Disclaimer: I own nothing but the fleeting will to write. Bon appetit.
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CHEF NINJA
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San Francisco, CA - Chinatown
2:04 AM
"YOU, uh, have a friend that lives here?" Johnny Cage asked as the door swung open and bumped against the wall, its chipped paint flaking to the floor upon the force.
Kenshi released his telepathic hold on the door, rubbing the back of his neck. Another glance back at him and Johnny saw his blindfolded friend trying to mask a grimace at the stench of mildew and mothballs emanating from the apartment.
"It's possible they may have vacated the place awhile back, but...yes," Kenshi said.
Johnny stepped over the threshold, mouthing to himself, it's possible. The flickering lights in the hallway stretched into the dark living space. Johnny groped along the wall, his fingers grazing rough plaster until they met the light switch.
"Well…" he hesitated. Lights off did the abode more wonders than lights on.
The entryway was a patch of mossy green carpet, frayed and paper-thin from years of action. To the right was an archway separating them from a kitchenette. A foot in the apartment and already you'd stepped into the living room, complete with a dead fern in the corner. Layers of dust coated the sheets covering lumps of what Johnny assumed was: a coffee table, a box TV, a recliner…the works. Rain pelted against the windows, their blinds cracked and shivering while the whistling winds rattled the glass with enough force that spread a draft throughout the room.
"Do all Earthrealmers live like this?" Jade asked, trailing behind Kenshi. She pulled down her dripping-wet hood, displaying the distaste on her maskless face.
"Not in my neck of the woods they don't," Johnny said. "We could've gone to Malibu for my condo, but no. Sonya wanted us incognito."
"One night here will not kill us," Kenshi said.
Johnny muttered to himself, progressing past the living room. He continued down the stub of a hallway, poking his head into the bathroom on the left. "Ugh." He shivered at the clogged toilet and the mildew spotting the shower. Luckily, the bedroom across the hall wasn't nearly as depressing. "Dibs on the bed! You guys can divvy up the sofa, right?"
"We will be taking shifts," Jade said pointedly. "You will also be on watch tonight, Johnny Cage."
"What's there to watch for? If memory serves me right, we emerged from Outworld victorious?" Johnny shook stray droplets of the storm from his hair, sauntering back into the living room. He rubbed his fingers between a random leaf of the pitiful fern plant. "I've got the blood on my knuckles and the bruises on my ass as proof."
"No one wants to see your ass," Kenshi said.
"Come on, guys," Johnny said. "We've spent the last six weeks in the trenches. We dodged every spell and blade and fireball Shang Tsung and his lackeys sent our way. Outworld's hurting right now, and we came out as the heroes. Even heroes deserve sleep. And food. And water. And a shower. Seriously…all of us need to bathe at some point."
Jade offered a tired sigh. "We will have our chance to bask in soaps, feasts, and glory once we regroup. Shao Kahn may be nullified for the time being, but Shang Tsung's reach extends into Earthrealm. Spies could be searching for us as we speak."
"We leave the apartment at daybreak," Kenshi added, his hands gracing the air as he guided the caking of dust off the furniture coverings, carefully whisking the mess into a pile mid-air before tucking it in a convenient corner. "No traces we were ever here."
Johnny scrubbed a hand down his face, annoyance tugging at him. He knew they were right. They were being practical. After defeating Shao Kahn and his forces for the nth time, they were all on edge since leaving Outworld, Johnny included. He couldn't shake the feeling that someone might've followed them back into the hazy, narrow streets of San Francisco's Chinatown. Raiden had entrusted Kenshi to find their group a place to stay. The Thunder God, Liu, Sonya, Sub-Zero, and Princess Kitana were elsewhere in the realm, having taken a different portal home from Outworld.
No one had died on their mission. Johnny and his group would crash here for a few hours, then rendezvous with Raiden and them tomorrow. Everything was a success…give or take. They'd returned to Earth as unsung heroes, of course, while the average Joe and Sally would walk about, none the wiser that the sky over their heads remained intact. But there was one problem that clawed at Johnny, no matter how he tried to trample it.
He was hungry.
