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Mortal Kombat - Smoke Ch. 01

By: Kindasortacrazy



Hello! I'm back! Yes, I know I've been gone for a while, but as much as I love you people, my classes are slightly more important than my writing. But here I am again, so you're now allowed to scream and jump around like a crazy fangirl/boy.

This is my first fan fiction story, so be nice. It's based on the Mortal Kombat video game franchise (a personal favorite). If you don't know what MK is, Google it and discover its awesomeness (if you watch the MK 2011 story mode videos on YouTube, it explains all the characters and the storyline). This story centers on Smoke (a real MK character) and a young woman of my own creation. Enjoy, and please tell me what you think.

Chapter 1 -- Strangers and Shadows

The chime of the register did little to snap him out of his trance, trying but failing to bring him back to the waking world. His mind had been elsewhere as he'd watched the young woman ring up his purchases, entranced by the slow, fluid motions that she'd perfected over the years. It took only two minutes for her to add everything up and ask him for his card, but it was enough time for him to nearly lose his mind.

This young woman was something else entirely.

"Alright," she chimed, peering at the computer screen for a moment. "Total comes to . . . wow, forty five even." She turned and smiled at him. "Well done. I don't get those very often."

He continued to stare at her, unfazed by her attempt to break through his mind. He was still entranced by her, still wanting to stare at her a moment longer. The credit card company could wait.

The woman's smile faded, concern now crossing her face. She cleared her throat and blinked at him, cautious. "Sir?"

Her tone finally snapped him back into reality. Blushing furiously, he stammered unintelligibly as he fumbled for his card, handing it to her with shaking fingers. He offered her a small apologetic smile, to which she answered with a warmer, more accepting grin. She took his card and swiped it, drawing his attention back to her hands, then up her slender arms, across her shoulders and finally down to the small dip in her blouse that granted him a tiny glimpse of cleavage. His body trembled as he waited on her, begging him to say something -- anything - that would grab her attention.

"Thank you," she chimed, handing him his card. "And now, we wait."

His eyes snapped up to meet hers, narrowing in confusion. "For?"

She sighed and shot him a sorrowful look. "These are very slow machines. The receipts take a while to print out." She motioned to the lines of cashiers working furiously next to her. "Drives us nuts."

"Ah," he stammered. "I suppose it's a good thing that I don't have anything going on today."

That in itself was a boldfaced lie. He'd rushed through the store and bought candles, cake mix and party hats for his daughter's eighth birthday at the last minute. But now, staring at this young woman, all thought of his wife and children faded into the boiling pot of unused male hormones that he'd kept locked inside him for five years.

She smiled again, silently enjoying his attempt to be funny. "I hope so. I haven't had anyone die waiting yet, and I don't want to break that record now."

Thank God. She's got a sense of humor.

But her sarcastic wit wasn't what had first caught his eye about this young cashier. He'd been standing in the ever-growing line, waiting impatiently to purchase his meager finds, when she'd opened up her register and called him over. He went over eagerly after seeing her, his heart pounding in anticipation of talking to this exotic little piece of eye candy.

She was tall for her youthful appearance, not looking a day over twenty two. Himself standing at six-two, he noted that she was able to look him in the eyes with just the slightest tilt of her neck, making her no less than five-foot-ten. Her form was slender, yet her thinness was deceiving. Wearing a short-sleeved blouse, he could see the lean, lithe muscles of her upper arms and shoulders. Slender, yes, but in very good shape.

Beneath her filmy blouse, he could make out the outline of the rest of her frame: tight stomach, slender waist and high, firm breasts. From the small notch in her shirt that gave him a partial view of her chest he could see that, although no more than a handful at most, her breasts were perfect. Full and soft, with a fine spattering of youthful freckles across her olive skin, they were enough to make his gut clench and his cock rise an inch. Her legs, miles long and clad in fitted navy jeans, made up most of her towering height. The rest came from her toned abdomen and long, graceful neck.

Her allure didn't stop there. Her face was a perfect oval, her jaw line slender, cheekbones high and razor-sharp, small nose narrow and perfectly straight. Long ink-black hair was pulled back in a sleek ponytail and hung just past her shoulders. Her eyes, a startling electric blue that froze him in his tracks, contrasted with their almond shaping and upward tilt. Her skin, a light olive tone, helped her eyes expose her strikingly Asian heritage. Her lips were full and stained a light red, making them seem more succulent than usual.

Her beauty certainly wasn't something to take lightly. He saw the other two female cashiers -- along with a slew of women waiting with him in line -- narrow their eyes at her in envy once she walked up to the counter. She was one of those rare, naturally drop-dead-gorgeous women that every other girl loves to hate.

Asian, but with blue eyes? What kind of...

Out of curiosity, he dropped his gaze to the small plastic nametag that was clipped to her blouse. In small black letters, the name SARA ISHIGAWA stood out against the deed burgundy plastic.

So she's Japanese. But here eyes are still...

The register chimed again, and a thin strip of receipt paper rolled out of the machine. The young woman ripped the paper away and gently stuffed into the plastic bag, turning it upright and passing it to him. She smiled at him, showing two rows of straight, blindingly white teeth.

"Have a good day, sir. Thanks for coming in."

He smiled nervously and took the handles of the bag. "Thank you, Sara."

She smiled back at him, her cheeks glowing. "You're welcome. Have a nice day, sir, and please come again."

"Sara," he sighed to himself and smiled. "It's a very lovely name."

She dipped her head gracefully. "Thank you. It means shallow field."

He nodded. "Is your mother Japanese as well?"

She shook her head. "No. Mom's Irish."

Ah, that explains her eyes.

She nodded, then chewed her lip nervously. She inhaled sharply and cleared her throat, her eyes darting to the line behind him. His heartbeat picked up and he chuckled nervously, stepping aside an inch so she could see. He remained at the counter nonetheless, his bag of party favors still resting on the slick countertop.

Her eyes followed him, narrowing in nervousness. "Uh, sir..."

He cleared his throat, wiping his palms on his jeans. "Listen, Sara, if you're not busy tonight-"

"C'mon, man! Move!" An angry, undeniably male voice yelled at him from within the line. "We have shit to buy, too!"

He whipped around to glare at the faceless voice, furious that some unnamed man was ruining his chances at scoring a night with this lithe young seductress. He hadn't had a lay like her in fifteen years, and it would be good blow off a little steam with a body like that.

Sakura blushed and shook her head, her once-friendly eyes hardening slightly and narrowing at him. "No thanks. I'm stuck here for the next two hours, so I don't really have time."

His will refused to be shut down so quickly. "Later, then. I could pick you up after your shift and we could-"

Her eyes turned cold and irritated. "I don't think your wife would appreciate that, Marcus. And neither would your children. Leah is turning eight today. Go home and spend time with her."

What the fuck?

His heart nearly stopped. Their previous conversation had been about the stresses at his work and the irritation he had toward his employees never showing up on time. And yet, without him ever saying a word about his personal life, she'd scolded him about his wife and daughter and correctly guessed his name. The alarm bells went off in his head, alerting him to the fact that this young woman wasn't normal and probably very dangerous. No one who could pin his intentions like that was bound to be safe, no matter how attractive.

Flushing furiously, he snatched his bag off the counter and headed for the door, tucking his tail between his legs as he sulked away. Humiliated and horrified, he crossed the parking lot, fishing his keys out of his pocket and fumbling to open the car door. He stepped in, slammed the door, turned on the ignition and sped away, wanting to put as much distance between himself and that strange young woman as possible.

* * *

Ugh. Disgusting freak.

I scowl after the man, fully grossed out that he'd even think of sleeping with me. The guy was almost fifty, married with three kids and trying to hit on someone more than half his age. As much as I hate reading people's souls like that, I'll admit that scaring off philandering fathers does give me a tiny bit of satisfaction.

I tell you, some people are nuts.

"That was awesome, Sara!" Emma yelled out, nearly laughing her ass off.

I shake my head, secretly smiling as I brush scraps of receipt paper off my register counter. "I still don't like doing that. I feel like I'm invading their personal space."

"Maybe, but for guys like that, I think it's acceptable. They need to be taught a lesson somehow."

Sneaking out from behind her own register, Emma skips across the slick tile floor of the store towards my counter. Her pale blond hair -- she's a natural blonde, not one of those bleached porn stars -- bounces on her shoulders, her emerald green eyes sparkling in the oh-so-reliable fluorescent lighting. She's one of those natural beauties that every guy wants to date, screw, and then dump after bragging to his friends. She's also incredibly sweet and loyal, the friend who'll defend you to the death even if you're completely wrong.

The bad news? For all her good looks and soft heart, Emma's a bit of a ditz. Not the clumsy kind, but the 'when did they start putting letters in math?' kind. Don't get me wrong, she's a smart girl, but she's not the sharpest tool in the shed. At least not when you compare her to my annoyingly perfect grades. Emma struggles just to get a B in geometry and I couldn't fail a class if I tried (trust me, I have. I still aced the damn thing). Still, I love her. She's one of the few friends I have that's willing to put up with me and my nerd-ness.

She skids to a halt beside me and throws a slender arm across my shoulders, grinning like the loveable idiot that she is. "And if there's one person who can put those assholes in their place, it's our own resident Necromancer."

I sigh. Necromancer. My bloodline clan of freaks and hooligans who raise the dead, commune with lost souls and help complete the final rites of the dying. Yes, we're the people who bring dead people back to life and talk to the real ghosts of the world. Yep, that's us. Hello world! We exist!

Let me give some background information on us. There are three main Necromancer clans: Japanese, North American and European (don't ask why we haven't spread to other places -- I don't know). The Japanese clan is the oldest and most powerful of the clans, followed by the European, then the American. Despite the distances, all three clans stay closely connected and rely on each other for reinforcements in case things with outside societies get out of hand.

While our main line of work is dealing with the dead and dying, we're a warrior clan by nature. We're trained form an early age to fight and use a myriad of weaponry. It's a tradition that started back in Japan's Feudal Era when every clan had to fend for themselves and fight for their land. Our people started out as pacifists, doing death rituals for profit and basically staying out of the way of everyone else. Unfortunately, we were continually pushed farther and farther north as other clans moved in on our territory, so our Elders (the leaders of our clan) decided that our people should learn to defend ourselves. We slowly started to learn traditional fighting styles and techniques, and in time we were more than able to hold our ground against any invaders.

Honestly, I love my heritage. I come from two separate Necro bloodlines, making me a simultaneous full-blooded mixed-breed. My father is the Lieutenant General of the Japanese Necromancer army, so I was basically raised to be a badass. My mother is the youngest daughter in a line of Irish Gatekeepers, a sub-clan of Necromancers who guard the entrance to the underworld. In most cultures, half-breeds are reviled or looked down upon. In our world, half-breed children symbolize the unbreakable bond between the three clans and are treated with respect and pride. My father, in particular, was elated to know I would be a half-blood. It meant that he'd helped keep the clans connected by making a child that was half of one and half of another.

Also unlike other cultures, Necromancer sons aren't held in any higher regard than daughters. While sons may carry on the family name and legacy, girls are the ones that give birth to the future generations. In Necromancer society, the birth of a daughter is celebrated with just as much enthusiasm as a son. Because there's no pressure to have one child over the other, the birth rate is almost perfectly even. There's no bride price or arranged marriages. You marry who you want and everyone walks away happy.

Despite common beliefs, our reputation as zombie-makers hides who we really are. We're a kind, generous, tolerant people who will take you in and care for you no matter who you are, and we rarely exile one of our own. The exceptions being murderers, belligerent drunks and those who act in overly selfish or narcissistic ways. In a culture that makes its living on constantly dealing with the dead, we don't have the time or the patience to deal with the self-absorbed.

Unfortunately, despite our generosity, outsiders don't necessarily like our kind. When someone from another clan dies, their family generally doesn't want to do the dirty work of cleaning and burying the body, so they hire us to do it instead. Our main jobs are cleansing the body and conducting burial rites to make sure their souls will have a safe journey to whatever mythological place they believe in.

The irony is that the other clans often revile us or see us undesirable because we work so closely with their dead, doing the jobs they're too lazy and grossed out to do. It's basically like saying police officers are disgusting and untrustworthy solely because they have to deal with society's filth. Complete, idiotic bullshit.

Thankfully, some people are able to look past that stigma and see us for the kind, caring people that we are. I still stay on the side of caution and keep my heritage to myself, but there are some people who do know about it. Emma's one of those people, and she's managed to keep it to herself for the last few years, something I'm extremely thankful for. She happened to find out in the worst way possible (the whole 'we raise zombies' part is true), so her not telling anyone really helps prevent a panic.

There are times, however, where I let pieces of my heritage slip out. As a full-blooded Necromancer, I inherited the ability to 'read' people's souls. Basically, I can look into a soul and find out someone's age, blood type, family structure, memories - the works. It's a gift I don't use very often -- I think it goes way beyond the usual definition of 'personal space'. However, if I'm in an uncomfortable position (say, being hit on by a married father of three), I'm more than willing to dig into their lives a little and freak the hell out of them. Works like a charm every time.

I sigh and shake my head. "Some guys...I don't know what to do, Emma."

She gives me a pitiful smile. "Just trudge ahead, I guess. There'll always be another middle-aged horndog trying to come on to you. Just roll with it."

I shrug my shoulders. "What else can I do?"

She shrugs back and races to her counter. A fresh line of customers is waiting for us to start checking them out, all of them tired and wanting to go home. I can sympathize with them. I've stood here at this counter for the last three hours -- my break was barely enough to keep me from going nuts. My feet hurt, my head aches, and I'm in no mood to get hit on again. All I want is to hammer through the last two hours of my shift, go home and fall asleep on the couch while watching Criminal Minds reruns. Is that too much to ask?

I sigh to myself and plaster a smile to my face, mentally preparing myself to face the whiny hoard of people about to come my way. I usually don't mind people at all. Ninety-nine percent of the time, they're happy, jovial and easy to work with. It's that last one percent who make me want to grab them by the shoulders and shake them (you know who you are!). But they're mostly easy and warm, which makes my job as a cashier tolerable.

