Disclaimer:  The story, Johnny Cage, Sonya Blade etc. all belong to Midway.  The particulars all are mine.

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I was practicing a particularly difficult sequence of moves, and my trainer was standing behind me, clipboard in his hand.  Jacques was a tall and slim, delicate-looking man, but despite his effeminate persona he was a tough and dedicated expert, and he made sure that I was always working at peak condition.

My camera crew was still positioning the mirrors for optimal lighting, but it was difficult to do on the slightly rolling deck of the ship.  Sam, slightly seasick, was down in the cabin keeping Sandy company

Lunge…elbow strike, knife hand to the throat…switch stance…body punches…roundhouse…block, block, dodge, hit the floor… capoeira spin kick…Cage-style uppercut!  "Damn, I'm good," I said, a little breathlessly, and ran a hand through my hair in my most sexy manner – the camera was running, after all.  Another patented grin, a quick muscle flex, and the flash of my sunglasses, and the session was over.

"Cut!"  The camera crew quickly started packing back up – we were due to make landfall that afternoon, and they had to make sure that everything was ready.

Jacques walked up to me.  "That was a good run, Johnny, but I'm worried – you seem to get a little tight when you pull off that uppercut; are you sure you want to do the full split?  The last thing we need it for you to pull a muscle mid-fight!"

I clapped him on the back.  "Jacques, that's my signature move!  I can't do a wussy half-split – besides, they never expect it, and I can get under their guard every time."

He frowned, his lips turned almost into a pout.  "Well, okay, Johnny, but you'll need to stretch more.  Take it easy for the rest of the day, and I want a full cool-down this time!  If I you end up slacking again, I won't be responsible for torn muscles."  He flounced off, back down belowdecks.

I put on my sunglasses and stared at the horizon.  Was that speck in the distance our island destination?  I hoped so – this boat trip, constantly looking over my shoulder for that steel mask, and the anticipation of the tournament were all wearing on my nerves.  I was sufficiently twitchy that when the Asian dude in white robes tapped me on the shoulder, I nearly jumped off the boat with a scream that was… not so masculine as I would have hoped.

"Good afternoon to you, as well," he said, chuckling.  His voice was raspy, and almost echoed when he spoke, as if he roared loudly from a long distance.  It was creepy, to say the least – but not quite so odd as the fact that he didn't seem to have any pupils.  His eyes were completely white.

"Johnny Cage, international superstar…" I said weakly, after I got my breath back.  "  Can I help you?"

"No, I don't think so," the man rumbled.  I couldn't figure out how old he was – he was tall and muscular, but his face was ageless – he could have been thirty, or fifty.  "My name is Raiden, and I, too, am competing in the tournament.  I saw you practicing back there – you are…" he seemed to pause to consider the right word, "…proficient.  Fighting you will be… an interesting challenge."

I sneered at him, my habitual confidence returning.  "You seem confident," I said, raising my eyebrows skeptically.  "I should warn you – I'm not just good, my friend.  I'm the best fighter on this planet, and I'm going to prove it at this tournament."

He laughed then – and the hairs on the back of my neck stood straight up.  Remember how I described Ms. Blade's eyes as 'flashing'?  Well, Raiden's eyes literally flashed, like there was a live wire behind them, sparking energy.  "Every man on the boat believes as you do, Cage… and yet, even if you are the best this planet has to offer, you are by no means guaranteed your victory… this shall be the most fun I've had in an age.  Shang Tsung will regret his foolish pride in inviting me to this fight."

He turned to leave, but I wasn't going to let him get away with that.

"Wait a second, man," I said, halting him with a raised hand.  "Who are you, anyways?  Who is this Shang Tsung?  And how the hell did you do that thing with your eyes?  That was seriously creepy."

He smiled at me, and he removed the conical Chinese peasant hat.  His hair was black and streaked with tiny, perfectly white strands.  "Can it be that you go to this fight so ignorant of its lore, and its consequences?"

"Hey," I said defensively, "I'd never heard of this thing until I got that letter in the mail.  I'm an American – we don't do this whole Eastern-mysticism mumbo jumbo crap over there."

"Very well then, American.  Shall I answer your questions as you asked them?  I told you my name – I am Raiden.  I am a traveler and a warrior, somewhat like yourself.  I come from a very… distant… land.  As for Shang Tsung, he is an ancient sorcerer of great power and malice, as well as an accomplished fighter himself.  He and his champion, Goro, run this tournament, and they have overseen it for nearly 500 years."