Scratch that, he was starving. We all are… Johnny thought, considering his soaking wet, famished companions. After a skirmish with a camp of tarkatans in the Wastelands five days back, they'd lost most of their provisions. They'd scraped by the remainder of their time in Outworld splitting rations, and if it weren't for the smoggy downpour that greeted them in San Francisco, Johnny was certain he would've keeled over from dehydration by now.
Sighing, he made his way to the kitchenette, browsing the fridge. An unopened beer…and a fuzzy black block of what probably used to be cheese. "Great," Johnny huffed.
He hovered under the kitchenette's archway, eyeing the apartment door. "Didn't we pass a corner store on the way here—"
"No," Jade cut off. "You're in no condition to go out alone. None of us are."
"Well, I'm hungry." Whining was not beneath Johnny Cage. His stomach growled in support.
"As we all are."
"All I want is fresh water. Maybe a cup of ramen. And mouthwash." He edged backwards towards the door.
"This is not a game," came a gravelly voice behind him. The fourth member of their group—Johnny's least favorite companion—glared at Johnny when he spun around.
Why Raiden thought it'd be a good idea for Scorpion to travel with them, Johnny hadn't a clue. For one, Scorpion hated everyone. The only reason the spectre had tagged along with Earthrealm's forces this fight around was to take down Quan Chi, his sworn nemesis. Secondly, it wasn't like Scorpion couldn't hold his own traveling solo. Johnny had seen him and his kunai in action plenty of times.
And thirdly…while Johnny Cage by no means considered himself superstitious, something about being in close quarters with the literal incarnation of death was less than appealing. It wasn't the burning skull, believe it or not, nor the brooding demeanor. It was the eyes — those stale white, heavy-hooded eyes.
In short, the guy gave Johnny the creeps.
"Right..." Johnny chuckled, edging past Scorpion. Unfortunately for Johnny, Scorpion blocked the door. "Um, do you mind?"
Scorpion stiffened. Not from Johnny's words. Despite all his exhaustion, Johnny sensed it too in that hairsbreadth of a second—a shadow shifting under the crack of the doorway, a scuffling of a shoe—and everyone's attention jumped to the door when a pounding fist thundered from outside, the door quaking against its hinges.
"ED!" the angry, masculine voice carried through, threatening to wake up the entire building. "I KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE. I KNOW—"
From the corner of Johnny's eye, Scorpion's hand twitched for his kunai. Johnny glared at him, giving one curt shake of his head. In the same flash, Jade and Kenshi appeared in the entryway.
"Relax—" Johnny began, his voice low over the pounding and cussing. This was no voice of an assassin or a crafty spy. It sounded like a pissed-off landlord ready to evict a tenant.
The jangling of keys, however, made Johnny twirl back around. He was almost impressed by how aggressively the apartment door burst open.
A gangly, freckled ginger man stood on the other side, his fist still raised from knocking. Johnny watched the landlord's face go slack. They were a sight to behold, Johnny couldn't deny — a world-class action movie star with his sunglasses perched atop his head, and next to him a burly, hateful yellow ninja with cataracts, and behind them a stunning, brown-skinned Edenian woman with a wicked boomerang.
One second of silence lapsed between them all. The landlord's eyes rolled towards the back of his head. He collapsed in a heap.
"Oh…" said Johnny. He, Scorpion, and Jade all turned around to look at Kenshi, who had two fingers concentrated against his temple, his blindfolded gaze trained on the man.
Kenshi pursed his lips, letting his fingers drop. He nodded at Johnny. "Help me carry him."
Only now did Johnny notice the door sitting ajar straight across the hall.
He took the landlord's shoulders while Kenshi handled the feet. "So much for incognito…" Johnny muttered.
They lugged the landlord into a similarly dingy—but bigger—apartment, setting him down on the sofa. A nature documentary lulled by on the TV. For good measure, Johnny placed a blanket over the man, patting his chest awkwardly.
"He should be out the rest of the night," Kenshi said.
"Hope you gave him good dreams. Like nothing ever happ—woah." Johnny started, not having heard Scorpion approach from beside.
Other than his furrowed eyebrows, Scorpion's expression remained unreadable beneath his mask. Jade lingered by the door, scanning the hallway for activity.