The first person to step up to my counter is a handsome young man of about twenty-five. He's slightly taller than me, about six foot (yes, I'm a giraffe), with dark hair and clear grey eyes. He's good looking and built like an ox -- perfect for Emma. Myself? Not so much. Personally, I'm not into bodybuilders and roid rage, but I'll happily chat with them on a slow day.

He sets his stuff down and grins at me, showing his Colgate smile. "Hello gorgeous."

Oh, God. Not again. Well, at least he's in the right age range.

I smile back -- genuinely -- and start scanning his purchases. "Hello back."

His grin never fades. "That old man freaked you out, huh?"

I nodded, my smile fading unconsciously. "Yeah. I tend to get a lot of those."

"Not hard to imagine with the way you look," he winks.

Okay, I get it! I'm very pretty. Please stop staring at me and pay the bill.

"Thanks," I mutter shyly, my blush appearing regardless of my command for it to stay hidden.

Despite the fact that I get complimented every day, I can't hold back my blush. Honestly, I've never really thought of how I look. I'm the farthest thing from those bitchy, self-absorbed girls who doll themselves up everyday just to get attention. I'm fairly low-maintenance: I wake up, shower, dress and leave the house. I'll put a little color on my lips before I leave, but that's it. I don't have the time or the patience to go the whole bronzer-foundation-blush-shadow route. I'm a minimalist when it comes to make up, but I manage to look just as good after five minutes as Jenessa does after thirty.

The man tries again, but I'm not in the mood to play. I'm tired and irritated, not a good time for someone to try asking me out. I let him down gently, seeing that while he may be pumped full of steroids, he's a genuinely nice young man. It's nothing too personal, he's just not my type and I'm not in the mood. I bag his stuff and send him on his way, watching him just in case he's not able to fit those bulky shoulders of his through the doors.

The next hour is filled with the same usual redundant banter: older men hitting on me with everything they've got, younger men stumbling their way through an offer, and women of all ages glaring at me in envy. It's the women I hate the most. Old lechers are disgusting, but at least they're not as viciously catty as we girls can be. If we don't like someone -- and a lot of women hate me just because of the way I look -- we'll do anything we can to break them down. I'll admit, I've bitched about some hot actress who dates all of the cute guys in Hollywood, but for the most part I'm on the receiving end of the glares.


Mortal Kombat - Smoke Ch. 01



Finally, after the last of the crush fades, I take a moment to rest. I have one hour left in my shift, but I'm luckily entitled to another break soon, so this last part should go by fast. With no one lining up at the registers, I take a few seconds to let my mind drift off into space and look forward to relaxing once I get home.

One more hour and I can go home, kick off my shoes and watch Hotch and the gang track down the newest serial killer. Maybe they'll finally catch-

"Sara!"

A deep voice snaps me out of my happy trance, dragging me back into reality with an exhausted groan. I look up to see James, one of the store's senior salesmen striding toward me, a look of serious confusion on his face. His short, dark hair is slicked back today with about ten tons of gel, and his soft brown eyes are narrowed in focus. It's odd, but nice, to see him like this. Usually, his hair is wild and messy and his eyes are always staring at my boobs. But right now, he looks less like the owner's son and more like the owner's apprentice.

His eyes find me and his usual, sloppy smile returns. I sigh to myself, hiding my annoyance. James has been chasing me down since my first day here, promising me promotions and pay raises if I went out with him (and slept with him) once. I'm not that desperate or that stupid, so I declined his offer, opting to prove my worth to his father instead. It was a good choice since his dad would rather claw out his own eyes than fire me because of a jilted son.

"Yes?" I ask happily, trying to mask my annoyance.

James walks over to my half of the counter and leans over it, bracing his elbows on the slick surface and cupping his round face in his hands. "There's a few guys in the knives department who are giving us hell."

I cock a brow at him. "They're not being assholes, are they?"

He shakes his head. "No, just being super indecisive. It's an off-duty cop and two cosplay ninja guys. Dylan's been working with them for half an hour, but the cop can't make up his damn mind. He's gone through at least twenty blades."

Great, another indecisive idiot who can't pick...wait...

"What do you mean by cosplay ninja guys?" I ask cautiously, hoping this isn't another one of his pranks.

James sighs. "I'm not lying about this one. There's two guys back there with the cop dressed who look like they walked out of Street Fighter. It's freaky, Sara. One of them looks like he wants to kill me."

He wouldn't be the first...

Sad, but true. James is a nice guy, but he can come off as an ass sometimes. He's the owner's son, so he's got a little of that "boss-man swagger" that shouldn't belong to him just yet. Some people think it's a sign of character, others find it offensive that he's trying to be his father. Personally, I just think it's annoying and ignore it.

"So...what do you want me to do?" I ask, already knowing his answer.

He looks into my eyes, his gaze cold and slightly fearful. "I want you to help them. You're the resident knives and weaponry expert, so you should know what they want. Besides, you're a ninja in your own right. They won't freak you out."

I sigh. He's got me pinned there. According to our laws, every Necromancer child is taught to fight from a very early age. Since my father is basically leading the Japanese Necromancer army, this was an inflexible rule for me. They're encouraged to pick a specific fighting style and stick with it for the rest of their lives. For me, it was ninjitsu. I've been flying, kicking, punching and handling blades since I was in elementary school, so yes, I know what I'm talking about when it comes to weaponry. It was one of the main reasons Mr. Fowler hired me, besides my amazing abilities to do math correctly and smile a lot.

"Alright, fine," I groan. "At least I'll get a few minutes to breathe without another geriatric horndog breathing down my shirt."

James laughs at me. "At it again, are they?"

I scowl. "It's like the Small World ride at Disneyland. It never stops."

He smiles and steps around the counter. "Then I'll take over your spot. Maybe they'll give me their numbers instead."

I laugh and roll my eyes at him, but accept his offer for personal space. Not only will I be in my element at the knives counter, but being back there will get me away from the hoard of horny men and envious women waiting to line up at my register. I turn and sign out of my register, moving aside so James can take my place. He signs in and gently shoves me out from behind the register, urging me to head down to the knives counter so the indecisive guests don't get bored and decide to kill Dylan.

I slip out from the cubicle-like compartment of the register, waving to Emma as I leave. She smiles and waves back, mouthing words of encouragement and envy as I leave. James waves goodbye too, a last-ditch effort to remind me that he's still interested. I smile back awkwardly. James would make a wonderful husband for the right woman, but not for me.

Not interested at all, but thanks.

Tearing away from the mass of men and women lining up to check out, I make my way towards the back of the store where the knives are held. While our store deals mainly in clothing and home accessories, we do sell a lot of weaponry. No high-powered guns or ammo, though. Our manager doesn't believe in the Second Amendment for some reason, but he's more than willing to sell a random person an eight-inch blade. Go figure. I guess it's good for me, though. I know a lot about knives and traditional combat techniques, but I'm clueless about firearms.

That's right. I live in America and I don't know how to shoot a gun. Sue me.

I walk down the endless rows of merchandise, dodging customers left and right as I make my way back. Amazing how people never bother to look up when they're pushing a cart, then get angry when they crash into you. Taking a sharp left, I pass by the wall of flatscreens, watching the over-hyped reruns of past games from the corner of my eye.

At the end of the electronics section there's a row of glass and wood cabinets set up parallel to the wall that contain all of our blades and smaller types of weapons. The entire department goes to the far wall, about six cabinets down, with the heavy-duty weapons like machetes and swords lining the wall behind the cabinets. The cabinets themselves, along with the bigger items behind them, are locked up tight. Only myself, James and the store owner have the keys, so if a thief wanted to steal an antique claymore, he'd probably want to go after James. The owner stays locked in the main office, making him almost impossible to get to, and I'd probably just kick the thief's ass.

As I get closer to the counter, I can see the three men James was talking about earlier. They're standing near the cabinets, perusing the merchandise and waiting for me to come over and help them.

The one closest to me is definitely the cop. He's got the stereotypical cop face: strong, square jaw line, straight nose and a serious-looking mouth. It's his off day, so he's dressed in a tight navy shirt and loose khakis. A Yankees baseball cap hides most of his short brown hair. He's quite tall, maybe six-two, but certainly not the tallest man I've ever seen. My father's got him beat by at least three inches, and for a Japanese man, that's saying something!

The other two do honestly look like they're waiting for a cosplay convention to come around. The one closest to the cop wears several layers of navy blue fabric under a heavily embroidered Chinese-style martial arts shirt. The fabric is wrapped tightly around his neck and shoulders, and leads up to a navy face mask the hides everything below his eyes. A thick armored cap covers his head and extends down towards his back, concealing everything above his brows. His pants are black and slightly loose, although they're held tight around his claves by heavy metal shin guards and boots. A decorative metal emblem in the shape of a lion's head adorns his waist and rests above a steel-tipped strip of fabric that hangs down below the belt. Metal guards cover his forearms and biceps, making him look every inch a warrior.

His partner is just as heavily covered, but with a silver uniform instead of blue. Plates of metal have been hammered into the fabric covering his torso, mapping out his chest and abdomen. He wears a similar style of pants, but his armor is detailed with chain accents and sharp angels. His mask also hides most of his features, but he goes without a helmet, allowing a mass of ghostly-white hair to whip around in the soft breeze of the opening doors. His skin is paler than the other two, giving away his European ancestry. Dark, chocolate-brown eyes flick hurriedly around the store, seeking out any potential threat.

Whoa. Comic-Con, here we come.

As I get closer, something in my gut stirs, alerting me that these men may not be harmless comic nerds. The armored men are probably as dangerous as they look, though with those face masks I can't tell whether they're angry or relaxed. The cop looks freakishly calm around them, so he's either good friends with them or he's crooked and wants in on the score. Still, my stomach doesn't like the scene I'm looking at and twists tighter,

No. It's more than them being suspicious. It's that they...what the hell was that?

I'm motionless for an instant, staring wide-eyed at the three men in panicked confusion. Something inside me has shifted drastically, a warning light that I should probably be heeding. It's a tight, almost suffocatingly painful pressure around my abdomen that cuts off the air in my lungs. My heartbeat races, pounding in my ears as I struggle to breathe. My brain shuts off temporarily, leaving me dazed as I try to cope with my body's panic attack.

Oh, no. No!

A scorching heat settles deep within my gut, a fire that robs me of my ability to move or think. It's beyond any kind of wistful longing or teenage boy-hunger I've ever experienced. This is a yearning so deep it's almost painful, a desire so ancient and archaic it's impossible to comprehend. Something about one of these men, a supernatural aura or a hyper-sensitive piece of his soul, has gone beyond attracting me as a woman and has touched off something in my very core. Whoever it is that causing the reaction, he won't last very long if he stays in the store. The Necromancer within me, the part of my being responsible for my connection to the underworld and to death itself, wants him. Now.

Get it together, Sara. Just relax.

Taking a long deep breath, I manage to shove down the worst of the burning until it's just a small tingle under my skin. I swallow loudly as I reclaim my ability to breathe. My body hasn't quite recovered despite my commands for it to control itself. My fingers twitch and spasm uncontrollably, but they're small enough to conceal from the general public. I take another long breath and push the rest of my original desire down, hoping to hide it from whichever of them men set it off in the first place.

Shaking my head to clear it, I resume my walk towards the knife cases. Thankfully, none of the men have noticed my previous panic attack, so I won't have to explain myself while helping them. Reaching the cases, I grab my keys and unlock the small gate at the side of first case, letting it close behind me. The sound alerts the cop to my presence and he looks up from the cases, smiling at me warmly.

He's a handsome man, with classic young cop features and a perfect set of Colgate-brand teeth. Early thirties, six-three and with the slightest hint of stubble on his jaw. If I were into men in uniform, this would be my man. But I'm not, so he's just another ruggedly attractive face.

"Morning," I chirp happily. "My boss said you might need help choosing a few knives?"

His smile widens, his steely blue shining in the glaring lights above us. "Good morning back. And yes. The last two men couldn't find what I was looking for."

I smile back. "That's why they sent me."

I scan him as we chat, reaching into his soul and searching around for the source of my burning. I sigh in relief. It's not him. He's a normal man looking for knives, nothing more. The other two men have moved away from the counter, making them too far away for me to read. Mercifully, though, the burning inside me has lessened a bit since they've stepped aside. It must be one of them, I can't tell but which one.

"I'll warn you now, miss, I'm a bit picky." The cop smiles proudly as he admits his fault.

I smile wider. "Picky enough to drive Dylan off, and that's a feat here. What is it you're looking for?"

He purses his lips for a moment. "Something for close combat. Not too long, not too short."

My smile turns sarcastic. "Collector?"

He shakes his head. "No. Just learned a few new skills and I have the urge to show them off."

"Hunting knives? Or something more specialized?" I ask, sounding as professional as possible.

"Specialized, if you don't mind. And nothing too long. I'm not a swordsman."

I nod, flicking through my mental rolodex of blades. I tick off machetes, short swords and any hatchets and picks. Anything with a serrated blade goes off the list, as well. None of those will suit his needs.

I scan the cases for a moment before bending down and unlocking the cabinet on the far right. I pull out a six-inch switch blade with a solid wood handle and brass rivets. For a cop, this will fit perfectly into his arsenal.

Relocking the case, I stand up and release the blade. The cop reaches out and gently takes it from my hands, turning it in his fingers as he inspects it. I watch him carefully. He may be an officer of the law, but it wouldn't be the first time someone tried to rob me with one our blades.

A small smile crosses his lips and he inspects the knife. "Not bad for a first pick. The last two tried to sell me a sword on their first try."

I roll my eyes. Of course they would. The swords we carry, especially the big medieval-style ones, can cost thousands. Selling just one of those would make our sale quota for the entire day.

"James and Dylan and a bit more ambitious than I am," I say, leaning against the cases. "I prefer to find out what you want and sell you that."

Much appreciated," he laughs. He flicks the blade closed and hands the knife back to me. "Do you have anything bigger?"

I nod. "Just a sec."

I replace the first knife and move to the third case, pulling out and eight-inch combat blade with a composite handle and steel rivets. I hand it over to him, more comfortable letting him handle the thing on his own bust still keeping an eye on his hands. He laughs again, a grin now adorning his face.

"You're really good. I'm impressed."

I smile back proudly. "I know my blades."

He nods playfully. "I don't doubt that...maybe a tiny bit bigger."

