Disclaimer: The story, Johnny Cage, Sonya Blade etc. all belong to whomever owns Mortal Kombat. Konami, maybe? The particulars all are mine.
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The deck of the ship was crowded with people, but they were clustered in small, tight knots, where the only conversation was internal, and every group was deliberately ignoring the others. It was in that hostile, ultracompetitive environment that I had pulled out my cell phone in another, ultimately futile attempt to get a call through, but ever since we had sailed into that weird fog, my reception had been extremely spotty.
"I thought you said this satellite phone thing would mean I had reception anywhere on the planet," I snapped at my agent, a little petulantly. My agent was short and weedy, and his thin mustache and expensive suit made him look like nothing if not a genteel weasel.
"Johnny, baby, that's what they told me when they sold it to me," he said, in a tone I knew he meant to be soothing, but which really grated on my right now. I scowled and paced the prow, irritably taking my sunglasses off, polishing them, and putting them back on.
"I don't even know what I'm doing here!" I finally exploded. Of course, that was a blatant lie. I knew exactly what I was doing – my last movie, "Ninja Mime II," was a complete disaster, and the 'people who know people' in Hollywood were starting to whisper that old Johnny Cage was washed up, past his prime. But Johnny wasn't going to give up that easily, oh no. So what did Johnny do? Johnny Cage accepted the invitation to join the Mortal Combat tournament, reputed to host the most elite and dangerous fighters on the planet, and then Johnny Cage was going to tape the whole thing as a publicity stunt.
But it's okay, I thought to myself, I needed to get away from Hollywood anyways. You know it is bad when you start thinking about yourself in the third person. Anyways, it would be good for me as a guy, too. It had been ages since I'd actually used that training I'd gotten for anything other than my own stunts.
My manager was still talking, if you can believe that, but I tuned him out like I usually do, and scanned the ship for some of my competitors. I know that everyone thinks that I'm as clueless as they come, but it wasn't tough to pick out who my opponents were going to be.
This one guy was up on the prow, on the other side of the boat, but he was all by his lonesome, meditating or somesuch crap. Looked Chinese, kinda short, long black hair, more muscles than he knew what to do with… very much the typical tournament fighter. I couldn't believe he would go to this tournament by himself – the letter I received said that each fighter was allowed "an entourage of up to 8 students, followers, minions, or slaves." I, of course, brought my manager, a three-man camera crew, my publicist, a make up stylist, my personal trainer, and…
"JOHN!!!"
…of course, Sandy, my ex-wife. Sandy was coming along to ensure my survival – after all, if I died, she wouldn't be able to get her claws on my fortune. I really hate divorce attorneys, by the way.
"What do you want, Sandy?" I said, more than a little irritated. She had been one big pain in the ass since demanding that she come on this trip. Of course, she had been a pain in the ass longer than that, but as least for a few months I hadn't been forced to see her every day.
"Johnny," she whined, "the cabin we're staying in is filthy, and there's no room service, the food it bad, and it's hot and I'm getting all sticky and that really foul man with the plate in his face was leering at me when I went to get something…" and she went on like that for several minutes.
Finally, she ran out of breath. "You know, Sandy, you didn't have to come," I said condescendingly.
"Oh no, of course not," she snapped. "Leave you to go off to the middle of nowhere to a FIGHTING tournament, probably get yourself killed just to spite me. That's so like you, Johnny!" Can you believe this woman? I briefly considered mentioning that, by accompanying me, she fell into the category of "students, followers, minions, or slaves," which would have been pretty funny, but was probably not worth the added aggravation.
"Sandy, does it look like I can do anything about your situation right now? Does it?"
She gave me a look that could freeze beer and stomped back down below to my cabin. I was about to turn back to my manager when a big, broad-shouldered guy who was sporting this futuristic 'Phantom of the Opera' mask leans on the rain and smirked at me.
"Looks to me like you've got your hands full with that bird, mate," he said, leering at my ex-wife as she disappeared. Good God, he's a damned Aussie, I thought. Still, he moved like a fighter, and deserved a second look.