"What are you—" The words died in Johnny's mouth as Scorpion slipped behind the kitchen counter, silent as the shadows despite his size and the metal chain of his kunai dangling on his belt. Ninjas, Johnny thought. He'd asked Sub-Zero and Kitana time and again how in the Netherrealm they did it — Johnny would be lying if he said he wasn't jealous.
Would make dodging paparazzi a lot easier, he thought, but any other delirious thoughts of his vanished when Scorpion began rummaging through the cupboards above the stove.
Now it was Kenshi's turn to frown, picking up whatever movements of Scorpion's that Johnny's ears couldn't. "What is he doing?"
"Your guess is as good as mine…" Johnny took a step towards the kitchen. "Hey," he hissed. "We don't have time for this, Sunshine."
Scorpion ignored him and regarded Jade over his shoulder, his voice a rough burn. "Close the doors."
Jade shot him an affronted look at being bossed around like a servant. Kenshi, however, sighed beside Johnny, and with a swift wave of his arm, the door to their apartment across the hall gently shut. Jade's eyes narrowed. But after a moment, she closed the door that she guarded, sealing them all inside the landlord's quarters.
In three strides she'd crossed to the slab of counter that divided the kitchen from the living room. One gloved hand went to her green-clad hip. "Do you intend to tell us why you're ransacking a poor civilian's kitchen?"
As an answer, Scorpion tossed a small sack of something on the counter. Johnny could've sworn he caught a roll of the ninja's eyes.
It was a bag of rice.
Another item joined — a packet of ramen. Beef-flavored.
Johnny blinked. The colorful letters of the brand gleamed back as if mocking him.
He didn't miss the flash of surprise that parted Jade's lips. "Surely you are not going to rob a man of his food after rendering him unconscious?"
"I…think he is," Johnny said. It was a practical idea, some part of him couldn't help but think. Evidently, Scorpion thought so… "We did kinda save the world."
Jade glared at him.
"I can't disagree," said Kenshi, but Johnny couldn't tell if the swordsman was agreeing with him or Jade.
A soft clank of a pot being set on the stove veered their attention back to Scorpion. The gas stove clicked to life as he began to boil water. Kenshi's eyebrows climbed.
"Woah, wait a sec—" Johnny began, his shock now catching up to him. He didn't know if he'd thought Scorpion had been joking—did the guy even know what a joke was?— but maybe Johnny had thought they were gathering supplies for tomorrow. Or that they'd cook in the apartment that didn't have a KO'd landlord five feet from them.
Indifferent to his audience, Scorpion browsed the fridge with the authority of a chef perusing the line, emerging moments later with two items in hand: a liter of filtered water and a carton of eggs. He set a familiar hip flask on the countertop, pouring the water into it.
"Hey!" Johnny cried, patting his empty pockets. "That's mine! How—when did—"
"Drink," Scorpion ordered, nudging the flask across the counter towards the three of them.
Johnny exchanged a bewildered glance with Kenshi and Jade. Then, to Johnny Cage's further shock, Kenshi reached for the flask. The swordsman lifted it to his lips, taking measured swallows. He offered Johnny's flask back to him.
He didn't bother to hide the horror on his face. "How do you know he didn't poison it?"
"By the Gods," Jade murmured, snatching the flask from Johnny's loose fingers and downing the contents. Like Kenshi, however, she made sure not to overdo it.
"Do something useful with your mouth and drink," she said, shoving the flask into his chest.
"Ouch. I'm gonna chalk that up to you being hungry."
"This is not wise," Jade said with a shake of her head, her words directed at Scorpion. She glanced back at the sleeping landlord. "He will know we were here."
"Hm…" Kenshi mused. "But will anyone believe him?"
"Kenshi's got a point," Johnny said. "Who would believe I—Johnny Cage, A-list all-star—would be caught dead in a place like this?"
"The actor has been incessant for the past three days," Scorpion growled over the bubbling waters on the stove; He'd conjured another pot, this one for the rice. "If he is to continue announcing his sufferings to the world, it will be a party of three joining Raiden tomorrow."
Johnny grimaced. He glanced down at the rim of his flask, leaning closer to Kenshi. "And you're sure he didn't tamper this?"