God, he is picky.

Feeling playful, I sigh dramatically and reset the blade, enjoying the look of relief on his face. He knows I'm joking around and he's thankful for it. James and Dylan can be overly business-like at times and probably bored him to death.

Fine then. He wants bigger, we'll give him bigger.

I reach into the fifth case and pull out a foot-long steel machete. I pull the blade out of its sheath and set it down on the glass, smiling proudly at him and watching his burst out laughing at my sarcastic answer to his request.

"Now you're being a smartass." His grin never fades.

"And you're indecisive," I counter, smiling broadly.

He grins directly at me. "I like you. You actually know what you're talking about."

I sheathe machete and set it back in the case. "I need to. I was raised on blades."

"Really? I would never have guessed. You don't look-"

"Stryker." The warrior in blue, followed closely by his companion, steps up to the counter, his cold blue eyes focusing on the officer. "We don't have time for idle talk. Get your blades and let's be on our way."

The officer turns his head and gives the warrior a sharp glare. "Relax, will you? Not everything in life is a rush."

I stare at the three men, caught off guard by the sudden sharpness of their tones. The man in blue immediately makes me uneasy. Maybe it's because his tone is so cold and calculated. Come to think of it...he seems cold, and there's a sudden arctic chill in the air around him. I peer closely at him trying not to seem too obvious, and I notice that when he breathes, thin wisps of super-chilled air pour from slots in his mask. More threads of frozen air flow down from his fingertips, making a thin sheet of frost appear on the glass cases.

What the hell?

I take a tiny step back, trying to conceal my shock. It is him. He's actually freezing the air around us, making it so cold I almost start to shiver. This man isn't human at all. I'm too freaked out by his ability be naturally cold to read him and find out what he is. Some things are better left alone.

As he and the cop argue, his companion in silver also steps up to the counters, watching his two friends with slightly pained eyes. This obviously isn't the first time he's watched them bicker. Strangely, the officer and the blue warrior may be having a heated discussion, but this man has caught my eye. I turn my attention to this quieter, more mysterious warrior, trying to get a good look at him through his armor.

He's taller than the other two, but only by an inch or so. Still, that makes him well over six feet. His armor is made of thick slabs of steel and heavy black leather, making him look like a badass version of the bikers that come through the store. His eyes, from what I can see, are a dark chocolate brown. They're quite beautiful, really. His hair is barely above shoulder-length and is a pale, almost ghost-white color. It whips around in the gently breeze from the doors, catching the light and shining like liquid satin. The only parts of his body not covered in armor are his upper arms, which happen to be thick and perfectly defined. He's not a body builder by any means, but he's probably strong enough to tear a tree trunk straight from the ground without any issues.

Oh...Oh my. Those are some very nice muscles on that man. By the gods, what I would do to just touch those arms...

I nearly slap myself. I've been twenty-two for three months and I'm already devolving into a gibbering teenager! I force down the ten gallons of drool pooling in my mouth, irritated that a single man that I've never met could make me feel so childish, so foolish, so on fire...

No. Wait! Not again!

Without warning, the burning in my stomach comes roaring back, knocking the wind from my lungs and making my head spin. I groan softly and close my eyes, trying to keep the room from spinning. It's this one, I know it. He's the one making me feel like my body in combusting from the inside out. But why? I do a quick mental scan while I'm still able to breath, trying to find a reason behind his unnatural hold over me. He's got a soul, so he is human, but it's missing pieces. Parts of it are gone, leaving holes that can only be filled by something far more sinister that normal magic.

Taking a chance, I open my eyes to stare at him. It's a bad decision. While the warrior remains staring at his two friends, I can see something moving in the shadows around us. The chilled air from the blue warrior's hands mixes with the darkness within the shadows, pulling it out from beneath their feet and dragging it upwards from the ground. Slowly, it swirls and tangles around itself, forming a misty, unfocused outline of a man. This shadow creature stands beside the silver warrior, staring at the other two men in annoyance.




Mortal Kombat - Smoke Ch. 01



The newly-formed silhouette is entirely pitch black and made of nothing more than darkness and smoke, giving him an unearthly, murky appearance. There's a gloom that emanates off of him that makes me shiver with dread. Despite his shady appearance, I notice that he had the same features as the warrior he stood by: long flowing hair, silver armor, strong arms. This man went without a mask, however, so I can see the finer details of his face.

A strong, narrow jaw line highlights mile-high cheekbones and a sharp, aquiline nose. His eyes shine silver in the fluorescent lights, causing them to seem almost demonic. A slightly upturned mouth with lips that beg to be devoured finishes off his appearance, making this shadow one of the most attractive and unsettling creatures I've ever seen.

At it again, are they? The shadow's eyes narrow as he stares at their companions. His voice is dark, calculation and deadly.

The silver warrior nodded sharply. It would seem so. I wish they wouldn't. We don't have time.

Dear gods, no! Not one of them!

I nearly faint out of panic. The shadow being is an enenra, a dead creature made of smoke and vapor and the soul of a hideously tortured man. That would explain the holes in the warrior's soul when I scanned him. He must have suffered a gruesome, untimely death, and the pain and anger he experienced created the enenra that stands beside him. The fiend then resurrected its former body as a host, feeding off his rage and pain while the man went on with life.

That's why he's been affecting me so deeply. The dead creature within him, as well as the man himself, has been pulling at me, beckoning for me to come closer and fall into their dark spell. I catch my breath and close my eyes, hoping it hasn't laid its trap intentionally and noticed that I've fallen straight for it. If it does, neither myself nor the man it inhabits will come out of this unscathed. Or virgins.

Fear and arousal boiling under my skin, I turn away to stare at something -- anything -- but the twin men beside me. If I don't make eye contact, they may just ignore me and continue to argue. But try as I may to stay out of their sight, I can't stop their conversation from seeping into my head.

The enenra scoffs. You know Sub-Zero. He's been looking for a fight ever since his brother was killed.

True, but we can't waste valuable time bickering over knives. Raiden needs us back as soon as possible.

Just smack them, the darker man snaps. If we need to go, then let's go.

I can't. You know Sub-Zero's temperament as well as I do, so there's no use in trying. All we can do now is wait for them to talk it out and move on.

The enenra snarls and glares at his other half. We can't stand here for the next ten years while they talk it out! We need to get moving before Raiden-

The enenra's shining silver eyes locked on me, widening in both shock and intrigue. He stares at me for a moment, those unearthly eyes of his making my skin crawl and my cheeks flush. The shadow elbows his earthly twin, his eyes never shifting from mine. Inside, I start to panic. It's seen me, so it's only a matter of time before it figures out what I am and decides to come after me.

And who is this delicious little thing? His lips pull back in a wicked, hungry smile.

The silver warrior's eyes widen, then snap closed as he draws a deep breath. Not now.

Come on. The shadow nudges his partner again. Introduce us.

No.

And why not?

I said no. I won't allow you to touch the girl.

Stingy, the enenra spits at his twin. He looks at me again, his smile becoming less wicked and more intrigued. She's pretty.

Yes, but my answer is no.

The enenra scowls again. Oh, come now! Not everything in our life must be dictated by that dried up old wretch! We can have a little fun while we're out. Sektor chases women around all the time.

The silver warrior narrows his eyes. Absolutely not. I won't sink to that despicable creature's level.

His other half snorts angrily. You and I couldn't sink that low if we tried. That boy has more than a few bolts missing in his head. His scowl deepens. The fact that he's the Grandmaster's son doesn't help his attitude much.

True, by my answer is still no. I'm not going to drag that woman into this. Into us.

The darker half snarls again, crossing his arms over his chest. Stubborn little brat. No wonder the Grandmaster labeled you a problem child from the start.

The silver warrior's eyes narrowed as he squared his shoulders. You have my answer.

The darker man growls in frustration. I'm only talking one night! A single, solitary night that the two of us could let loose a little! How long has it been since you've had a dream about any woman? Not since you were fourteen? All it would take is one quick roll in the sheets and we'd be set!

My heart starts pounding in my chest. Not only has the enenra seen me, it's interested. That's never a good thing, especially for my kind. Enenras are inherently dark, malicious creatures with very low impulse control. Once they have their mind on something, they don't let go until they either own it or destroy it. Unfortunately, when it comes to mating, they've developed a taste for Necromancer flesh. If they can, they'll kidnap any female of my race and take off, keeping her hidden within their shadowy world while they mate continuously.

Even more disturbing is our role in this horrific game of theirs. For some unknown reason -- be it supernatural or otherwise, we don't know yet -- Necromancers are drawn towards the enenras themselves, so we're by no means an innocent partner in all of this. They make us physically hunger for them, sending our bodies into reproductive overdrive. For females like me, it's a call that's almost impossible to ignore.

I scowl to myself, silently cursing my bad luck. Not only have I fallen directly into an enenra's trap, its host is unnaturally attractive, making it a double dose of raging hormones being dumped into my bloodstream. It's a one-two punch that would knock out any female of my kind. And I'm trapped here, staring at the two of them while they bicker over what to do with me. I can only hope I've concealed my bloodmark enough that it won't sense my heritage.

All I'm asking for is one damn night! A few hours with a girl like that and you can be celibate for the rest of your life! The shadow continues to glare at his twin as he shouts silently.

The answer is no. We have more discipline than that.

This isn't about discipline. This is about getting you to relax a little bit and enjoy yourself for once. Even Sub-Zero joined the others on that little hiking adventure. By all accounts, it was a fantastic time that we missed out on because of your attitude.

The silver warrior sighs. No.

The enenra growls at him. Damn you. It would be so easy, too. All you'd need to do was knock her out, carry her back to the temple and she's yours! Stun her, toss her over your shoulder and head back before the others even know you're gone.

You're talking about kidnapping a girl we've seen for ten minutes. We don't even know her. There'd be too much risk to even try.

The shadow rolls his eyes. Take a chance one in a while, will you? She'd be perfect. A sly grin graces his lips. I'll bet she's a spitfire in bed.

Stop. The silver warrior squeezes his eyes shut in frustration. That's enough.

You're infuriating! The darker half snarls again. A single night. A single fucking night and we'd be done with it. Look at her. That body is practically begging to be laid across a fur pelt. It would only take a few hours, but it would worth the effort just to-

The enenra pauses, his eyes shifting to me again. I force myself to stare at a collection of knives in the cases, but I can still see him from the corner of my eye. His gaze narrows at me in concentration, widens in shock, then narrows again, this time accompanied with a slow, sinful smile.

I knew it, he purrs.

His twin freezes. What?

The evil smile remains on the enenra's lips. She's a Necromancer. That's why she smelled so delectable.

My heart nearly stops. I can usually go undetected by even the strongest of supernatural beings, but apparently I didn't hide my scent well enough here. My panicking has dulled my concentration and allowed a small amount of my bloodmark to slip through, giving away my heritage and the obvious connection it carried.

You're sure? The silver warrior's eyes widen in shock but remain focused on his companions.

Absolutely. She's hid her scent well up until now, but the blood of a Necromancer is unmistakable. His grin widens an inch. And delicious.

His twin closes his eyes again and sighs. Careful with this one. She may have sensed us as well. One wrong move and she'll run for it.

His darker half shakes his head slowly, dangerously. Well, we can't have that. We'll have to keep her penned in somehow.

No. Leave her be. We don't have time for your petty impulses and there's no reason to drag her into this.

The enenra pulls back an inch. Still...Why waste such a delectable thing? He stares at me intensely, taking his time to inspect me. Imagine her straddling us in bed...

Damn you! I said enough! The warrior, obviously furious, squeezes his eyes shut, trying desperately to block out the thoughts he secretly feels but doesn't want to acknowledge.

Don't get pissy with me. It's not like this is anything you haven't thought about already. You were drooling over the girl the moment she walked up to Stryker. The enenra's eyes soften for a moment, starting at me cautiously. Besides, it would be better that she was with us. If either of the sorcerers found her-

My head snaps up. Despite blushing furiously during that last exchange, I was able to keep my head down and avoid suspicion. But the mention of sorcerers has caught my attention. They're notorious for finding ways around our resurrection laws and causing mayhem around the world. We usually end up executing them to make sure they don't make the same mistakes again, but a few of the strongest have evaded our grasp. If the spell casters these two are discussing are of any importance, then I need to know. It could mean finding a few rogue mischief-makers and taking them down.

Taking a deep breath and closing my eyes, I reach out and slip into the warrior's soul, mentally linking us together. Neither he nor his enenra half will feel my presence until I make it known, but it's the easiest way to converse with them without anyone else knowing.

Which ones?

The warrior and his shadow half freeze, their eyes narrowing in confusion as they scan the room for intruders. I can't blame them for being confused. It's not everyday that you hear a completely new voice in your head asking questions about you private conversations. My heart is out of control, but I do my best to focus on keeping the link tight.

The enenra decides to take the chance. Which ones of what?

You mentioned sorcerers. Which ones?

The silver warrior sighs and closes his eyes. Well done. She's found a way into our conversation. I hope you're satisfied.

He opens his eyes and turns to look at me, those dark chocolate orbs boring into my own. He looks both furious and intrigued, but I'm more concerned about getting lost in his gorgeous eyes than I am about his temper. I shake myself and refocus, hoping to find out something of significance.

Shang Tsung and Quan Chi.

God damn it!

I nearly scream, but all I allow for a physical change is narrowing my eyes. I know those two worthless pieces of garbage very well. They're two of the worst offenders when it comes to breaking our laws. They're also the most dangerous, turning their resurrected souls loose on innocent people and using them to help Shao Khan try to gain control of the realms.

Shang Tsung is hazardous as far as sorcerers go, but he's controllable. All those stolen souls he keeps locked in his body make him extremely powerful with magic, but they leave physical body vulnerable. A few good hits to his head and he's out of commission for a while. Quan Chi's the nastier of the two - self-absorbed, friend-less and a certified nutcase. He's the ultimate opportunist and will take down anyone who gets in his way of grabbing more power.

I literally growl inside my head. Damn it, I was hoping those two had died in a fiery crash somehow.

The silver warrior relaxes slightly, relieved that I'm not clueless about the darker workings of the world. Unfortunately not. Both of them have partnered with Shao Khan to merge the realms.

