The birds were flying in the air.
The sun was out.
There was hardly a cloud in the sky.
But Kurtis Stryker felt only pain.
It had been a year since Shang Tsung attacked Deacon with his band of cyborgs, ninjas, and people with blades on their arms. Overall, it was a weird, strange night. But the thing that will resonate with him the most, what will stay with him for the rest of his life, is a loss that cuts deeper than any stab wound.
All things considered, he got out of there relatively unscathed. His stomach was wrapped in bandages and his arm was cast in a sling. The wounds Shang Tsung inflicted would still be there for the rest of his life. The doctors said that he just barely missed Stryker's spine and a few major arteries. It would have taken maybe a few millimeters to the left or right, and he would no longer be here. It still hurt whenever he took a deep breath, or when he bent over in a wrong way. Whenever he lay in bed, he just gently ran his hands against the various scars.
The looked welcome to the older scars given to him at the tournament.
But that wasn't even close to the worst thing that happened that night. The worst thing wasn't anything that physically happened to him. No. He could deal with all that stuff. What hurt the most is what happened to the man in front of him. The man buried six feet deep in the grave in front of him.
His friend. His partner. His brother. Kenshi Takahashi.
He saw the sword pierce his friend's heart. He saw the blood drip to the ground. He held his body as the life left from it. He felt the blood run down his hands as he tried in vain to close the wound. He was there, denying it. And now he was here, accepting it.
Perhaps accepting was the wrong word. It still tore him apart on the inside. But he wasn't the mess he was when he woke up in that hospital.
Stryker was never comfortable in a suit. He preferred jeans and a t-shirt any day of the week. Or better yet, his police uniform. But he felt the need to dress up today.
The funeral was quick. There were only a few people there. They hired a priest and they mourned for about twenty minutes. No one was in a mood to be jovial. Especially since most of the gathered witnessed his death.
There was no body in the grave in front of him. There was nothing to bury. Kenshi's body was practically vaporized with the amount of C4 in the building that night.
He's been standing there for about an hour. He hasn't said a word. He hasn't made any gestures. His legs burn, pleading with him to take a seat. But for some reason he felt as though he shouldn't. Not now, anyway. Not until he said something. Anything.
After another ten minutes of silence, Stryker finally spoke to the gravestone. "I should have done this a while ago." He rubbed the back of his neck, unsure of what to say next. "I… I've been putting it off, I suppose. Pretending to be too busy with other stuff. It has been a busy year, when I think about it. Shang Tsung really screwed the city over."
He took a deep breath. "The truth is… I suppose I was too scared. I thought it was going to be final when we buried you, but in the back of my mind, I always thought that you were going to walk into my room to wake me up at six in the damn morning or something. But, as I look at the tombstone, I understand now."
His eyes started to water. He chuckled darkly. "I thought I was done crying. But I suppose the world always finds a way to kick me in the dick." He put his hands on his knees. "I'm getting tired. I've been standing here for about an hour and a half."
He took a seat in front of the grave. He leaned back on his arms and just stared at the head stone. Another few minutes passed. "I have been busy, though," Stryker replied truthfully. "There's the rebuilding efforts, of course. That's been hell. Looting, which is always fun. Still finding missing people out there."
Stryker sat up, sitting criss cross. He laid his hands on his knee before smiling. "I'm also, ah, seeing someone. She's great," Stryker beamed. He looked down at the ground before stating, "She's the best thing in my life right now. Sometimes… sometimes I feel she keeps me from joining you up there. You know her."
Stryker looked up at the sky now. He was avoiding looking at the head stone anymore. "It's Alex, actually. Finally got the balls to ask her out. It was after we interrogated… him." Stryker's smile fell slightly, but he shook his head. "She's the most beautiful woman I ever met." He laughed a bit. "I guess you called it from the beginning. When I was always tripping over my sentences around her. I can't help but feel you're smiling from wherever you are."
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a tiny case. "I'm going to give this to her. I don't know when. I'm not even sure if I should. I'm a little nervous, to be honest. I'm scared that she'll say no. But I suppose you never know unless you go out there and try."
Stryker got to his feet, pocketing the case. He went silent for a few seconds. A gentle breeze filled the air. A chill ran up Stryker's spine. He had no idea why. He looked behind him, seeing only his car. He raised an eyebrow, but looked back at the grave.
"I'm not sure when the next time I'm coming will be," Stryker announced, ringing his hands. "But I'll try to come again in the future. You have my word."
"You were like a brother to me," Stryker announced. He got to his feet and rested a hand on the headstone. "I love you."
With that, he began to walk away. He didn't look back. He had hoped for some sort of closure. But all this visit did was make it hurt worse.