Chapter 3
"Now if you don't mind, I've got a felon to arrest." Sonya Blade angrily brushed past Johnny Cage. God, if I didn't think it was annoying enough following Kano around the world, fate brings me Johnny Cage. The last thing she needed when chasing a wanted criminal was some self-entitled hot-shot celebrity (who she's never heard of, at that) hitting on her.
Great, Johnny thought. This boat ride's gonna be so much fun with her sunny personality on board. But his ego aside, he couldn't lose focus. Scoring a date with a beautiful blonde with a shapely butt wasn't on his priorities. He had to prove to the world he was the real deal, not a phony with smoke and mirrors, wires. The bombshell Sonya could wait. There's always after this tournament after all, I'm pretty sure she'll warm up to me. Wonder what she does for fun...he shook his head briefly, and returned his gaze to the sun setting over the sea, fiercely determined to win.
Liu Kang continued to walk around the worn and rotting boat. He was not surprised by its modesty; who knows how many fighters from how many years have set sail on this same vessel, how many of them had no clue they were fighting for the fate of the realms. He scanned the dock, waiting for any indication of preparations to set sail.
Cheng rose from meditation, and walked into the temple gardens. He always loved the sight of the plum blossoms as a child, and as far as he could remember, the ones at the temple were his favorites. He passed the rows of purple and white, thinking about the very real possibility of death that awaited him. He continued deeper into the garden, and came to the shrine of the old masters. Immortalized in carved granite and black stone were his fore fathers, the former heads of the Order. He studied them, moving from the oldest masters to the recent ones, ending with his father at the furthest right. He looked upon the stone man, rooted firmly to the ground. The left arm with the bent elbows and a closed fist raised palm-upwards, to the left breast. The right arm extended in front with an open hand and fingers forward, palms up, level with his chest. It was simple, it was elegant. It definitely did not have the commanding, aggressive presence of all of the martial poses of the former masters. It was beautiful.
He closely inspected the tribute to his father, touching its face. So young, compared to his predecessors. He was the only master in the Order's history to have been assassinated. Cheng remembered that day, when Uncle Liao had to pry him from his father's body. The years he spent under his uncle's care, the stories he'd hear about his mother who had left for America in order to pursue a better life.
Before he could allow any premature tears to well up, he simply smiled. He had grown quite used to smiling and accepting the cards life dealt, to take it in stride. He walked to the temple gates, unlocked the sturdy iron bolts, swung the massive doors open, and walked out. "Take care, Uncle Liao," he called out loud, "please keep the affairs of the temple in order while I'm away."
From across the courtyard, leaning on a pillar far from Cheng, Uncle Liao spoke softly to himself.
"Yes, Master Cheng. You have my promise that the Order will remain as you left it when you return."
Smiling, Cheng continued his walk. In the distance, he heard the sturdy doors close and the bolts fasten. No time for doubt now. He had a boat to catch.