I stare at him, stunned. Merge the realms? That's impossible. Khan's an Outworlder. He's not allowed to merge anything until Outworld wins ten Mortal Kombat tournaments in a row. Earthrealm broke his streak by winning the tenth round least year, how could he...

I break my stoic character and cup my face in my hands. My mind starts spinning in circles, trying to catch up to itself. An enenra, two rogue sorcerers, Shao Khan breaking the Kombat rules...this is too much for one day. I need a ham sandwich and a Diet Coke now, before my brain decides it's had enough and self-destructs.

Raiden. Get to Raiden. Or find the Elders.

I stop my impending panic attack and refocus. Finding Raiden or my Elders is the safest bet. I may be strong for a female Necromancer, but I'm nowhere near powerful enough to take down Shao Khan and two sorcerers. I need help, big time.

Where's Raiden? If all three of those nutcases are lose, we're screwed if we don't get help.

He's at the Shao Lin temple with the others.

I perk up a tiny bit. Others? There are more of you?

The silver warrior nods. We fought alongside Raiden in the last tournament to keep Khan under control.

I give a small sigh of relief. Good. At least we'll have some help. I'm going to suppose you don't have an army behind you, but we'll take what we can get. I flick my eyes towards the other two men, still bickering beside us. Are they part of your team?

He nods again. Stryker and Sub-Zero.

How well do you know them?

I've known Stryker since the last tournament. He's an excellent fighter and extremely loyal, but a bit bull-headed. Sub-Zero and I trained together at the Lin Kuei.

My happiness falters slightly, and a new wave of pity for this man washes over me. The Lin Kuei. The Gods damn those sadistic bastards. Kidnapping children and forcing them to become assassins and thieves against their will. The good news is that they're given the best training possible when it comes to martial arts. The bad news? They become damn good at their jobs, taking down their targets without anyone noticing until the corpse is found.

None of the Necromancer clans have ever gotten along with that organization, and we probably never will. It's not the assassins that we disagree with -- we understand perfectly that this fate wasn't their choice -- it's their Grandmaster. He's a tyrannical old bastard who demands complete obedience over anything else. He alone is the reason we can't get along with the Lin Kuei. We've offered him help and suggestions before, but he's turned us down each and every time. He's so ingrained with his archaic teaching and so suspicious of outsiders that he kills off anyone who comes near his temple.

As if kidnapping and brainwashing kids wasn't bad enough, he's implemented a new program called the Cyber Initiative. Teaming up the oh-so-reliable Black Dragon group, he's started turning every warrior he has into a cyborg, effectively stripping the men of their minds and souls in order to increase productivity. It's the epitome of inhumane, and our Elders have issued a kill order on both the Grandmaster and the program itself.

So you've known each other since you were kids, I sigh inwardly.

Yes. The Lin Kuei warriors are my only family. Sub-Zero is like a brother to me.

I look him in those amazingly gorgeous eyes, confused. You don't remember your parents?

He shakes his head. I have no memory of my childhood at all

Oh...

I'm speechless, though my mind quickly puts the pieces together. He's an enenra, so technically he's died at some point in his life. If he has no memory of his childhood, then it's possible the death occurred while he was still a kid, and his resurrection by the enenra within him must have wiped any memories he had.

Oh, poor thing...

Who?

I blush furiously. I've forgotten that our minds were still linked! I drop my head and fiddle with the case locks, trying to avoid any more embarrassing mental outbursts.

Sorry, I forgot we were still linked. I'll leave.

I understand. Would it be wise to inform Sub-Zero and Stryker of our conversation? Knowing you are an enemy of Shang Tsung may help ease Sub-Zero's fury a bit.

I look at the silver warrior, my eyes flicking to the man in blue for an instant. Those two have a nasty history, huh?

He nods. Shang Tsung played an active role in his brother's death. Oh...I nod slowly. Yeah, that'll do it.

I turn to look at the blue warrior, watching him with guarded interest. Sub-Zero.

It's a moniker that fits him well. Suddenly, the chill that poured from his skin and his icy blue eyes make perfect sense. A Cryomancer.

I smile to myself. I've never seen one, but the tales our Elders tell paint them as a powerful, honorable race from the dark corners of Outworld who worked closely with our kind. Purebloods haven't been seen in Earthrealm for centuries, but it's known that they travelled here as refugees during the Edenian wars and mated with human females. This man must be a descendant of that clan, which means that he's probably heard of his family's close ties to the Necromancers. If things go bad, he and I would most likely get along well and not try to kill each other.

I look back at him, curious. So he's Sub-Zero, and the cop is Stryker. And you would be?

He inclines his head regally. I am called Smoke.

Sara Ishigawa. I smile softly and nod. You said something about his brother's death...

His elder brother was also named Sub-Zero. After his death, Tundra took his place to honor him.

I see. Brotherly love at its best.

I suppose, although it's made him a bit of a target for the other Lin Kuei.

I nod, pursing my lips in annoyance. Of course it would. How dare he throw a wrench into that haggard old nutball's perfect little android army.

I pause, blushing again. I've just insulted the Lin Keui's Grandmaster in front of one of their best and brightest warriors. I nearly slap myself for my stupidity.

Sorry. I didn't mean for you to hear that.

He shakes his head slowly, his eyes pained. There is no insult. Since the Cyber Initiative, Sub-Zero and I have become disillusioned with out leader. What was once a proud, honorable family of warriors has devolved into a breeding ground for greed and abuse.

How so?

He looks away for an instant. The Grandmaster has ordered that every warrior within the ranks is to undergo the Cybernetic transformation.




Mortal Kombat - Smoke Ch. 01



A knot forms in my stomach, making me feel nauseous. Let me guess...you're next on the list.

He nods, never responding to my inquiry.

Holy shit.

I sigh inwardly, disgust and horror building under my skin. The old man has finally lost it. Once Shao Khan's under control I can track down the two renegade sorcerers, I'll inform my Elders of what's going on inside that cursed temple. This horror has to stop, and I swear I'll do everything I can to protect these two men from meeting such a disgusting fate.

Alright...change of subject for the moment. Who are you hunting? Three men dressed in armor don't just walk into a supermarket and purchase knives for no reason.

Some of Shao Khan's associates are hunting us. We managed to evade them for the moment, and Stryker wanted to purchase weapons in case they found us.

What are they?

A Black Dragon associate, two Tarkatans and a tracker.

Tarkatans. My inner panic starts up again. Those nasty little things are well-known for their impeccable sense of smell. They'll be able to follow their trail straight in here, and once they do, they'll smell me and attack all of us. They're disgusting creatures that eat anything they can get their hands on and follow orders only when it serves their purposes. That, and they're super freaky looking, like big, bald club bouncers with scalpels for teeth.

I nod. Fine, we'll get him his knives. After that, we have to move.

I pull my mind away, breaking the link between us. I turn and open the fourth case, pulling out a handful of nine inch combat knives and slamming them down on the glass counter.

"Take these," I snap at the officer.

Snapped out of his argument with Sub-Zero, the officer turns to look at me. His gaze flicks down to the knives, then back to me, annoyance and bewilderment in his eyes. "I didn't ask for-"

I scowl at him. "Your friend in the silver has explained everything to me while you two were bickering. If there are Tarkatans hunting you, then you can't stay here. They'll find you eventually and tear you to pieces. Now grab your damn knives and move."

He narrows his eyes at me, furious that I'd talk to him in such a disrespectful way. "Now listen, young lady. The three of us aren't-"

I glare at him, and the information I gathered about him earlier comes roaring to the surface. "Kurtis Stryker. You are a current member of the NYPD SWAT team and a former Marine, are you not?"

He freezes, his eyes going wide in shock. "Yes. How the hell did you..."

I set my jaw and lock eyes with him. "Then do you follow orders or question them?"

He pauses, then grabs the knives off the counter. "Yes, ma'am."

I smile at him. "Good. Let's go."

I turn and open the gate to the knife cases, slamming it behind me as I walk away. As much as I respect Stryker for his attitude and the heroic things he's probably done, I don't have time for his questions. The Tarkatans will probably be here any minute, and I want to get these three out of the store before those monsters start attacking innocent people.

The three men follow silently behind me, not wanting to risk valuable time or energy arguing with me. Though Stryker does glare at the ground while walking behind me, he doesn't say a word about my attitude or our destination. The blue warrior, knowing that his partner has explained their dilemma, trusts me enough to come without issue. Apparently, if Smoke talks to you, you've just been given a gold star. I lead them away from the knife counter and down the numerous halls towards the front of the store, keeping my mind open to scan for any threats.

What the fuck is this? Don't you dare let her walk away!

My stomach drops an inch. That damn enenra is back. I suppress a sigh. The creature is only going to cause trouble, especially around a Necromancer like myself. I need that man to keep his darker half under control until we can regroup and figure out how to get to Raiden. Hopefully he can keep it contained before it decides that dinner - me -- is served. Although, with the way the warrior interacts with it, it's less like smoke monster and more like a darker piece of his conscience. So perhaps there's a chance that he can exercise more influence over it than I previously thought.

Not now. We need to follow her until we're out of danger. Until then, be silent.

No, not this time. This one is different. She's more than just a simple Necromancer. She knows what we are, so neither of us is safe as long as she's loose.

From the corner of my eyes, I watch Smoke sigh and close his eyes again. I scowl to myself. His enenra is a persistent one, so focused on me and my heritage that it's willing to sacrifice everyone around us just to claim me. Damn it.

We don't have time for you uncontrollable urges. The sooner we leave, the sooner we can return to Raiden and decide on our next plan. Forget the girl for now.

Not a chance. She's barely five feet away and you're just following her like a dog. You should be leading her!

Enough! We'll discuss the girl once we get back to the others.

Not good enough. I want a guarantee that we'll drag her into bed the instant we get back to the temple. Promise me that and I'll be satisfied.

Smoke shakes his head. I can't give you that. If you and I do end up having the chance to claim her, then it will have to be on her terms, not mine.

I shiver inside my own skin. As embarrassed as I am to admit it, the thought of jumping into bed with that man is unbelievably enticing. Hell, I'd give my entire year's pay just to see him naked. But the enenra...I shiver again. Nothing could make me lust after that creature, no mater how closely linked he is to the warrior.

I keep moving, trying to block out the conversation seeping into my head so I can focus on finding the quickest way out. I figure going around the far end of the store, through the sparsely-visited holiday department, will get us out of the store with a few hypothetical casualties as possible. If the Tarkatans do find us here, then only a handful of people will be caught in the crossfire instead of hundreds.

We take a hard right and cut through an aisle primped and readied for Easter. Powder-pink candies, miles of streamers and oversized stuffed rabbits greet us, making me groan at the sheer stupidity of it all. Don't get me wrong, as a child I loved Easter almost as much as Halloween -- what child could resist free candy? -- but by now, at twenty two, the bright colors and grinning animals just make it seem overly childish. Still, this aisle is deserted and leads straight towards the front doors, so it's ideal for an escape.

The men continue to follow me without question, making our escape much easier than expected. I still need to worry about what Mr. Fowler will think once we walk out of the store -- I'll be leaving while still on shift and without going through any normal procedures - but I'll worry about that later. The boss can be dealt with later; Tarkatans can't.

Just as we near the break between the two overly-decorated Easter aisles, I stop. A piercing pain shoots through my chest, as if some unseen warrior has just stabbed me with an invisible blade. I freeze, the air rushing out of my lungs and my head beginning to spin. Something dark and very dead is close to us, making my Necromancer blood go haywire and my body lock up. This is not good, not good at all.

Shit. No, no, no!

Stryker noticed my sudden silence and rushes towards me, dropping the knives and reaching me just in time that I collapse into his arms. My breathing is shallow, my heart is racing and my hands are shaking. I can barely swallow, let alone speak, and I can't hold a single thought. Whatever is here with us is very powerful and very angry, and all of that anger is making me lose control.

"Ma'am?" Stryker calls to me, his eyes panicked. Gently, he lowers me to the floor, letting me rest on my knees as I try to regain control of my own body. "Miss Ishigawa?"

I take a breath, clearing my head enough to formulate a clear thought. "NetherRealmer."

"Shit," he breathes, looking around the store for our intruder.

Slowly, the feeling of panic ebbs away as my body becomes accustomed to the dead man's presence. No matter how often we deal with the dead and dying, the presence of a corpse resurrected by magic other than our own will always knock us down. We get used to the power after a few second, but the darkness that usually raises those poor souls is enough to disarm us and make us vulnerable.

"What is it?" the blue warrior demands, his own eyes concerned. Smoke stands behind him, watching me carefully. The enenra is nowhere to be found.

"Miss Ishigawa?" Stryker asks again, still holding me steady even as I regain my sense of balance.

"I'm fine," I whisper, using the shelves for leverage as I haul myself to my feet. "Let me feel."

Finally strong enough to control my body, I close my eyes and reach out with my mind, trying to locate our intruder. It's surprisingly close, only two aisles over, which explains why I was bowled over so violently. I take another breath and reach out farther, grabbing onto the last vestiges of humanity within the corpse and reading what's left of its soul.

What I see stuns me. A tall warrior, with hollow eyes and an angry heart, stands just feet from us. His armor is a vibrant yellow and decorated with the skull emblems of the NetherRealm. A yellow mask in the shape of a human spine covers his face, allowing only his pale white eyes to be seen. Two wicked blades are strapped to his back, and a long rope kunai is wound around his skull-embellished belt. The man himself is furious, but at what I cannot tell. I can't read his mind or sense his past horrors, but the darkness that surrounds him does tell me a name.

"Hasashi Hanzo," I whisper to myself.

So he's Japanese. But what does he want? And why does the name sound familiar?

"What?" Stryker asks, resting a hand on my shoulder.

I loom over my shoulder and stare at the three men, making eye contact with each. "Hanzo Hasashi. Does that name mean anything to any of you?"

All three men shake their heads. I sigh and stare at the floor, disappointed that they don't know him. He's obviously one of the hunters following them, but the identity of their pursuer is apparently a mystery to them. I shake my head and try again, hoping another detail will jog a memory from one of them.

"Tall warrior. Yellow armor with two swords on his back. Skulls on his belt and a rope dart in his hand..."