"If he wanted to kill you, I imagine he'd be more direct," Kenshi diplomatically said.
The dryness in Johnny's mouth was unbearable. He felt his Adam's apple bob in his throat as he gave the flask another one-over. While he had no personal beef with Scorpion, to say he or any of them trusted the hellspawn would be stretching the point. Johnny knew the feeling was mutual.
And yet Scorpion carried on, sliding out a cutting board from its stand. He unsheathed a knife from the adjacent knife block, the blade glinting under the kitchen lights. Without ever removing his attention from the knife, with his other hand he nabbed a shallot from the bowl on the counter behind him, cutting—no, mincing—it across the board. His movements were fluid, deft.
"You're seeing this too, right?" Johnny asked Kenshi and Jade, crossing his arms. Maybe he'd breathed in too much polluted air back in Outworld, gotten round-hounded in the face too many times. Or maybe this was a fever dream. Or dehydration. Either way.
"Very funny," Kenshi drawled.
"I didn't mean it like—"
Crack.
The egg splashed into the pot of broth that Scorpion stirred one-handed. Gingerly, he set the carcass of the eggshell in a spare bowl.
Beside him, Jade made a noise in her throat — a fleeting sound between a laugh and an exclamation. A parade of emotions flitted over her features from amusement, to doubt, to downright perplexed.
"Should we…help him?" Jade asked.
"We?" said Johnny. Scorpion and help? Johnny internally snorted. Like that would go well.
"I have a sense that things seem to be perfectly fine," Kenshi said. He cocked his head towards Jade. "I can also hear your stomach rumbling."
She listed her chin. "And it seems the spectre is going to help with that problem."
Johnny raised his hands, flask still in his right, stepping backwards from the two. "You know what…I think I need to sit. Here." He made to hand off the flask to Kenshi.
Kenshi rolled his eyes, his blindfold creasing. "Just drink the damn water."
He turned for the living room, sinking into a crossed-legged position on the rug. The TV behind Kenshi flashed to a scene of beluga whales.
Johnny pursed his lips. Jade idly leaned against the column jutting up from the counter's edge, her olive eyes straying to the limp landlord. Assured he was indeed out cold, her gaze returned to Scorpion's back as he queued a variety of spices near the stove.
"Not even going to ask…" Johnny muttered to the ceiling.
The storm growled in the background, though the new roaring in Johnny's stomach rivaled it. The last he'd eaten had been shy of four days back; some overripe berries from Outworld with a name he couldn't pronounce no matter how many times Jade corrected him.
Despite what he'd claimed, Johnny didn't sit. He paced near the door, the dry patch in his throat screaming at him all the while. The sizzle of oil or scratch of a spatula against a skillet or the furious chopping of a knife drifted from the kitchen. But when the warm aromas of salt and umami began to waft throughout the apartment, saliva flooded Johnny's mouth. He felt woozy.
His hand flexed around the metal of his hip flask. Cursing, Johnny took a swig. It took a tremendous amount of willpower to not moan as the cool water ebbed against his throat. He drained his flask in two gulps.
Three rapid taps hit the counter. Scorpion glowered at them, finally facing them. Steam unfurled from the three mismatching bowls of food set before him.
Jade—who'd relocated to the recliner chair in the living room at some point—fluidly rose from her spot, as did Kenshi. Johnny trudged behind them, feeling like a high school chump all over again shuffling to the cafeteria as they approached the kitchen counter.
Some part of him was dryly disappointed that Scorpion hadn't donned an apron. Guess the landlord didn't have those in stock.
Or matching cutlery, he thought, staring at the chopsticks accompanying their bowls.
Jade reached for one of the dishes, her fingers hesitating short of its rim. "Scorpion, this…"
Kenshi sniffed. "It smells fantastic. Surely this isn't ramen?"
"Beef-flavored," Johnny murmured, eyes soaking in each bowl. Somehow, Scorpion had perfectly portioned one packet of ramen three ways. They'd each gotten a poached egg, the yolk neither too runny nor too hard, gently split open and perched atop a bed of noodles. Sesame seeds garnished the dish. Scorpion had been generous with the broth, creamy and swirling with color — fluids, Johnny realized. God knew they were deprived of them.