He was wearing white karate robes, with a heavy leather and steel belt. The belt had some kind of black dragon's head on the buckle, and he wore a leather necklace with the same symbol on a coin. He was taller than me, and maybe a little heavier, and his black hair was cut short and decidedly greasy. There were two knives stuck into his belt, and I had a hunch there were more weapons hidden away somewhere.
"That bird, as you call her, is my ex-wife," I said suspiciously. "Johnny Cage, by the way." I didn't offer to shake hands. In my peripheral vision, I saw my manager backing away from the two of us, towards the very point of the boat.
"My friends call me Kano, mate."
"What do you competitors call you?" Coolly. There was definitely something about this guy that was bad news.
"Oh, 'e's a funny one," he said to no one in particular. "They don't call me much of anything, mate. They're all dead." He looked at me, waiting for me to be shocked. I wasn't, and he seemed a little disappointed. Then he furrowed his one remaining eyebrow, and said "Wait a tic – Johnny Cage? The movie star?"
"That's me." Well, I guess this guy isn't too bad…
"I saw your last movie – Ninja Mime II, right? Boy, mate, was that movie terrible! No offense, mate, but I saw better acting back in high school!"
Changed my mind. "Why exactly are you here, Mr. Kano?" I snarled.
"Just commenting on your lovely ex-wife, friend. Say, since you and her aren't an item, you wouldn't mind if me and my boys went down there and… ya know…"
Now there were days when I hated Sandy more than anything, but even so, she was here as part of my responsibility, and I wasn't going to this thug insinuate any more. "You stay away from my people, you plate-faced slime," I hissed menacingly. "If I catch you or your 'boys' anywhere near any of my associates, you'll regret it."
And then I felt the prick of a knife point under my chin. "'Ere, I was having a friendly chat, mate, and you've gotta get all confrontational. I'm not too pleased with that, not at all, and you'd better… atch!"
In one movement, I stunned his wrist and flicked the knife over the side of the boat, and then tripped him. He wound up flat on his back, while I stood over him, and pulled my sunglasses half down dramatically. It would have made a great picture, except that he kicked my knee out from under me, and I hit the deck too.
It was less than a second and we were both on our feet; I scowled as I faced him, dropping naturally into a combat stance. His natural eye blazed with hatred, and the red mechanical one lit up like the devil's headlights.
He swung first, a powerful attack that I just barely twisted aside to miss. He was stronger than I was – not something that happened to me very often, I assure you – but I was quicker. After he landed a punch in my chest I was too slow to block, I staggered back, then lashed out with a roundhouse kick, catching him square in the face.
Blood trickled from his nose and he hissed at me, but before we could come at each other again that short Chinese dude was between us. "This is not the time for fighting," he said, looking first at Kano, and then at me. His accent was the odd combination of British and Chinese I had grown to associate with Hong Kong.
Kano tried to push past him to get to me, but found his arm trapped in a judo-like grip. The thug had to twist twice before he freed himself, and then he fixed the little Chinese guy with a glare and stormed off, muttering to himself.
As soon as Kano was out of sight, I prodded my chest with my fingers, checked the bruises already forming, and winced. That thug really knew what he was doing – if I hadn't deflected his punch a bit at the last possible moment, that punch would have hit my solar plexus, and I'd be unconscious right now. Still, I reflected smugly, he ended up the worse for it.
The Asian kid was still standing there, looking like he was carved outta rock. My manager, sensing that the conflict was over and it was safe to come out, began creeping back towards me. Realizing that if I was going to be rescued from Sam the Weasel, I'd need someone else to talk to, I tapped the Chinese Peacekeeper on the shoulder.
"Hi, I'm Johnny Cage. Thanks for the help back there… and, who might you be?"
"My name is Liu Kang," he said with a small bow. His accent was not nearly as thick now as it had been when he was breaking up my little altercation. Maybe now that things had calmed down, he could put a little more thought into what he said. "As you might have guessed, I, too, am competing in the tournament."