All three men straighten and freeze, the blue warrior seeming the most shocked of all. He scans the aisle hastily, his hands clenching at his sides and his breathing quickening. My heartbeat picks up a bit. All three recognize the description of our new guest, just not his name.

Stryker clears his throat. "Big guy? Really scary? Looks like he's pissed at the world for no reason?"

I nod, relieved that he knows exactly who I'm talking about. "That's him."

The blue warrior curses under his breath. "Scorpion."

Uh oh. I know that name.

I nearly faint. Scorpion was the codename of the last Shirai Ryu general in southern Japan. His real name was Hanzo Hasashi -- Hasashi Hanzo in Japanese wording -- and supposedly he got into a brawl with a false image of a Lin Kuei warrior that cost him his family and his life. The doppelganger was actually Quan Chi in disguise, and the sorcerer resurrected Hanzo to do his dirty work in exchange for the chance to avenge his family. That shitfest happened about fifteen years ago, and the poor general has never realized that his family's real murderer is the creature who brought him back.

I smile slightly. "So you do know him."

Stryker nods, a look of pain cutting across his face. "Yeah, we know him. He and Sub-Zero have a, uh, pretty nasty history."

My gaze shifts to the still-edgy blue warrior. "Do you know why he's pissed at you?"

He nods. "He thinks my brother killed his family. The idea is impossible since Bi-Han was in Taiwan on another mission at the time of the massacre, but Scorpion has never let the thought go."

I chew my lip nervously. "I'll bet his best friend Quan Chi keeps fanning that flame."

Sub-Zero nods again. "To honor my brother after his death, I took his name and place at the Lin Kuei. Since he was killed by Scorpion at the last Mortal Kombat tournament, the issue should have been resolved. But Quan Chi has convinced Scorpion that I, too, was involved with the killings. He has since turned on me, believing that I murdered his family as well."

I nod, eyeing him curiously. "I know your brother is innocent of the murders, but where were you?"

"I was still being trained at the Lin Kuei. I was not yet ready for my own missions."

My curiosity surges. "You said your brother was killed at the tournament. What happed to him after that?"

His shoulder slump and he drops his head. "Quan Chi found a way to corrupt Bi-Han as well. His is not my brother anymore. He is...changed."

Pity wells up inside me. This poor man. To have lost his brother once in death, and the again to Quan Chi's sorcery... it's more than any sane person could stand. And yet, here he is, still fighting on in hope of redeeming his brother and saving his soul. I am slightly moved by him, but then again, blood is thicker than water. Especially Cryomancer blood. That's stuff is like molasses.

I open my mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. No words -- not even those from a Necromancer -- could heal a wound that deep.

Sighing, I drop any thought of trying to help him move on from his pain and refocus my thoughts on getting us out of here unseen. I do another bloodreading, trying to see if our gust has moved from his hiding spot. Thankfully, Scorpion's blood trail is weaker now, meaning that he's moved a few aisles away from us. That gives us a chance to slip past undetected.

I turn and start down the holiday aisle again, looking over my shoulder at the three men. "He's moved away. Follow me. We need to get out of her before he comes back and starts looking over here," I whisper.

The three men nod and follow closely behind me, but Stryker's curiosity and nervousness have risen to the surface, making him shaky and unfocused. For an ex-Marine, it's quite surprising.

"Why are you whispering?" he asks.

"Just because he can't see us doesn't mean he won't hear us," I reply. "Especially with Sub-Zero. knowing Scorpion, he's probably got his voice on constant reply in his head so he won't forget who he's hunting."

Stryker nods and clamps his mouth shut. The four of us make our way down the hall, avoiding the curious stares of shoppers and other store clerks. I can only imagine what they must be thinking of me, inching down the holiday aisle with three men who look like they got lost on their way to an anime convention. At this point, though, I don't care. I need to get these men out of here before those damn Tarkatans find their way in here and sniff us out.

We reach the end of the aisle and peer around the corner. The rows of registers are full of calm, happy shoppers, which means that no scalpel-toothed monstrosities have charged through the store yet. I straighten and stare at the door, hoping the men can keep their composure long enough to make us seem slightly more normal as we escape.

"So how do we get out of here?" Stryker asks. "If we just walk out, someone in the crowd is bound to sound the alarm."

I nod. He's right, unfortunately. Three men dressed as cops and ninjas won't simply be ignored if they walk through a department store. Some hyper-attentive vigilante soccer mom will start screaming and alert Scorpion to our presence. Or worse, let the Tarkatans know we're here.

I purse my lips as I think a moment. There has to be a way out of here that won't look too suspicious or unnatural...

"That's it!" I keep my excitement in check, exclaiming my pride in a low whisper.

The three men stare at me, startled at my raised voice. Sub-Zero and his friend look at each other, then back to me, waiting for my explanation. Stryker eyes my curiously, his curiosity piqued.

"What? What are you thinking?" he asks.

Taking a deep breath and praying to my gods that this will work, I step around behind Stryker and put my hands on his shoulders. I gently nudge him towards the door, peering out around the aisle racks one last time to make sure we're safe.

"Play along," I whisper before shoving him out into the open space of the store's entrance.

Please, please let this work.

"I'm sorry, sir, but we can't have that behavior in our store." I harden my voice and make my face a mask of annoyed frustration, hoping the other shoppers will believe the ruse. "I need to ask you to leave."

Stryker fights me as I shove him forward. "Sara, what are you doing?"

Oh no. Come on, Stryker. Play along.

I groan to myself. If he doesn't catch on, he'll wreck the whole plan and ruin our chances getting out of here unnoticed. I'm honestly surprised at Stryker. For a cop who fought in the last Mortal Kombat tournament and used to be a Marine, he's a little thick in the head. Sad, and possibly deadly if he can't get his brain screwed in tight.

Thankfully, Sub-Zero races forward and braces his hands against Stryker from the other side, halting my efforts to push him out the doors. Smoke comes up to stand next to Stryker, keeping to the side and feigning helping his friend regain his balance.

Sub-Zero narrows his eyes at me, glaring at me angrily. "You can't kick us out! We're paying customers!"

Thank the gods. Someone gets it.

I glare back at him, faking my anger. "The three of you thrashed the whole snack department! It's going to take hours to clean up because you three were goofing off."

Sub-Zero steps back, eyeing me like a vulture circling it's prey. "Calm down. We'll pay for it. There's no reason we can't stay in the store just because you're angry at us for a small mess."

The shoppers at the registers are staring at us, watching with a mix of curiosity and confusion. They're confused as to why three grown men would be walking around a store in costumes, but the idea of them being kicked out for trashing the store makes it a bit easier to handle. Knowing our store, most of these shoppers should be used to us throwing people out for bad behavior. We get a lost of nuts in our part of town.

I shove Stryker away and place my hands out my hips, still staring at Sub-Zero. "Just because you'll pay for the stuff doesn't excuse you for wrecking our store. You ruined an entire aisle of chips and popcorn in ten minutes. There's even salsa on the walls!"

Sub-Zero pulls back and crosses his arms over his chest, looking every bit like they type of arrogant asshole that would actually fight with me about this. "I will call your supervisor about this, little girl. I can't wait to see the look on your face when you're asked to hand in your nametag."

Not a bad play. Well done.

I smirk back. "And I can't wait until I get to hand you the bill for the damage you've caused."

He narrows his eyes again, looking furious. "Call your manager down here. We'll talk it out with him before I decided whether or not to level harassment charges against you."

"Already here." The deep, slightly wheezy voice of Mr. Fowler rumbles through the room, making me jump.

My heartbeat picks up a bit. Stryker, Sub-Zero and Smoke all know our argument is a ruse to get us out of here without calling too much attention to ourselves, but Mr. Fowler doesn't. As far as he knows, I'm actually trying to shove three unruly costumed men out the door for ruining his store. If this doesn't go over well, or if we make this act believable enough, I could actually lose my job trying to save these men. As it's a strong possibility that might happen -- Hollywood is missing a fantastic actor in Sub-Zero.




Mortal Kombat - Smoke Ch. 01



Sub-Zero turns to face my boss as he waddles over. Mr. Fowler is a big man, but big in the sense that he's wider than he is tall. He's still got a full head of messy brown hair, but his once-bright eyes have dulled and sunk into his face. He always wears tight dress slacks and a button-down shirt adorned with the most hideous ties available on the market.

Don't get me wrong, Mr. Fowler looks like the angry, middle-aged boss everyone hates, but he's actually a great guy. He's one of the rare bosses who doesn't believe that the customer is always right. More often than not, he'll side with his employees of he even thinks you're being an ass or uncooperative. He's a good boss, but he'll chew you out if you step too far over that invisible line of personal conduct.

I blush involuntarily as he walks toward us, the action making our argument seem even more real. "Sir, I caught these three idiots just as they had finished destroying the snack aisle. The place is a mess. I was trying to tell them that even if they pay, we still can't have them in our store."

"Mr. Fowler, this young lady was harassing us the entire time. She was yelling at us non-stop and began shoving my friend out the door." Sub-Zero sounds genuinely pissed.

Mr. Fowler looks at me for a moment, then at Sub-Zero. "If you did ruin one of our displays, we will ask you to leave. Whether you pay for the damages or not is irrelevant."

I smile for an instant, happy he believes my story, them my face falls and a new bubble of panic starts to rise in my gut. This whole act is a lie. We never even went near the snack aisle on our way out. If Mr. Fowler finds out I was lying to him, I could really lose my job.

Oh no. Please, dear gods, let him believe us.

Mr. Fowler reaches down and grabs his radio, pressing the button on the side and waiting for the static to clear. "David. Get down here now. I need to ask you a question."

My mood falls even further. David's the resident kiss-ass in the store, doing anything and everything he can to win the boss' favor, despite being a complete idiot and a thief. Luckily, Mr. Fowler sees right through his scheme and keeps him as a janitor, never letting close to the registers.

As quick as lightening, David comes racing through the storefront and skids to a halt next to us. Dressed in black slacks and his signature navy polo, he's the essence of over-confident model look-alike. He's got the Johnny Depp cheekbones, Brad Pitt jaw and Hugh Grant smile that makes all the women around him (except me, thank the gods) swoon. Unfortunately, he's got the spoiled-brat attitude to match, making him completely off-limits to my attention. He slides up next to Mr. Fowler and gives him his trademark model smile, awaiting instruction like a good little brown-noser.

Mr. Fowler turn and looks at him intensely. "David, Sara's told me the she's been having an issue with these men."

"Has she now?" David looks at me and grins, trying to use his charm to make me melt like all the other women.

I pull back a millimeter in disgust. David's handsome no doubt, but he's a total ass who's more concerned with his looks than his work ethic. He knows he looks good and uses his appearance to get almost anything he wants. He's also a huge playboy who loves the chase, going after women for months before discarding them once they agree to hop into his bed. So far, I'm the only girl who's ever consistently said no to him for an extended period of time -- I'm talking two years -- so he's been after me non-stop since I was hired, trying to get into my pants.

Mr. Fowler continues. "She says that these three men have wrecked the whole snack aisle. Supposedly, the whole area is wrecked and they've done hundreds of dollars in damage. Is that true?"

Oh no. Here it comes.

David sighs and slumps his shoulders. "Yeah. It's a mess back there. Chips and popcorn and salsa everywhere. It's going to take Max and me hours to clean the whole place up."

I somehow manage to hide my shock and mask it with a small smile of triumph. Still, my head is spinning. David wants me, but he's not kind-hearted enough to lie for me just to get me into bed. He's a player alright, but he's still more concerned with himself than anything else. If keeping his job means stepping over you or lying through his teeth, he'll do it. In this case however, it seems he's telling the truth. Somehow, the snack aisles did get trashed, so my story is technically true despite its false start

But...how?

I look up to Mr. Fowler, wanting to ask how much damage was actually done to the aisles -- something to clear up my confusion -- when Smoke catches my eyes, standing off to the side with Stryker. He's staring at me intensely, waiting for me to notice him. His chocolate eyes hold my gaze for a moment before flicking to Mr. Fowler, then to David, then back to me. My own eyes follow his path, coming to rest on him with just as much confusion as I'd had before. Then, without saying a word, he winks at me.

The enenra.

The pieces of the puzzle fall into place. Smoke knew our argument was just a ruse, and that the entire plan would crumble to pieces if some part of it wasn't validated. He must have sent his enenra back into the store to actually ruin the store so our story looks legitimate.

I smile gently at him. That enenra of yours isn't so bad.

He nods slightly. He has his uses.

My eyes scan the room, seeking the shadow creature out. I can't see him, nor can I sense him. My gaze floats back to Smoke.

Where is he?

His eyes widen slightly as he shakes his head. Don't give him reason to come out.

I blush and nod, pulling away just in time to catch the last of Mr. Fowler's conversation with David.

"Don't worry, sir. We'll get it cleaned up. We'll rope off the adjacent aisles so nobody slips." David grins again, being the good little kiss-ass that he is.

Mr. Fowler nods and smiles. "Good. Do what you can and don't try to get the stuff you can't reach. We'll call a professional cleaner after lunch to get the hard stuff."

With a flick of his hand, he dismisses David. Before leaving to clean up the mess, David smiles at me and gives me a quick wink. I blush and smile back shyly, quickly averting my gaze from his. His smile widens an inch as he skips away, incorrectly thinking I've finally fallen for his oversexed charm.

"Now then," Mr. Fowler turns towards Sub-Zero. "Since the three of you have successfully trashed my store and lied about being harassed, I'm going to ask you to leave."

Despite his mask hiding most of his face, Sub-Zero manages to look outraged. "Ignorant asshole! We come in here to do legitimate business with you, and all you and your employees can do is berate us and threaten to throw us out!"

Mr. Fowler scowls. "It's not a threat, sir. This is a promise. I'll also have you banned from our store."

Now Stryker, who has finally caught onto the scheme, chimes in. "Listen here, buddy. My friends and I were just having a little fun. So we busted a few bags of chips. You're part of a huge multi-national company. It shouldn't matter that much. Besides," he crosses his arms over his chest menacingly, "I think you're just trying to kick us out because we're not dressed like everyone else and you don't like it."

