The mirror stared back at her in disbelief. The eyes beyond her conscious just black holes traced by dull white hills. Her hair, a wet mess that stuck to her flesh and the room a warm fog after a long shower. She had wiped the mirror clean to gaze into those cold distant eyes. She couldn't believe the face of the woman that stared back was hers.
What do you believe in?
Her home felt cold upon arrival. Her flesh ached to get out of her work clothes and it crawled with an uneasy trickle of discontent when she touched it to try and rub, or itch that feeling away from her shoulders.
In the shower she had hoped to find solace, but only found her hand turned the knob hotter and hotter until she couldn't stand under the water any longer than a second. That's when she remained there to let it burn her thoughts away.
Her eyes reminded her of her father's, lips of her mother, she had her father's stubborn flesh in the shape of her mother. All of this from her toes to the hair that fell around her to become what she saw in the mirror as this unknown entity she couldn't quite figure out anymore.
She looked back into the living room at the mess of clothes that formed the cold identity of the detective that let work control her life, and destroy her emotions. Back in the mirror, somewhere in the light buried within the darkness of her eyes was a girl that forgot she was loved, and forgot to love.
Crack!
She glanced back toward the living room. Drapes, television, couch, all she could see from the doorway. She heard a sound, she knew she had.
Bare flesh and barely armed, she slowly stepped toward the doorway and lingered at the edge, just out of view so she could see down the hallway toward the bedroom.
Nothing.
Her gun was in that mound of clothing.
She heard another sound, softer, like a foot step in the kitchen.
She turned to gaze around the corner of the door way toward the entrance and the curve that lead to the kitchen.
Nothing.
Her eyes scanned back until they met a form that laid on the floor, blood and bone shattered across her beige carpet.
A quick blink and it was gone.
He was gone.
She didn't want to believe, but the form was the shape of her father after the gunshot that she had watched again and again.
She had studied this like it was her job. At some point it was, but once he entered the equation, Stryker had taken her off. Still, that image now burned into her head, now stained her carpet in that quick horrid glance.
She stepped out quickly to get to the mound of clothing.
Another figure stepped out from the kitchen, a robed man in white, or grey, or something she couldn't quite discern until she shot off a single round at the intruder.
Bang!
The doorway to the kitchen was suddenly vacant, save for a new hole that punctured the wood.
She turned around, toward the hall, back toward the bathroom.
"You may want to cover yourself up first." A voice alarmed her, and she shot off another round in the direction of the hall way.
That figure stood in the darkened hall as his old white robe began to drip with red. She was ready to fire again. The man would not fall.
Click, she prepared, no words, no movement.
The hallway cleared. The figure seamed to have disappeared in the shadow and the white light flashed to her right, where the television burst with energy.
"Guns never work." The man held her gun at the barrel and she aimed for his heart, but as her body turned, he was gone, just like the gun her finger squeezed to pull a nonexistent trigger.
"Get dressed." The man waited at the doorway of the kitchen.
She finally got a good look at him, though he averted his gaze from her so as not to see her full form. He wore old, worn out robes of white, or grey, or perhaps the color had faded with age and dirt. The blood that had spattered already gone from his clothing, and the wound hidden underneath a long conical hat that threatened to get stuck between the doorway of her kitchen and living room, so he stood at the entrance and waited.
"Who the fuck are you?"
"That mouth." He snickered beneath his breath. "Get dressed, I won't ask again."
An ugly pause followed until the tension between them burst through the television in an electric display.
It was a while before he saw her again. She peered out of the bedroom just to see if he was even real. She had clothed herself, white tanktop, blank pants, combat boots and dog tags around her neck. She was ready for a fight.
The man turned and she could see a dim white glow she interpreted as his eyes on her and then a curve she took for a smile, almost like her father's, as he tried to hid it.
"I'd almost mistake you for her, if I didn't know any better." She didn't understand, and his voice was soft spoken, almost like a whisper that scratched the roof of his mouth.
"Where'd the bullet hit you?"
He leaned up to show her. She knew she had struck him clean in the forehead, but there was nothing there.
"Missed." He snickered.
"Bullshit. I don't miss."
"You're right." He tossed the gun back to her and she watched it land with a click and thump at her feet. "Want to try again?"
She wanted to.
"Earth realm needs you, Sonya Blade. I need you. We don't have much time."
He waited for her to respond, but she wouldn't. He twisted an ugly smile to himself and stepped almost playfully toward her.
"What do you believe in, Detective?"
Her brows furrowed, she wasn't sure how to answer this. She reached for the badge at her left pocket, and he nodded, reached out to stop her gesture with his own.
"No need. I know what you believe in, I can see through you."
"Fuck you."
"If you're to fight in the tournament, you will need to believe in yourself."
"What tournament?"
"The tournament that will help you find who you really are." He watched her eyes, but she stood, cold, guarded. He added, as if to throw a bone for a reaction, "and closer to Kano."
"You know him?"
"All too well."
"Then take me to him."
He watched the brick wall he tried to scratch at now step toward him with guarded stance. He gave her a wry smile and nodded.
"So be it."
She recoiled as he reached out for her, but before she could break distance, he closed the gap. Sonya became blinded as a great white light flashed before her, as if outward from his form. She gasped, that guard suddenly shattered and her feet misplaced their step until she caught herself on the pavement of a dark alleyway.
She fell toward her side, and reached for a barrel that teetered and threatened to drop her in her sudden surprise. He reached again, this time to steady her, as her father might, and held her until she was comfortable.
"Where are we?"
"Hong Kong." He watched her absorb all of his. Cracks in the armor he searched for so that he could let his words slip into and beg the true woman he sought out come forth. "Not far from the docks where the ship will come."
He watched the two exits of the alley. They were between a restaurant and a storefront, both abandoned. They were safe, his light would not have been seen. She could find her feet again and stand, shake off the sudden flash of light and brushed herself off.
"You'll get used to it." He snickered.
"Not sure what you mean by that." She glared, then leaned up to survey her surrounding.
Grafitti, text on the walls and crates, this was not New York. The cold wind that caught her and the pain of smog in her lungs. This was definitely not her home either.
"If you don't believe in yourself, Sonya, trust in me first." tossed her his white robe to wrap around her. "I believe in you."
She watched him turn away, to discern which direction to take. She had no choice but to wrap that old cloth around her shoulders. It was a lot warmer than she expected, though each touch seemed to elicit a small electrical shock against her wet hair.
"I don't trust anyone, but if you can help me bring down Kano and the Black Dragon, what choice do I have?"
He looked back, his eyes stern despite covered in white, and glared through her like she had upset her father all over again. She recoiled some from his glare, but it weakened into a twisted smile.
"All we have now are the choices we make." He added, "I believe you'll make the right ones. Trust your heart, Sonya Blade."
She wasn't sure if she had one.
She wasn't sure of much anymore.
He moved off down the alley toward the sound of sea swells and gulls. She stood uncertain if she should follow, and gazed down at the rotted concrete, the cold reflection of the hazy sky looked back at her and an odd, familiar object seemed to comfort her.
Her gun.
She followed quickly behind him, the weapon hidden in her robes.
Finally, something she could believe in.