Quantity-wise, it wasn't much. Johnny could've slurped up all three bowls and still been asking for more. But it was more than what he could've expected.
Jade plucked her bowl off the counter—a lop-sided ceramic bowl that a clumsy set of hands must've crafted in a one-time pottery class—cautiously tilting it towards her mouth to sample the broth. Her eyes widened.
"How is it?" Kenshi asked.
Jade's throat bobbed, her eyes traveling from the bowl to Scorpion. She blinked several times as if he'd become an apparition to her. "By the gods."
And she plopped down on her high stool, tucking into her meal.
Scorpion merely scoffed, turning back towards the stove. When he pivoted around, another rap came against the counter as he placed a large bowl of more food in front of them.
"Rice?" Kenshi said.
"And green beans," Johnny croaked. He took in the glistening brown sauce over the vegetables, the angled cut of the beans that surely hadn't been bought that way. "Stir-fried."
Kenshi's brow crinkled in amusement. "I'm impressed, spectre. Were you a chef in your previous life?"
"Pretty sure he was an assassin," Johnny weakly said, grabbing the back of his bar stool for support. He sank into his seat as Kenshi settled between him and Jade.
"A man can be both, can he not?" Kenshi pulled the middle bowl closer; Johnny made out the pattern of chubby, happy Japanese cats prancing around the side. Kenshi pressed his palms together, his head bowed. "Thank you, Scorpion."
Scorpion leveled his gaze with Kenshi, the shadows under his hooded eyes flickering. Slowly, he nodded at the swordsman.
Johnny's mouth hung open.
Scorpion's gaze snapped to him, hellish eyes going into slits. Why, Johnny asked himself, even when he said nothing, did others need to look at him like that?
"Eat. Do not squander my efforts, Cage," Scorpion rumbled. He set a pile of petite plates next to the bowl of stir-fry. With that, he turned towards the stove, collecting the dishes he'd accumulated, and went for the sink.
"You'll dislocate your jaw at the rate you're going," Kenshi murmured, slurping on a noodle.
"How do you know what face I'm making?"
Frowning for a moment, Kenshi flicked his wrist. The drawer next to Scorpion opened, and a rag drifted out and into Kenshi's ready hand. He dabbed at the corners of his mouth. "I don't need sight to see."
"What does that even mean?" Johnny said, gesturing to Kenshi and his own hot bowl. "Kenshi," Johnny hissed in his ear. "He's doing the dishes."
"Your point?"
"My point? He's just—" Johnny wanted to tear his hair out. Was he the only one who understood how insane this was? The Elders Gods had to be having a hoot right now. "How do we know he hasn't been possessed by Quan Chi or somebody? This could be the perfect method, one pleasant meal to off us all!"
"Poison?" Jade drawled, an uncharacteristic snort leaving her. A green bean was pinched between her chopsticks in her expert hands. "You're still convinced of that foolish notion?"
"Easy for you to say," Johnny said. He furiously wagged his finger at her and Kenshi. "He doesn't look at either of you like he wants to kill you!"
"Ah, so it is only your bowl he has compromised."
"Have you considered that you're the problem?" Kenshi suggested.
"Yes, actually!" Johnny snapped. "When am I not ever the problem around here?"
The sink shut off. Scorpion faced Johnny, hands dripping with suds, cloudy eyes boring into him. Kenshi and Jade had paused their eating.
"What?" Johnny asked as everyone continued to stare. His stomach rumbled again.
"The least you can do is indulge in one bite," Jade said. "Your body needs the calories."
Kenshi nodded. "It's rude to turn down such a finely prepared meal."
"I'm not saying it isn't finely prepared!" Sonya and Liu weren't going to believe him. They were going to laugh, Raiden and even Kitana would cackle and scoff.
Scorpion cocked a dark eyebrow at him. The faucet dripped unevenly.
Johnny's hand scrambled for his chopsticks. "Fine. Take a picture while you're at it." He wrangled in a heaping stack of noodles, slurping them down the hatch. Drowning them in a gulp of broth so hot that Johnny's eyes watered.