Mr. Fowler turns his attention to Stryker. "Let me make this clear: Whether you are or aren't real cops or ninjas is irrelevant. You and your buddies have trashed my store, which impacts our inventory. But you've also insulted and falsely accused my employee, who's just doing her job. That is what has me upset. So as far as I'm concerned, you three can take your costumes and never come back in here."

Stryker looks pissed. "You arrogant asshole! I'll sue you for every cent you've-"

I step up and grab Stryker by the shoulders, spinning him around so I can push against his shoulders again. For the second time, I start shoving him out the door, feeling hundreds of eyes staring at me as I do. Stryker goes easier this time, knowing his role in our little game, but still puts up a believable fight.

"Just leave, damn it," I bark. "You've done enough damage already."

"Listen, lady! I'll make sure everyone employed here is fired! Just you wait!"

Despite needing to keep up the game, I don't like yelling at an ally. Thankfully, we reach the main doors of the store quickly and I push him out into the parking lot. I shove him forward, watching him stumble before regaining his balance and storming off. I scowl at him and place my hands on my hips, watching as Sub-Zero and Smoke come racing out of the store after him. Sub-Zero gives me an imperceptible nod as he rushes by, heading towards Stryker. Smoke also races past me, his dark brown eyes locking on mine.

Wait for me out here. I need to sign out and get my stuff. We'll leave as soon as I'm done.

He nods. Will do.

Fifteen minutes max. I promise.

He nods again and speeds towards his friends, slowing down as he reaches them. I watch him place a hand on Sub-Zero's shoulder to tell him something. Sub-Zero nods, looks back at me and nods again. I return the gesture and make my way back inside, wanting to get out of here as soon as possible.

Mr. Fowler is waiting for me as I walk back in, arms folded across his chest and glaring out the door. I walk up to him sheepishly, the realization that I've just shoved people out the door -- whether they were acting or not -- and it could end up costing me my job. I stop a foot in front of him, clenching my hands nervously and staring at the floor. Finally, his gaze shifts to me.

"You alright?"

I look up at him, confused. Of course I'm fine, but that little charade we just pulled is a huge no-no in the corporate world. I'm honestly worried that my attempt to save those men, along with everyone else in this store, could get me fired.

His eyes soften and he frowns. "Those men were twice your size, Sara. You shoved the big guy out that door like you were herding a small child. They could have seriously hurt you."

I blush. "Oh... yeah, I'm fine."

His eyes narrow at him worriedly. "You sure? I know they trashed the store and you were doing the right thing, but they were still pretty pissed. The blue guy sounded serious about filing harassment charges against you."

I shrug. "If they try anything, I'll just dropkick them and throw them out again. I can defend myself."

Mr. Fowler sighs. "Still, I don't want you getting hurt. You're one of my best employees, and I'd hate to lose you because some numbskull decided to take his anger out on you instead of the Doritos."

And this is why you're an awesome boss.

I smile and shrug my shoulders again. This is why I love Mr. Fowler. He's big and tough and mean-looking, but he's one of those guys who will defend his employees to the death and isn't afraid to chew out an unruly customer. He's the first boss I've had who's stood up for me, and I'm more than willing to give him rave reviews on the annual report.

He reaches out and puts an arm around my shoulder, pulling me away from the main doors and leading me back to my register. "Come on. You've had on hell of a day today and you're almost an hour past your time. Let's get you clocked out so you can head home."

I smile up at him. "I'm still getting paid for the extra hour, right?"

He smiles back. "Yes, and if I could pay you separately for all the times you've had to throw someone out of this store, I would."

The company would be broke if you did that.

I'm not kidding. In this part of town, we get a lot of crazy people walking through these doors. While I'm certainly not the biggest or the most bad-ass person who works here (Nathan, our security guard, is built like an ox), I'm the only one who's got a background in ass-kicking. If anyone is being extremely unruly or acting like a total dick, Mr. Fowler has given me the green light to knock them on their ass and toss them out of the store. Being the daughter of the Japanese Necromancer lieutenant-general has its perks, sometimes.

We reach my register and I pull away from him long enough to clock out and retrieve my till. I close the drawer and turn around, following him back to the main office. As per our store rules, one of the other male workers comes around the line of registers and follows behind me while I carrying my drawer. Our store is always busy, meaning that our registers usually have a good amount of money inside them. We've had a few people try to grab at our drawers on our way back to the office, so Mr. Fowler has every cashier flanked by another worker to discourage any thoughts about making off with the cash.

Once we get to the main office, Mr. Fowler unlocks the door and lets me inside first so the other worker can go back to his post. Mr. Fowler follows behind me and closes the door, keeping it unlocked but always making sure there's a heavy box stuck behind it as a block, just in case. I sit down in the plush chair on the opposite side of his desk and set my drawer down. I sit quietly and fold my hands in my lap, waiting patiently as Mr. Fowler counts out the money in my drawer.

Please wait for me. Please wait for me.

"Alright, Sara," Mr. Fowler chimes. "You're right on. And you did a great haul for today. Probably your best to date."

I smile proudly. "Thanks."

He smiles back, then frowns, contemplating something. "Sara, when do you work next?"

I pause, scanning my schedule in my head. "I open tomorrow and I clock out at noon."

He nods slowly. "Take tomorrow off."

My jaw hits the floor as I stare at him, completely dumbfounded. Mr. Fowler is nice man and a great boss, but he'd rather chew a mouthful of carriage bolts than change the schedule without notice. Sick days, pre-made plans and emergencies are always allowed, but if you simply request a day off without doing it well in advance, good luck getting a break. Having Mr. Fowler tell me to skip work tomorrow is both a blessing and a conundrum.

"Y-you sure?" I stammer, still in shock.

He sighs and leans back in his chair, folding his hands across his chest. "Sara, you had the busiest register today, got hounded by an army of horny old men and stayed an extra hour dealing with three bulked-up assheads who trashed the snack aisle. Take tomorrow off. You deserve that."

Holy shit. Super score!

I try my best to hide my enthusiasm, and instead give him a shy, grateful smile. "Thank you, sir. I'll see you on Monday."

He nods and smiles at me as I stand up and leave the office. I turn and head down the rows of food aisles towards the two massive loading doors at the back of the store. I push through them and turn to my left, going through a smaller bright red door and into the employee break room. I open my fluorescent-yellow locker and grab my stuff, closing it behind me as I pull my jacket on.

I exit the break room and head back out into the main store area, stopping at Emma's register so she can call James over. He smiles at me and checks my purse, looking for anything suspicious. By now, every employee the store knows I carry a switchblade in my purse, so James scans over it before giving me a thumbs-up and walking away. I slide behind Emma just long enough to sign out of my shift, then spin around and head for the door.

Emma's hand wraps around my wrist, pulling me back a bit. Startled, I turn around and look at her, seeing a huge grin on her face.

"That was kick-ass, Sara," she chirps.

I laugh shyly and shrug. "Thanks."

She continues to grin, but her eyes flick towards the doors for an instant before sliding back to me. "Those guys were twice your size! I'm surprised they didn't try to smack you. I shrug again and smile. "If the did, I would have killed them."

"Damn straight," she pauses, now looking wistful. "Seriously, though...I think the silver one liked you."

I blush so intensely I nearly faint from lack of blood to my brain. I have no idea if Smoke has any interest in me. If anything, I'm attracted to him. For all I know, he could just see me as an ally against Shang Tsung and nothing more. It's that damn enenra that has latched onto his soul that's drooling over me. The man himself remains a mystery.

... You were drooling over the girl the moment she walked up to Stryker...

Maybe Emma's right. Enenras have the uncanny ability to spew their owner's darkest secrets into the waking world with out permission, so it's actually believable that what he was screaming about his host was true. Maybe he does like me as well...

"Maybe, maybe not. after that commotion with his friend in blue, I'm not tempted to ask." I cover my tracks quickly, hoping to hide any fleeting traces of my embarrassment.

Emma nods. "True, that."

I smile and turn towards the doors, waving. "Later, Em!"

She waves back. "See you tomorrow."

I grin and quicken my pace. "Nope. Fowler gave me the day off."

Her jaw hits the floor. "Hell no!"

My grin widens. "You kidding? After that fiasco, I deserve a week off! Bye!"

She laughs and waves again. "Lucky bitch!"

I laugh and walk out the door, letting it close behind me. It's fur in the afternoon and freakishly hot for May. The sudden change from air-conditioned store to blazing outside heat, knocks me back a few steps before I regain my balance. Now that that boys and I are out of the store, we can get moving on finding Raiden and the rest of their group.

I do a quick soul scan of the parking lot, searching for any trace of the Tarkatans or Scorpion. I find nothing, so I start heading down the rows of scorching asphalt and empty cars until I get to mine. It's a semi-new navy Subaru Impreza that's had its share of having doors slammed into it, but it's still a damn good car. I dig my keys out of my pocket and turn the lock, opening the door for a moment so the melting heat can escape.

"Sara!"

I turn to see Stryker and the others walking towards me, somewhat happy to know I've finally escaped from my prison of idiots and horndogs. I'm relieved, too, since this means we can finally get going. As they near my car, I hit the unlock button on my door so they can get in.

I smile at them. "Just so you know, you three are officially banned from my store for life."

Stryker grins. "Damn. And you have a really good selection of knives in there, too."

I shrug. "You should have thought about that before trashing the snack aisle." I lock eyes with Smoke as I say this, then look back at Stryker, who smiles slyly.

I toss my purse into my car and sit down, motioning for the doors. "Get in."

All three nod and move quickly. Sub-Zero takes the passenger's seat while Stryker and Smoke take the back. I close my door, hit the emergency lock button and start the engine.

"Where are we going, boys?"

"Taco Bell?" Stryker offers.

I manage to hold back my laughter and disguise it with a playful scowl. "After we meet with Raiden, I'll buy you a bean burrito."

He grins and smacks his leg happily. "Yes! It worked!"

I roll my eyes, and reach up to adjust my mirror.

"We need to head back towards the city center," Sub-Zero offers. "Once we get there, get onto the interstate and head north."

I pause, turning to look at him. "North? Where the hell are we going?"

He stare me straight in the eyes. "New York."

My jaw crashes through my car floor. New York? We're driving to New York? That's at least three days on the interstate if we go non-stop! I have a half tank on gas, no food and three armored men sitting in my car. And I'm supposed to drive to New York?

Shoot me.

I regain control of my shock and suppress my urge to scream. "So...we're going to see Raiden in New York?"




Mortal Kombat - Smoke Ch. 02



I'm really sorry about the wait for this one. I got caught up transferring to my university (a hell within itself), so the workload has been weighing me down. I've got the outline for chapter 3 down, so just have a little patience with me. I'm doing the best I can to juggle my writing with school and work (I don't mean to neglect you!).

Chapter 2 – Deaths and Dreams 

I stare at the rearview mirror, my heart racing and my lungs seizing up. I can no longer breathe, but it's not from Smoke's damn enenra. The two Tarkatan warriors stalk through the parking lot, saliva dripping from their elongated teeth, their yes and ears tuned in for any trace of their prey. They're hunting for us – myself, Stryker, Sub-Zero and Smoke – and we're barely a hundred feet away.

Alright...we can either panic and give away our position, or stay calm and find a quieter way out of this.

As much as I want to suck in my fear and MacGyver a way out of this mess, my horror is slowly overtaking my mind, making it foggy and unsteady. Tarkatans are excellent hunters with a long history of tracking down enemies for a price – I know their orders. Once they find us, the entire store will be a mess of bodies and scrap metal. But they won't just kill us and leave the scene. I know their kind and what they do to prisoners and slaves is a fate I wouldn't wish upon Khan himself.

Unfortunately for their prey, Tarkatans are voracious eaters.

"Sara?" Stryker asks, his voice only slightly hushed. "Sara, what do we do?"

"Stay still," I whisper back. "Don't give them a reason to look this way."

He nods and pulls back an inch, bracing himself against the seat. Sub-Zero and Smoke have frozen as well, holding perfectly still and waiting for the danger to pass. I'm still sitting in the driver's seat, my hands gripping the wheel so tightly my fingers have gone numb. Thankfully, I was foolish enough to leave the windows up today. The car is swelteringly hot, but our scents are trapped in here with us. If any one of us have rolled down a window or opened a door, the Tarkatans would have locked onto one of our bloodmarks and torn the car apart.

I stare into the mirror, watching silently as one Tarkatan warrior sneaks up behind a young woman and slices her stomach open. She falls to the ground next to several other corpses, coughing up blood as her murderer licks bits of her innards from his blade. My stomach turns, the unmistakable sensation of a lost soul roaring through my body. None of these people were meant to die yet, but with each swipe of the Tarkatan's bladed arms, they're sent to their deaths decades before their time. 

My iron grip tightens on the steering wheel. With each stolen soul, the balance of the world is shifted a little more off kilter. The Necromancers have strict control of who dies and when, and that control keeps the universe in check. Of course, we always plan for small accidents or lover's quarrels that don't follow our plans. But something like this – the possible massacre of an entire superstore full of people – is enough of a deviation from the main schedule that it could throw the entire delicate balance of life and death into complete chaos. That could wrench that flimsy amount of control from our hands – and if the Necromancers lose control, then every living being is at risk.

"Sara," Stryker whispers, shifting in his seat nervously. "Sara, they're going to kill everyone."

I nod shakily. "I know. But if we make our presence known the damage will be even worse."

Stryker grunts in annoyance. "I'm a police officer! I can't just sit here and watch innocent people die because those monsters are bored!"

I turn my head and glare at him. "And what would you have me do? Jump out of this care and start dancing so they'll chase after us and kill even more people?"

He pulls back a bit, his eyes widening in shock. I match his gaze, my expression hardening and my ever-controlled anger starting to spill out.

"I know these creatures! They're voracious! Even if we manage to distract them, the scent of blood will just draw them back to the murders. If you want to stop them, we'll have to kill them, and there are only four of us. It takes at least three of my kind to take on one of those monstrosities. How much help do you think we could give?"

Stryker stares at me and swallows, his gaze shifting away from mine. A twinge of guilt shoots through me, but I have to suppress it. Stryker is a noble man with his heart in the right place, but he's clueless as to how the darker parts of the world – the parts that I was born into and learned how to control - operate. He's a good man, but a foolish one. Being trained as cop and a Marine, he acts on instinct and quick judgment. Here and now, such actions could get everyone killed.