"No kidding," I said with only a touch of sarcasm. It went unnoticed. "So, uh, what do you do when you aren't beating people up?"
He smiled briefly, then bowed again. "I am from the Order of the White Lotus, the temple champion. I fight with Lotus Kung Fu."
"A monk, huh? Cool. I usually make movies, myself," I said, trying to feel out if he'd heard of me or not. As a monk, probably not. I bet they aren't allowed to watch movies at his temple.
"I know, you had said so to your little friend back there." He stopped, and then looked away. I could see the beginnings of a grin on his face. "Did you really make a movie called 'Ninja Mime'?"
I didn't answer.
"And, then, go ahead and try and make a sequel to it?" He was definitely amused by this. I didn't happen to think it was particularly funny.
I remained silent.
"Tell me, Mr. Cage, how did the movie do?"
"Poorly," I said, with gritted teeth. "We usually pick up some of the slack overseas, though – the US market was glutted with kung fu flicks, so we might do well in Europe. France, you know," I said off-handedly.
It suddenly struck me how odd it was, that I was standing on a leaky boat in the middle of nowhere, talking to a Chinese monk about a movie called "Ninja Mime," while said monk was wearing nothing but loose fitting black pants and some sandals. Story of my life, I guess.
I chuckled to myself, and Liu cocked an eyebrow at me. "What is so, Mr. Cage?"
"Nothing, just thinking about something. And call me Johnny, everybody does."
We chatted for a bit; it was nice talking with someone who didn't care I was a big movie star, though it was a bit hard on the ego. I ended up telling him some of my life history – you know, born John William Carlton III, did football and drama club at my prep school, got a degree in Performing Arts in Chicago, started my acting career as a commercial model.
"It wasn't until they recruited me as an extra for a kung fu movie that I really hit my stride – see, all through high school and college I'd been studying martial arts from as many different people as I could, and by the time I graduated I had Master belts in nearly a dozen different styles. I never stuck with one style long enough to get a Grand Master belt, but those can take decades, and who has time for that, right? So, anyways, the stuntman breaks his leg, and the director is about to throw a fit, and I just up and tell him that I can do any of the stuff they need to do. I ended up being the primary martial arts coordinator and stunt guy for a few films after that, but frankly, I'm a little too good looking to just be a stunt guy. Am I right?"
Liu looked at me with this sort of half-grin on his face, then said, very seriously "Absolutely right, Johnny." It wasn't until afterwards that I realized he was, in his very Buddhist way, poking fun at me.
"So the director gives me the starring role in my first real move, Fists of Steel, where I play this martial arts cop who has to fight this gang of Korean drug dealers and their ninja boss… who is that?" My train of thought is completely derailed when this vision of beauty walks up on deck.
Okay, so she isn't absolutely perfect. First of all, she's dressed like she going into either a combat zone or downtown LA on a bad day – combat boots, urban camo pants and jacket, pistol on her hip, and a black forage cap to complete the outfit. Furthermore, she's got this expression so you just know that somebody is going to get their ass kicked, and soon. Still, she was damn pretty – blond hair tied back in a ponytail, perfect face (I mean it – perfect, and I'm quite the connoisseur), and just enough hint under that jacket to let you know that there is something there. And she walked like a butt-kicking machine – always alert, she seemed to flow from one place to another.
I was so distracted just looking at her that I almost missed the five guys that came up right behind her – dressed the same, sporting an array of weapons, and looking almost as dangerous as she did.
And she glides over in my direction, her army trooping along behind her, and before I can even flash my patented grin at her she has her pistol pointing at my face, about six inches from my nose.
"Who are you and why were you fighting with Kano?"
"You know," I said, as casually as I could, "this is the second time today I've had a weapon in my face, and I don't really like it. This here is Liu Kang, and I'm Johnny Cage, by the way, perhaps you've heard of me?"
She narrows her eyes, but the pistol goes back in its holster, much to my relief.
"1st Lieutenant Sonya Blade, US Army. We need to talk."