He sputtered, his dish clunking back onto the table. Johnny's bowl was probably the most on-the-nose of the set: a strip of zen-blue, squarish symbols raced around the inner rim of the bowl, the broth lapping at its edges. On the outside of the bowl, a swirling red Fenguang and a dragon chased each other in the sky, over and over and over.
Flavor popped and danced across Johnny's tongue, searing him. Refusing to pause, he reached across Kenshi, pulling the serving bowl of rice and green beans towards him, not caring what the others thought when he angled the bowl towards his mouth, using his chopsticks to shovel the stir-fry past his greedy lips.
Jade eyed him. Part of her expression dipped towards exasperation, yet her eyes gleamed in smug understanding. "You're going to suffocate."
"Huh, you wish." Johnny gulped at last, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His breathing was heavy, his taste buds vibrated.
"Well?" Kenshi prompted.
More, his stomach, his mouth, his entire being howled at him. Thunder clapped outside, jostling the entire building. Johnny's knuckles whitened around his chopsticks.
Scorpion regarded him. Then, as if sensing something, a self-satisfied spark entered the ninja's eyes. The kitchen sink turned back on.
Johnny would bet his sunglasses that the wraith was smirking beneath his mask.
He cleared his throat, sliding his bowl of dinner—or very early breakfast, given the time—closer. Johnny rolled back his sore shoulders. "All right, it's tasty, you happy? He can add cooking to his resume beneath "hellfire" and "stabbing"."
"You would not wish for a meal cooked in hellfire," Scorpion gravely said.
The three of them paused. Then laughter cascaded out of Jade. Kenshi's lips quirked. Even Johnny gave a throaty chuckle, taking another hearty bite of ramen.
A chill swept over the room, making the hairs on Johnny's forearms stand. Before he could ground his instincts, Jade lurched out of her seat, razorrang aglow and hurling towards the living room windows.
The assailant caught the weapon with startling dexterity, halfway out of the open window to the fire escape. Jade's razorrang did not cut him — an icy coat now glossed over the weapon's jagged edges. Rain assaulted the living room as he eased himself the rest of the way inside. He set the razorrang on top of the TV.
They all rose from their seats. Only Scorpion remained unphased, the light clatter of dishes puncturing Johnny's ears behind him.
"It's me," Sub-Zero said, shutting the window. His icy-blue eyes grazed over the entire scene in mild curiosity — from the snoring landlord to the bowls of food to the domestic Scorpion.
Johnny paused. His powers were Sub-Zero's, the signature scar across his eye and the way he carried himself matched Kuai Liang, but…
"Prove that you're not an enemy in disguise," Jade demanded. "Or Shang Tsung himself."
Sub-Zero considered each of them, coolly settling on Johnny. "You filmed a movie named Ninja Mime. It has three installments."
Johnny narrowed his eyes. "Public knowledge."
A small sigh left him, muffled by his blue mask. "You described the fourth installment two weeks ago while we traversed the Kuatan Jungle. Your agent is hesitant about the script, but you're convinced the Mime's stealth in the alleyways of Paris will be, and I quote, phenomenally show-stopping. Sonya thinks you're a fool. I opted not to give an opinion."
The muscles in Johnny's body relaxed. "I knew you were listening."
"How unfortunate for him," Kenshi said, back to enjoying his meal.
Jade's hackles also fell, though a frown still marred her face. She outstretched her arm, palm out expectantly. Sub-Zero, catching the drift, melted the ice off her razorrang and tossed it back to her.
"You did not travel with Kitana and the others?" Jade said. "What of their status?"
"I was ambushed in the Valley of the Dead when rendezvousing with the others — stray assassins of Quan Chi's. They forced me to flee into the Forbidden Forest."
"Are they dead?" Kenshi asked.
"By my hand." Sub-Zero nodded. "I contacted Raiden and located the portal not long after you."
"You could've joined us earlier," Johnny huffed. "We really could've used your "take ice from thin air" in the Wastelands. Would've been a lot less thirsty. Oh—"
Remembering his hip flask, Johnny reached for it, shuffling around the counter to fill it with the pitcher of filtered water. "Here." He chucked the flask at Sub-Zero. "You've gotta be dying. You're just in time for dinner, a you're not gonna buy who cooked it. Just guess."
Scorpion pinned Johnny with an irked look.