I take a quick breath. "Stryker, I'm sorry. But if we move, the Tarkatans will just go into a frenzy and kill everything in sight. The only shot would might have against them would be to overpower them by sheer numbers, and with only four of us in this car, we'd-"

 Overwhelm them...

I stop, nearly slapping myself across the face. How, in the presence of my watchful gods and these three powerful men, could I have been so stupid? Of course we have the means to overpower those two monsters. Our makeshift army is lying on the ground at their feet.

"Holy fuck, I'm stupid," I whisper.

Sub-Zero turns to face me. "What is it?"

I stare out the back window, silently counting the fallen bodies in the parking lot. "Stryker, how many dead do you count?"

Before Stryker can move, Smoke turns around and follows my gaze out the window and counting to himself. He remains still for a moment, before tuning back to me, his dark eyes fixed on mine.

"Twenty-four."

I nod. "Twelve for each."

I spin around and readjust my grip on the steering wheel, taking slow, deep breaths so I can concentrate and center myself. I need to focus for this one. I may be the daughter of a Necromancer lieutenant-general, but I'm still only twenty-two. I'm not that experienced in the art of raising the dead, so resurrecting over twenty people is going to take a lot of effort on my part. Still, it's our only shot.

Stryker stares at me through the mirror, his eyes both worried and confused. "Sara? What's going on?"

I take another deep breath, feeling my heartbeat slow to an impossible pace and my breathing almost stop completely. Yet, like all Necromancers, I remain completely lucid and focused, able to multitask while I prepare to send out the Calling.

"Don't move." I command them gently, but sternly. 

The Tarkatans only. Leave the humans alone. Help them if you must, but leave them alone. After this, you may rest again.

With one last breath, I close my eyes and exhale slowly, releasing the bundle of energy that I keep locked up deep inside of me. My car jerks a bit as that energy is pressed outwards, and I open my eyes to watch the aftermath of my decision. I can see my energy moving, rippling over the asphalt in translucent waves of black and grey. The Tarkatans are completely oblivious as they stalk forward towards the store, but I can feel it nearing my targets. 

My Calling skims over the ground, heading straight for the mass of bodies that litters the parking lot, seeking out any dead thing it can find. It rolls over the bodies once, then ricochets of a curb and rolls back, covering them a second time...a third...over and over again until it finally stops moving and settles over the crowd of corpses scattered over the ground.

"Sara..." Stryker and the others have turned around, staring out the back window and watching my Calling dissipate into the bodies. "Sara, what did you do?"

I take a sharp breath and relax again the seat, my energy slowly coming back to me as I take a moment to recover from my burst of energy. It wasn't as bad as I was worried it would be, but I'm still drained. "The Calling...just watch."

Sure enough, I see the bare beginnings of my spell through the rearview mirror. Fingers twitch, chests rise and fall, hearts begin to beat again. Closed eyes open to reveal black, soulless pits of hunger and fury. Slowly, with soft moans and sharp grunts, the corpses of the Tarkatan's victims push themselves from the ground and turn to stare blindly at their prey. They sniff hungrily at the air, deranged smiles crossing their faces as they imagine tasting their first living meals. 

Smoke and Sub-Zero stare out the windows, their eyes wide with shock. Poor Stryker's jaw has crashed through the floor of my car and his lungs have seized up. I sigh and gently chide myself for subjecting them to this sight. I know the horror of watching the dead come back to life – as a child, it frightened me – but this is our only chance at saving the rest of the crowd and ourselves. They are dead, but they will stand and fight.

"The dead are a lot harder to kill than the living," I try to reassure them. "There's twelve corpses for each Tarkatan. They won't stand a chance."

"And what...what happens to the Tarkatans?" Stryker asks slowly.

I sigh again. "They'll eat them."

"And the people?" Smoke asks, turning his dark eyes to me. 

I smile. "I've given them orders to only kill the Tarkatans. Once those monsters are dead, they'll drop and go back to being inanimate. No one else will be harmed or eaten, I promise."

What I say is true. My army of corpses has been ordered to take down the Tarkatans and no one else. They'll ignore anyone that doesn't smell like one of those monsters, and they'll go back to being dead once those creatures of destroyed. No harm, no foul. Just a few scarred minds and some little kids having nightmares.

"Sara..." Stryker trails off, staring out the window at the animated corpses. "What the fuck did you do?"

I take a deep breath and steel myself against my seat. "It's known as the Calling. It's the source of all those stories you hear about my kind raising the dead. Basically, a Necromancer sends out a distress signal made of their own blood energy and reanimates any dead creature around them. It's a powerful trick, our strongest magic, so we save it until there's no other way out." I sigh again and hang my head. "I'm sorry you had to see this."

I watch through the mirror as the mass of corpses begins to hunt for their prey. Naturally, the dead we resurrect are lithe and nimble creatures, a far cry from the lumbering, brainless beasts of the George Romero movies. They're also extremely versatile, able to hunt alone or in packs depending on their environment. But they belong to us, and as such will blindly obey any order a Necromancer gives them. In this situation, the living humans within the store are safe. I have no desire or need to want them harmed. We're a dark people, but never malicious.

Those unfortunate enough to be trapped outside the store go from panicked to terrified at the sight of my zombies. The scream and run for the doors, but those inside the store have witnessed the same horrors and have bolted the doors shut. Those locked out pound on the doors relentlessly, screaming to be let in, but panic and fear have those inside barring the doors shut. Behind them, a number of my zombies are crowded around the panicked mass of humans, acting as a barrier in case either of the Tarkatans manages to escape the others.

One of the people locked outside turns around and notices my dead army has followed my orders perfectly. The dead stare at the humans blankly, but do nothing to harm them. A few yards back, the rest of my soldiers have managed to drag both Tarkatans to the ground and begin to consume them, throwing bits of entrails and flesh onto the asphalt. Satisfied that the real monsters are dead, the barriers of corpses pulls away from the trembling crowd and heads back towards the feast.

I close my eyes and exhale, relieved. Those two monsters are dead and the humans are still safe. My plan worked perfectly, if a little messily. But it's better than having the entire store filled with bodies. It was a huge risk, one that could earn me horrified looks for the rest of my life, but one that I had to take.

Stryker sighs and slumps into he seat, staring at the floor. "I never want to see that again."

Sub-Zero also retakes his seat, staring out the windshield with unfocused eyes. "Nor do I."

Smoke also takes his seat, his dark eyes meeting mine in the mirror before he closes them and leans his head back. I grimace and feel guilt overwhelm me for a moment. I never wanted them to see this, but it's the only choice I had. Still, I know it must be a horrifying experience for all of them. If I could erase their minds of this, I would.

"I'm sorry," I whisper. "It's all I could think of."

Sub-Zero turns his gaze to me, his eyes strangely soft. "You did what you knew could stop them. You saved hundreds of lives and stopped the Tarkatans from exposing us. There is no apology necessary here."

I turn and smile at him, grateful that someone is acting a little compassionate here, even if it's a Cryomancer. I open my mouth to respond to him, then freeze. Out of the corner of my eye I watch as Scorpion, the traitorous little shit who most likely ratted us out to the Tarkatns, quietly slips out on of the small fire doors on the side on the store. He watches the dead feasting on his fellow hunters for a moment before taking off along the side of the store, heading for the mass of shadows and alleys behind the building.

My lip trembles as I watch him run. "No..."

Moving without thinking, I spin around and grab the door handle, flinging the door wide open and scrambling out of the car. I stand up straight, turning to my ever-faithful hoard of corpses, my eyes narrowing in determination.

"Walkers!" I cry out at them, my rage roaring to the surface.

The zombies freeze and turn their head to look at me, two dozen pairs of black, soulless eyes staring at me patiently. Blood drips from a few mouths, some have chunks of flesh hanging from their teeth, yet they sit silently, awaiting orders they cannot disobey.

I fling my arm out, pointing at the still-fleeing Scorpion. "Scorpion! Catch him! Hunt him to the ends of the earth, but do not let him escape! Silence him and tear him apart!"

 Leave all other creatures out of this. They have no issue with us. That one will have us killed if given the chance. Hunt. Him. Down.

Without hesitation, the hoard of animated corpses bolts from the two monstrous carcasses and gives chase, tearing after Scorpion with supernatural speed. I watch them carefully, making sure they know where they're going. They may outnumber Scorpion twenty-four to one, but the Shirai general is as cunning as he is strong. He'll probably manage to kill them all somehow, but they'll at least slow him down a bit.

I watch my army chase after him and disappear into the shadows behind the store, shaking with rage and worry. Damn that two-faced general! As a Necromancer, I can understand his desire for revenge for the deaths of his family. But how dare place dozens of innocent people in danger just because he's upset with Sub-Zero! He could have destroyed every ounce of control we have over the life cycle, and all to watch an innocent man be torn to pieces.

I am going to kill that man with my own hands. Damn it!

I slide back into the car and slam the door, gripping the steering wheel and glaring out the window. I know we have to warn Raiden as soon as we can – those zombies won't hold Scorpion back for long – but I'm too blinded with rage to turn the key. 

"Sara?" Sub-Zero turns to face me, his eyes shadowed but concerned.

"He risked the lives of everyone in that store because of you," I whisper, my voice shaking. "He's willing to let hundreds die because he thinks you harmed his family. He's willing to kill over a lie. Motherfucker."

Sub-Zero sighs and looks away, avoiding my anger. Another wave of guilt washes over me, drowning out the anger. What happened here isn't his fault in the least, but he's doing what we all do when we hear people were hurt over something we may have done – he's mentally putting all the blame on himself, taking responsibility for actions that aren't his. Staring at him from the corner of my eye, I smile a little. That guilt and humility is comforting in a time like this. It proves he's got a soul somewhere.

On a whim, I look into the rearview mirror and stare into the back seat. Stryker has attempted to curl up into a ball and is staring blankly out the back window, his mind and his heart severely shaken from watching me reanimate a bunch of dead bodies. Smoke is the exact opposite, sitting up straight and staring back into the mirror, meeting my emotionless stare with one of his own.

Something in my gut twitches, letting me know that most of his calculated coldness may not be totally his fault. That enenra within him is made of his own anger, pain and fury, although he may not recognize it or even understand it. The two of them seem extremely close, able to share thoughts and feelings without any issues, despite that fact that they're nothing more than a man with a mist demon latching onto his soul. But, despite being a part of his very essence, the enenra needs Smoke to stay sane and healthy if it wants to survive. It's possible that the enenra may be blocking out the worst of the images from Smoke's mind, keeping him mentally sound and emotionally durable.

Shaking my head to clear it, I turn the key in the ignition and start the car. I start to pull out of the parking lot, intent on getting out of here as soon as possible. We need to get to Raiden and the rest of their group as soon as possible and fill them in on Scorpion's involvement with Khan's plan. That, and at least forty people just happened to watch two Tarkatan warriors slaughter a bunch of people, then saw me resurrect those dead people and have them chase down a masked ninja. I don't want to be around when the police show up for this one; that's going to be one hell of a report to file.

As I'm pulling out, I happen to glace toward the main doors of the store. I catch a glimpse of Emma staring through the glass, her eyes wide with concern as she tentatively gives me a thumbs-up. I smile and nod, watching relief wash over he face. Silently, I count my blessings that Emma's seen my Necromancy in action before and isn't a freaked-out mess like the rest of the store; she knows exactly how to handle this. I watch as she turns and starts to usher the panicked crowd away from the doors, trying to distract them from me as I leave the parking lot. I give her one last smile as I turn onto the main road and start heading for the airport.

"So...New York, right?" I ask tentatively.

Stryker nods quickly. "Yeah, Raiden and the others are based there for now. It's the safest place we could find to regroup and figure out a plan."

I nod silently, unsure if any of them really want to talk. I maneuver my car through traffic and merge onto the main interstate, hoping to make it to the airport as fast as possible. I look back through the mirror to see Smoke and Stryker staring out the windows, disengaging from the world. Without having to look, I know Sub-Zero has done the same. I watch through the mirror as Stryker hesitates, then lifts his head to make eye contact with me.

"Hey, Sara?" He asks, his voice soft.

"Yeah?" I reply, my voice just as quiet.

His mouth twitches. "Never do that again. Please?"

I sigh and break eye contact, staring out the windshield. "I can't make any promises on the Stryker. And consider yourself lucky that's all you saw. There are far worse things I could have done at the moment than raise the dead."

His head snaps up, his eyes wide with horror and uncertainty. I nearly smack my head against the steering wheel for opening my mouth. Despite his obvious shock, he remains quiet; the thought of something worse than resurrecting dead people has freaked him out so much it's silenced him.




Mortal Kombat - Smoke Ch. 02



"Such as?" Sub-Zero asks, turning to face me. His eyes are curious and calm, almost soft.

I sigh again and clutch the wheel tight. "My kind can do more than just talk to ghosts and bring the dead back to life."

Stryker breaks out his trance and blinks. "Like what."

I groan. "I don't want to talk about it."

He scowls. "Why not? You've already gone this far. Just finish your thought. Good God, it's like you're bipolar or something! You want to tell us but you never do!"

"That's because she knows if she tells you, you'll curl up into a ball and start screaming for your mother." Sub-Zero spins around and glares at him. "It's not her fault you've got the courage of a mouse!" 

Stryker stares at him for a moment, shocked, then resumes glaring at me. "Just tell me, Sara! You've already started this fucked-up freak train! What else can you do?"

I glare back at him through the glass. "I told you, I don't want to talk about it!"

He narrows his gaze at me, speaking through gritted teeth. "What do you mean there are worse things you can do?"

I stare at him through the glass, confused as to why he's suddenly so angry. To be honest, Sub-Zero is right: after seeing his mental breakdown from my resurrection, I'm hesitant to tell Stryker anything else about my people. His sudden anger makes me think that he's posturing; he wants to know only because he thinks it will make him appear stronger and less frightened. I clamp my mouth shut, cutting off this conversation where it is.

"Damn it, Sara, tell me!" Stryker barks in my ear, making me wince.

At this point, Smoke – who has been staring out the window for the entire argument – turns and looks Stryker dead in his eyes. I watch as chocolate brown square off against steely blue as each man silently measures up the other.