Sorcerer, huh? Right, and, I can outrun my own damn shadow.  Who does he think he is fooling?

"Shang Tsung sustains himself on the souls of those killed in the tournament."  Uh huh.  "He has challenged me because he thinks that his champion can defeat me, and he wishes my soul – but even on this world, where my powers are limited to those of a mere mortal, I retain the power and wisdom to defeat him, and end this fouled practice."

Okay, this guy was definitely a little off of his rocker – he wouldn't have sounded out of place on the streets of LA with his little cardboard placard, proclaiming the end of the world.  I guessed all the martial arts grandmasters got delusions of grandeur, especially the older ones, so I just smiled and nodded.

"And as for 'that thing with my eyes…' well, I can't tell you that."  He smirked at me and replaced his peasant hat.  "It's a… trade secret.  Good luck in the tournament, American."

And he walked off, leaving me staring after him, open-mouthed.  What is up with this tournament anyways, I thought, and why do all the psychos seem to be on my boat?  It was best not to think about it.  I leaned against the rail heavily, and watched the island in the distance creep slowly closer.

***

"The island will not arrive sooner, no matter how long you stare at it," an amused voice said from behind my right shoulder.

To my credit, I didn't jump this time.  Instead, I lazily turned around, and there was Liu Kang, looking much less monkish in a pair of faded blue jeans and a white t-shirt.  He was still barefoot.

"I just want to get off this boat, Liu," I said, and then silently berated myself for how wimpy that sounded.  "I'm, eh, anxious for this tournament to start.  I've got a lot to prove, you know."

"Johnny, who, exactly, are you trying to prove something to?  Your critics, or yourself?"

"Hey, lay of the psychoanalysis!" I said, joking a bit.  "I've got a therapist back in the states who I pay a great deal of money for, and if you solve all my problems now, it'll put her out of business!"

Liu Kang smiled distractedly, but didn't say anything more, for which I was grateful.

At least, I was until the silence grew uncomfortable, so I opened my mouth again.  "It will be a shame if we have to fight each other in the tournament," I said tentatively.  "I mean, I like you, it would be too bad if I had to kick you in the face.  Not usually what friends do to each other."

The monk looked at me quizzically.  "Oh, we're friends now?" he said, curiously.

I flushed with embarrassment – I was really on a roll that day, unmanning myself for a second time.  "Obviously not," I said sharply, trying to salvage the situation and my pride.  "My mistake."

Catching my tone, Liu said earnestly, "No, don't get me wrong.  I just didn't expect you to say something like that.  I mean, we're not exactly similar, are we?"

"I guess not."

"Still, that doesn't mean anything!  Here," he stuck out his hand, "I didn't mean to say that we couldn't be.  Friends?"

I clasped his hand briefly.  "Yeah, sure.  Why not?"  And we both grinned.  "If we fight in the tournament, though, I'm still going to kick your face in.  No offense."

"None taken.  Expect the same."

"Oh, I will."

"So anyways, who were you talking to earlier?"

"Dunno, another fighter.  Said his name was Raiden – big, tall, Chinese peasant hat, has this creepy flickering thing with his eyes… you know who I'm talking about?"

Liu's eyes were about the size of dinner plates.  He said something in Chinese really, really fast, and then seemed to catch himself and switch back to English.

"You spoke with Raiden?"

"Yeah, do you know him?  He looked Chinese…"

"Raiden is the name of a powerful spirit, one who embodies the force of the storm – some say even that he is an ancient god."

"Oh."  I was silent and thoughtful for a moment.  "That would explain some of the things he said.  If he thinks that he is a Thunder God or whatever… boy, this guy was even crazier than I thought!"

Still chuckling to myself, I relayed the whole conversation to Liu, but he didn't find it as funny as I did.  I realized later that I basically described his equivalent of a guy calling himself Jesus, and then walking on water, talked to me.  While I scoffed, he glanced at the sky almost with reverence.

"Come on, Mr. Liu Kang," I said, clapping him on the shoulder.  "Lets get our bags – there are some rowboats coming from the island to pick us up.

Before I went back below the decks, however, I saw four figures creep over the side of the boat.  They were partially concealed by the evening and some supplies stacked on deck.  The last man over looked at me, and that hellish flash of red filled me with anger and fear.

Storm clouds, dark and threatening, covered the far horizon.