Sub-Zero carefully corked the flask closed. Even with his mask discarded, the Lin Kuei's expression stayed as smooth as obsidian as he scanned Johnny. Then Scorpion.
A fourth bowl slid across the counter—a porcelain white bowl with the blocky words "I HEART SAN FRANCISCO" printed on the side—skidding to a stop a centimeter from the edge.
Scorpion tossed a pair of chopsticks as one would a dart to a dartboard, and they stuck the landing in the pile of rice. He dried his hands on the dish towel hanging off the wall.
One of Sub-Zero's eyebrows lifted. He closed the distance across the living room, taking in his bowl of stir-fry. His eyes flickered to Jade, Kenshi, and Johnny's bowls. "No ramen?"
Scorpion grunted. "I did not account for feeding four mouths."
"Another pity," Kenshi said, one side of his mouth curving. "You're missing out, Sub-Zero."
"So it would seem." Sub-Zero lifted the bowl in his hands, eyes fluttering shut a moment to savor the aromas. He began to eat with the rest of the party.
"No, the real pity is our lodging for tonight," Johnny said, slurping from his bowl. The storm outside raged on, and he couldn't bring himself to care as the oily, delicious broth dripped down his chin. "Don't get too comfortable here, Subs. I still call dibs on the bed, by the way."
When Mr. Paccomo awoke with a jolt, the back of his skull ached something terrible. His mouth was musty and dry, and an infomercial on crock pots played on his TV.
With a kick of the knit blanket off his legs, Mr. Paccomo launched up from the sofa, flinging himself out the door. He stormed for Apartment 192.
But no one was inside when he unlocked the door. Not a speck of dust out of place amidst the ghostly furniture, the toilet still clogged, the single bedroom unkempt as it always was. His nightmare of a tenant was still AWOL, as he'd been for weeks.
Trudging back into his apartment, Mr. Paccomo ran a hand through his hair. The first trickles of dawn filtered through the blinds of his living room, the storm tapering off.
I could've sworn— He shook his head, unable to fight the rise of images that'd haunted his dreams. The bemused face of an overrated Hollywood icon, the statuesque figure of a woman so gorgeous she couldn't have been born on Earth. Those, no, those were silly.
But the third vision, the eyes of a demon…
He shuddered. How could his mind torture him with eyes that seemed to have been bred in the pits of Hell itself? For good measure, Mr. Paccomo checked the peephole through his door, eyed Apartment 192 across the narrow corridor. Nothing.
Mr. Paccomo swore at himself. He was getting old and paranoid, the storm last night making him hear things that weren't there. He needed to lay off the TV.
He pattered over to his kitchen, aching for coffee. Cursing, because he realized he needed to wash his favorite mug, Mr. Paccomo froze when he peered into his sink.
Strange. He didn't remember doing the dishes yesterday. Or the day before that.
It took him a minute to find his mug — it wasn't drying on the dishrack, as he would've done. It sat in his modest cupboard of cups.
His coffee pot sputtered to life as Mr. Paccomo went about his morning, but an odd jolt went through him when he passed his kitchen trash. He backtracked.
Who the hell had taken out his trash? Mr. Paccomo would remember doing that.
The hiss of his coffee pot offered no remedy. When he turned again, something caught his eye on the countertop, making him still. There lay a note with a crumpled twenty-dollar bill that had seen better days on top of it. Good god…was that—
Mr. Paccomo picked up the bill, a deep chill nestling in his bones at the dark blotches staining it. He'd seen enough in his years as a landlord. Bloodstains.
The note had loopy, arrogant scrawl:
TO MY BIGGEST FAN,
Sorry for the scare. Here's some money for your troubles. Don't mind the blood.
PS: Ninja Mime 4 hits theaters next summer, tell all your tenants
JOHNNY CAGE
Author's Note: When I tell y'all the biggest debate was deciding what meal Scorpion would cook… Anyhow, I highly encourage watching "Cooking with Scorpion" on YouTube. It helps the premise of this story make a little more sense, lol.
Scorpion obviously didn't eat because, you know. He's dead. I couldn't resist sneaking Sub-Zero there in the end because he's my favorite.
Thank you so much for reading!