Johnny Cage, Sonya Blade, all other characters, stages and the general plot all belong to Midway Entertainment.  No money is being made off of this story.

A/N:  Well, I usually don't do author's notes, but I was slightly unclear at the end of last chapter, so I'll give a quick explanation.  When Johnny saw Sonya looking helpless, he had a sudden impulse to sweep down heroically and offer to save the day.  He quickly stifled this impulse because 1: it was totally uncharacteristic of him.  Johnny looks out for Johnny first, and he was surprised by the depth of his feeling.  2:  he's really, really bad at comforting girls – it makes him feel like an idiot.  3:  he got the impression that Sonya, being the strong-willed, Type A person that she is, would probably not appreciate the gesture, because it would imply that she couldn't handle it herself.

A/N 2:  Sorry these updates take so long.  I'm at a military academy, and my schedule is a little ridiculous – and what little time I have is usually taken up by family or girlfriend.

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5.  Evening

It was fully dark by the time I reached the stone barracks on the mountainside where the fighters were bunked.  I noticed that our living quarters were actually quite spacious and even luxurious, in a medieval sort of way.  There was a central dining hall, though it was mostly empty by the time I arrived, and what food remained looked tasty enough.

There were several large parchment maps nailed to one wall of the dining room; apparently my new gift with languages didn't extend to reading it, but after some searching I found a map in English.  They had rooming lists, directions to the coliseum, and even (I almost laughed at this) things to do on the days you weren't competing! 

"This place is one part freak show, one part dungeon, one part tourist trap," I chuckled to myself.  Looking at the rooming lists, I noticed that most of the fighters were listed by homeland, preferred fighting style, profession… and blood type.  That's an odd bit of information to include.  Of course, I had to check out my own name first.  You know, make sure the information is correct…

I was pleased to note that my barracks housed both Liu Kang and Lt. Blade; in fact, Liu's rooms were immediately next to mine, which was convenient.  Judging by the names on the housing sheet, people were grouped by their primary language – I was in the "English-speaking" barracks, apparently.

Unfortunately, that meant so was Kano.  And his "boys," those three other pillars of society that I had seen him slink off the boat with.  I was pretty sure that they wouldn't try anything when surrounded by witnesses, but still…

Lt. Blade would be pissed when she found out that she'd be sleeping right next door to the guy she was hunting.

"Mr. Carlton, what the hell is going on here?"  Speak of the devil…

I had to say, even at this inopportune time, I couldn't help but check her out.  She had ditched the black coveralls and the body armor, and the only thing between my eyeballs and her skin was a tight, army-green sleeveless shirt.  Her pants were almost as eye-catching, though I noticed she was still wearing steel-toed combat boots…and an extendable, steel police baton tucked into her belt.

That little observation brought me back to reality.  This is not the time – think with the other head for a minute, Johnny!  "What can I help you with, Ms. Blade?  And, you can call me Johnny."  I flashed my trademark grin – just because it hadn't worked yet didn't mean it wouldn't this time.

It didn't.  "What do you know about this tournament, and the man called Shang Tsung?"

When she asked me the question, I realized I really still had no real clue what was going on.  "Well, the tournament is unofficially nicknamed 'Mortal Combat,' and the greatest fighters in the world are invited.  It happens every couple of years, and this Shang Tsung guy runs it, apparently."  This much I knew from the letter and from conversations with other fighters.  Blade frowned, that cute mouth turning down into a decidedly unattractive expression of anger.

"Past that, however, it gets kinda weird," I continued.  I wasn't sure why I was telling her the rest of this, because I certainly didn't believe it myself.  "Some people say that Shang Tsung is wizard, and that he's been the grandmaster for over five hundred years."  I saw Blade raise her eyebrows in disdain, and I smiled sheepishly.  "Hey, I don't believe it either."

She motioned for me to continue.  "Right, it gets weirder.  Apparently, the way this tournament works is that there are a couple of 'qualifier rounds' to get a pool of eight to twelve champions, who then can challenge each other.  If one champion can beat all others, he has the option to challenge Shang Tsung to become to new grandmaster.  You would not believe some of the psychos I've met who are competing – we've got one guy who thinks he's a Thunder God or something, another one that seems like he's made of ice…"

"Alright, I get it."  Blade cut me off with a sharp gesture.  "Do you think of any reason for Shang Tsung to want me to fight in this thing?"  I didn't respond right away.  On one hand, I could play dumb, but I got the impression that lying to this woman would not do me any good.  On the other, I could admit to spying on her on the beach, which was an almost equally unattractive option.

Some long-buried chivalrous streak (damned prep school education!) prompted me to pick the second option.  That and the police baton.

"No, I can't.  Listen… I saw you on the beach… earlier…"

She looked at me narrowly, and walked to the board with the names inscribed on it.  "Is that so?"

"Um, yeah.  Listen, I don't know what that Shang Tsung guy did to your men…"

"No, you don't!" she snapped.  "Hell, I don't even know!  We're fucking Special Forces, this is NOT supposed to happen to us!  Now I'm supposed to fight in a goddam martial arts tournament or that bastard is going to kill my entire command!"

I thought I'd seen her angry before – obviously, I hadn't seen even a fraction of the full force of this woman's rage.  The muscles in her neck stood in sharp relief in the torchlight, and her face was death.  With the red flame turning her blond hair to the color of blood, I felt like I was in the presence of an ancient goddess of war.

The feeling passed after a brief instant, but it left me a little shaken.  What is it about this island that sets my crazy-mysticism-o-meter off the scale?  Meanwhile, Blade continued ranting.  "And now Kano's part of this tournament as well, and he'll probably disappear and I'll have to start the hunt for him all over again…"

I really didn't want to say this, but better she find out then than later, right?  "Actually, you'll probably be seeing a lot of Kano," I said timidly.

"Why?"  she hissed.

"Um…because his room is right next to yours, and across the hall from mine."

The door that led to the sleeping areas was oak, several inches thick, bolted into the stone wall and reinforced with iron.  It never stood a chance – Blade's first kick (a front "pushing" kick, and her form was excellent, I noticed in passing) sent it flying off its hinges, through the air and smashing against stone wall of the hallway.

"Right," she said, breathing heavily.  "Mr. Carlton, you seem to know your way around here.  Lead the way."

I couldn't even bring myself to tell her to call me Johnny.