, petite but noticeable. He also caught sight of her hand, for it had a scar running down the length of it.

"Sign here, and here," she said, handing him a pen and the clipboard, which had a neat form on it. He took it, scribbled his signature down and passed it back, "thanks sir. Have a great night."

"You too," he said, brandishing his charming smile, and she smiled back before heading back to her barely visible van. He shut the door and picked up the stack of boxes, marched back to the couch and set them down beside him, letting himself fall into the welcoming pillows.

He dragged one of the boxes on the coffee table and opened it to reveal dusty old silver tableware, scratched and dented, worth about as much as a single shoe. He didn't mind though, because he liked the kitschy appeal. His house lacked personality at the moment, and he really did wish the grandfather clock had come along. He found a few old comics too, mostly of Spider-Man. He didn't find it very important, but these were in very solid condition. He'd have to do some research on their value.

He heard a big honk coming from outside before moving on to the next box, tossing the first one behind him. When he lifted the lids, he found a big set of books. Some of them were history books, one of the Great War, one that described the American Revolution. Some others revealed themselves to be cooking books, and he managed to let a little laughter slip by.

However, one of the last books had an unusual name to it, and it rang no bells in his head as to what it was. Blowing off the dust, he got another good look at it. Red cover with golden letters, nothing all too fancy and flashy in his opinion.

The Planes of the Netherrealm: A Study

Nothing else was on the cover, and he flipped the book to see not much more written on the bottom of the back.

Written by Avalean Diatress, renowned researcher on phylogeny, particularly on the demons and its subspecies

Author of Outworld and its Realms and Stars of The World Beyond

Solomon couldn't put his finger on any of those titles, and he had never heard of this renowned researcher. Maybe he was culturally out of touch. Before he read it, he noticed an envelope on the bottom of the box. Putting the book with the rest, he picked it up, ripped it apart and opened up the letter within.

"Dear Solomon,

If you receive this, I have passed away. Naturally, it will be confusing as to why you've received a particular book in my collection. This isn't fiction on ramblings, my nephew. You'll be confused the first time you get it, but everything will become clear with time.

Yours truly,

your uncle."

The shirtless man decided his uncle had gone senile before he died. Or maybe he was just senile since birth, he couldn't remember. It had been a long while since he'd seen his uncle.

He heard another few knocks on the front door, a bit softer and slower this time. He picked himself up again, meandered over to the door and opened it to reveal the girl that brought him the boxes.

"Hello again, sir," she said, but her smile was awkward and her tone a bit unsure, "I've run into a problem, and I was wondering if I could use your phone to call my work?"

"Yeah, sure, go ahead," Solomon agreed, once again carrying his smile, and the girl nodded and skipped past him, "the phone's next to the television."

She walked over and eyed the pile of books and silverware, almost tripping over a box in the process. She looked around, a worried visage adorning her face, but Solomon waved her worries away. She darted over to the phone, while the hungry man walked over to his pizza and opened up the box, the smell penetrating his nostrils. His stomach growled again.

He took a slice and happily chomped down on it, but the enjoyment was cut short when he heard the girl shout. He'd missed the first part of her call, too caught up in simply eating.

"I'm sorry, sir," she said, clearly distraught, "I'm sure I checked the fuel before leaving."

Another set of words from the other side came bellowing through.

"No sir, I'm sorry," she apologised, "I'll make sure it's set right, I'll-" but before she could continue, the other side went silent, only noise emanating from the phone. She sighed and walked over to Solomon, who had reached into one on the cabinets to fish out a bottle of whiskey. She tapped him on his shoulder, and she looked absolutely embarrassed to talk to him.

"Eh, sir," she began, "can I make another call to call a tow truck?"

"Run out of gas?" he guessed, and she smiled nervously, looking back at the ground to avoid his gaze, "Go ahead, I won't lose sleep over it."

She walked back to the phone and noticed a more than half-devoured pizza, weirdly impressed by his eating skills. While she called a tow truck, Solomon poured himself a glass of whiskey, while also grasping towards a small cigar box. She mumbled something about an address while he lit his newly acquired cigar with a zippo he'd grabbed from one of the drawers.

He walked back to the couch, not before eating another slice in a hurry, to see the girl hanging up the phone, relieved to say the least.

"Well, the tow truck will be here in an hour," she said, "so I'll just wait in the van and-"

"And go out in the rain?" Solomon said, his thumb pointing at the still poor weather, "No, you're better off in here, where it's warm and cosy. And I still have a slice of pizza left."

"Oh, I couldn't-" she started, once again cut off by the shirtless man.

"No worries, I won't mind," he assured her, "I've got a few things to sort out anyway, so relax while you're here. Flip through the channels, pick up one of the newspapers lying about."

She was uncomfortable at best, and he noticed. Maybe it was because a stranger was offering her refuge from the storm, which was a sure-fire way of being murdered and buried behind a home in the dead of night. Or maybe because he was shirtless, something that slipped his mind continuously. In any case, he'd at least put on a shirt to take the stress off of the girl. He managed to find a dry t-shirt hanging about, and when he came back, Solomon found her flipping through a cookbook.

"Cooking type?" he asked, and she turned around, much less stressed out than before, it seemed.

"No, my mum was," she explained, "always managed to cook up the best pastas."

A twinge of sadness reverberated through her voice.

"Why'd you get so many cookbooks?" she asked.

"Because I am a cooking type," the man said, "just not today. Runs in the family"

"Well, what do you like to cook?" she asked, and he began with some kind of Asian dish, before running off about a tangent about where'd he'd travelled to, from here until Tokyo, he'd seen almost everything. In turn, he asked her what she had seen, and she talked about Europe, especially the Alps and Pyrenees. She was a big fan of climbing apparently, and more often than not, she would end up stuck, her friends having to help her back down.

The sudden sound of a tow truck rolling up caught her off guard, but it left him mostly unfazed.

"Guess I'm off now," she said, happier than before, "thanks for letting me sit out the wait in here."

Both got up to their feet, with him having a bit more issues.

"No problem," he said, "it was fun having you around."

She gave him a warm smile before heading out to the door, but not before snatching a slice of pizza to go along. She opened the door, waved goodbye and sprinted towards the tow truck. He was left alone, not even knowing her name, now pondering once again on the contents of the insane book, saving the best for last. He was also left with the short end of the stick; he was still hungry.


fun fact: I want to die

I might actually update this story regularly, while my other story might finish when Cyberpunk 2077 rolls around. Please rate and review and give me a positive rating on Yelp.

- The Coolest Man with Gucci accessoires