"Necromancers can not only give life, they can take it as well." Smoke's tone is clipped, harsh yet clear. "If watching her bring the dead back to life scarred you, then you don't want to see her draw the soul out of a living person. Your mind would surely break, then."

Explaining what I could not, Smoke returns to staring out his window, avoiding eye contact with everyone. Stryker stares at him, his eyes so wide they're about the burst from his skull. His lip quivers as the realization that we are far more than just mediums and dead-raisers finally sinks in. We can give life to the dead, and take it from the living. We are a mysterious people with many dark secrets and even more unwanted memories. 

"There," Sub-Zero interjects. "Are you satisfied? Smoke has just explained to you the true power of her kind and the real horror of what she can do. Now leave her be."

Stryker sits back and returns to staring out the window, his eyes misty and unfocused. Sub-Zero glances over at me, his icy blue eyes both apologetic and annoyed. I smile softly and nod to him, silently thanking him for shutting Stryker up. He nods in response, then breaks eye contact and stares out his own window. I resume watching traffic and trying to get to the airport as fast as possible. 

If we're really headed to New York, then I'll park my car in the overnight lot and have Emma or someone pick it up in the morning. 

Preferably, it'll be Emma; she'll know exactly what's going on and won't ask any odd questions. I'll also need to call my father and inform him of today's events. He'll be completely understanding of my actions with the Tarkatans, but Shao Khan's little games might make his head explode. My grandfather in particular, will most likely threaten to toss on his old armor and take on the Outworld king himself. I smile at the thought. Despite being well over three centuries old, my grandfather's a tough old goat; he can still crush people a tenth of his age at martial arts tournaments.

The car becomes deathly silent, something I absolutely hate. The quiet scares me because it forces me to think and mentally face who – and what – I really am. Panicked, I reach down and turn the radio on, hoping to have something break up the awkward silence in the car, even if it's rap. I get my wish; something does break the silence, but it's not the song I want to hear right now.

My best friend gave me the best advice...he said each day's a gift and not a given right...

Fuck. Nickelback's 'If Today Was Your Last Day'. Quite possible the worst song that could have come on at a time like this. Don't get me wrong, I like Nickleback, but this songs is just a reminder of how fragile humanity is. For a Necromancer, that's not something we need to be reminded of. We deal with humanity's weaknesses every day.

Even worse, this song forces me to start answering the deep, dark, forbidden questions hidden within the lyrics...questions I really don't want to answer right now.

If today was your last day, and tomorrow was too late, could you say goodbye to yesterday?

No...no, I'm not sure I could. I don't think I could let those memories go just yet. I have a lot of good thoughts and feelings that I'd like to hold onto.

Would you live each moment like your last? Leave old pictures in the past? Donate every dime you have?

 No. I couldn't do that either. My meager life savings would go to my family, any pictures I have would be buried with me, and my last moments would be filled with fear and regret that I didn't get to say goodbye to everyone.

Shit, I'm pathetic. I sound like a scared little kid.

Would you call old friends you never see? Reminisce old memories? Would you forgive your enemies?

Yes, I'd call back my old friends and tell them goodbye. Yes, I'd try to relive my happier memories and laugh about the stupid things I did as a child. Forgive my enemies? Hell no. Those assholes will probably go down with me. I'm not forgiving them. Ever.

Would you find that one you're dreamin' of? Swear up and down to God above that you'd finally fall in love?

The last one makes my gut clench in agony. I resist the urge to look back at Smoke, chiding myself for having such a foolish thought. Despite me being a Necromancer and him having an unusually strong and persuasive enenra attached to his mind, there's no way Smoke and I would ever work. He's a Lin Kuei assassin with a smoke demon latched onto his soul. I'm a woman with the power to raise the dead and suck the soul out of any living creature. Why the hell would he ever want me? And, more importantly to him, would his Grandmaster ever allow it?

I highly doubt the last bit. That old bag of bones is so consumed with himself and his army of robots that he'd never consider allowing one of his warriors to break rank and have a family of his own. And to allow Smoke, probably one of his best and brightest, to ally himself with a race that questions every move he makes? Yeah, not going to happen.

I sigh and change the channel on the radio, sick of having to play trivia with myself over a man. The next station over is one that mainly plays softer, Norah Jones-type music, which means I can finally tune out of my own personal arguments and focus on getting to the airport and booking us a flight back. Luckily, the next exit takes us directly to the terminals and main parking structure, so we should be out of here within the hour. 

I take the off ramp and pull into the main parking lot of the airport, picking a spot well out of the way of other cars. I kill the engine and take a deep breath, forcing my head to clear itself and my body to start functioning normally. The Tarkatans are dead, but I'm still on high-alert for any other potential threats. There aren't any fresh corpses I can revive if we are attacked, but I can fight our way out if I need to.

I don't sense any more threats, so I climb out of my car and slam the door, waiting for the boys to exit. Smoke and Sub-Zero exit quickly and wait with me as Stryker gets out. He's slower, almost dazed, but he seems to shake off his weirdness and regroups with us, his eyes clear and focused. I turn to Smoke and Sub-Zero, watching Stryker out of the corner of my eye just incase he faints or breaks down.

"Either of you ever flown before?" I eye them curiously.

Both men shake their heads.

"We know what planes are and how they work," Sub-Zero stars, "But both of us have the ability to transport ourselves from one area to another. We have no need for them."

I nod. "Well, unfortunately, you'll be flying today. I don't want to sound like a mom, but I really want the four of us to stay together. It's great that you can move on your own, but if one of you is attacked, the rest of us are nowhere to be found to help you."

Sub-Zero and Smoke share and look, then nod at me. "Fair enough."

I turn to Stryker, watching him cautiously. "You alright?"

He pauses, seeming to freeze for a second, then turns his steel-blue eyes to mine. "Not really, but I will be. I suggest Frontier. They hand out cookies and are known to have really good-"

"At this point, speed matters more than comfort, Stryker." Sub-Zero chides him. "We need to reach Raiden as quickly as possible. We can't waste time searching for a single amenity. Your hunger will only slow us down."

Stryker glares at him, becoming more like his usual defensive self. I smile and put my hand on his shoulder. "Come on. Let's find the earliest flight to New York first. We'll eating something during out layover or order an in-flight meal."

Stryker's anger fades, replaced with a small amount of relief. My smile widens. He's a bit like me really – happy and jovial when fed, a homicidal monster when hungry. Although they don't show it, I'm willing to bet Smoke and Sub-Zero are the same way. The sooner we eat, the happier and better equipped we'll be. I start to head toward the main airline desks, pulling Stryker along with me. Sub-Zero and Smoke follow right behind me.

"Come on, you. Let's buy our tickets and get you fed."

* * *

Finding our flight to New York was an ordeal in itself. For one thing, dodging the worried glances of other travelers isn't easy when you're wearing fifteen pound of silver and blue armor. Nor is it easy when your hair smells like blood and your clothes are stained with the sweat and the innards of corpses. The four of us must have been quite a sight, but no one ever asked us any questions and no guards came to throw us out, so we must not have been the weirdest things to come into their airport.

Actually getting a flight is another issue. Almost every flight to New York was booked up on the main airlines, so the wonderful girls at Delta and American had to give us sad looks and shake their heads. Luckily, Stryker's beloved Frontier came through and booked the four of us on a one-stop flight to our destination. Even better, the four of us are only separated by one row, with Sub-Zero and Smoke sitting directly in front of Stryker and myself. The best part? I was assigned the window seat. Score!

Security was a little more stringent with us than the other passengers (apparently, coming into an airport wearing heavy armor and face masks doesn't sit well with the TSA...who knew?), but we of us manage to pass their tests and get through to our terminal relatively quickly. Unfortunately, even that unpleasant feat comes with a few unwanted roadblocks. One perverted idiot offers to do a body search on me to save the agents the trouble; Sub-Zero answers his offer by crushing his laptop. I'm honestly starting to like this man.

Thankfully, our flight doesn't leave for another two hours, and the gate we board at is just a few rows down. With our load of free time, I drag the men into the nearest restaurant so Stryker can finally get some food. Once again, we're greeted with more stares and a few horrified looks, but the hostess just glares at the other patrons and seats us near the back. We order quickly, with Stryker asking for enough food to feed a small army, and start making a plan for how to find Raiden and the others.

"So, if Raiden and the others have made the Shao Lin temple their headquarters, why are we heading to New York?" I ask, sipping on my precious Diet Coke. Sadly, I don't think I could live without this stuff. Caffeine is a wondrous thing.

"For the moment, we've made New York our base because it's easier to contact everyone." Stryker, now visibly happier and more talkative, speaks up. "Sonya, Jax and I are all based out of Texas, and Liu Knag and Kung Lao have started living in California. The Edenians still live in Outworld, but New York's collection of radio towers makes it easy to contact them."

"The temple is an excellent place to gather when we need to go unseen and unheard, but the city is much easier to regroup in times of immediate crisis,' Sub-Zero adds.

I nod, watching all three of them closely as we try to formulate a plan once we get to the city. I offer up the idea that once we've reconnected with Raiden and tell him the details of the attack, we take off and head for my clan's stronghold back in Japan. If Shao Khan has partnered with two nasty sorcerers and is trying to merge the realms without consent, then my people could lend a huge amount of aid to our group. All three men agree readily with this, and I make a mental note to call my father and tell him I'll be bringing guests.

We're concerned with other people watching us, so the four of us lean in close and talk in hushed voices, trying to keep curious patrons out of our conversation. We pull back when the waitress brings our food, forcing us to sit up normally as we talk so we can eat.

As I start to shovel my quesadilla into my mouth, I freeze, staring wide-eyed at Smoke and Sub-Zero as they remove their face masks to eat with us. All this time, they had talked behind those expertly hammered shards of metal, the movement of which was the only indication that they were speaking at all. But now, with the masks off, I can see them for who they really are.

At first look, both men are incredibly striking. Sub-Zero has predominantly Asian features like me: almond-shaped eyes, olive-toned skin, a strong, straight nose. However, also like me, there are traces of Caucasian blood in his veins as well. His icy blue eyes are gifts from his Cryomancer heritage, but his high, narrow cheekbones and strong jaw probably come from a European bloodline. His face is far more masculine than mine - his jaw line being more squared and his brows heavier – but overall, he's a very attractive man. One my grandfather would be screaming at me to marry.

The only possible drawback that a superficial nutcase like Janessa would disapprove of is his scar. About three inches in length, it stretches from the top of his brow to just past the sharp tip of his cheekbone, slicing across his eye along the way. It's jagged and painful-looking, though well healed and slightly smoothed out from time. Despite it being an injury that he must despise, it actually fits him well, making him truly look like the badass warrior he is. But, although he wears it well, I can't help but wince at the thought of what could have made that mark.

Smoke is far more striking. I caught a misty glimpse of his features when I saw his enenra taking form back in the store, but now I can see him in the flesh. His jaw line is narrower then Sub-Zero's, but just as strong. His cheekbones are knife-sharp, his skin fair and unblemished, his brows arrow-straight and well-defined. His mouth is naturally upturned at the corners, giving him the appearance of always smiling. That mouth also practically begs to be kissed, and I nearly have to turn away to avoid pouncing him. Sitting beside his friend, I can't tell which one is the more attractive man.

Grandfather would go nuts for both.

I smile at the thought. I can almost practically hear my grandfather singing praises for both men. Good bloodlines in both if them, my dear. The Cryomancer boy is quick of mind and good with his hands, and his heritage is linked to ours. The pale one is strong and wise for his age, and that enenra within him will make certain you're safe. I stifle a laugh, knowing that once we connect with my family back in Japan, he'll exhaust himself trying to convince me to marry one of them.

We make small talk as we eat, trying to keep the appearance of a group of friends going on vacation together. We eat quickly, wanting to get away from the prying eyes as quickly as possible. I want this more than anyone; there's a group of biker-type men who are continually eyeing us from the bar, and one of them has winked at me several times. I make sure to grimace back whenever he does, but something tells me he and his friends don't quite get the message.

Despite the fact that we're eating as fast as possible, something about Smoke being so close to me makes me feel like time has decided to relax a bit and move slower than usual. Against my own better judgment, I watch him from the corner of my eye, my mind somehow fascinated with watching him eat. At one point, I stare blankly at him like an idiot as I watch as the muscles in his throat work as he swallows. Something about the smooth, fluid movements his body makes forces my stomach to clench hard, and I look away again before I lose my mind.

The waitress comes around again and refills our drinks. I've chosen the humble but delicious Diet Coke and Stryker has iced tea. Sub-Zero has plain water, though he orders is without ice. All three of us stare at him stupidly for an instant, which makes him grin wickedly. He picks up his glass and takes a sip, and I watch in amazement as small ice crystals form on the glass under his fingers. He sets the glass down and smiles at us.

"Why have them do it when I can make it myself?" His tone is oddly bright, but more than welcome.

I look to Smoke, who has a chilled glass of soft amber liquid next to his plate. I can't tell what it is immediately, but it smells bitter, so I venture a guess that it's beer. That seems an odd choice for him, the quite, cautious one of our group. But then, I can raise the dead, so who am I to judge what he drinks? He can have a beer if he wants.

"What is that?" I ask, my curiosity rising slightly.

His dark eyes meet mine. "Urquell Nefiltrovaný."

All three of us stare at Smoke now, completely lost. Sub-Zero and I exchange a look, then turn back to Smoke who stares back at us, wide-eyed and slightly confused.

"Is there an issue?" He's tentative, unsure if he's over stepped an invisible boundary or broken and unwritten code.

"I didn't know you drank." Sub-Zero offers, though his excuse seems genuine.

Smoke shrugs and offers and apologetic smile.

"What is that?" Stryker asks. "It's not Bud or Miller."

"It's from the Czech Republic." Smoke says through another bit of food.

"Where did you acquire a taste for Czech beer?" Sub-Zero continues to stare at him, though his gaze is slightly less astounded.

Again, Smoke shrugs and smiles at us. "I'm not sure where I earned to enjoy it. I first had it on a mission in Germany, and I took a liking to it. That's all I know."

Czech...

Something about him mentioning that place make a gear in my head turn an inch. According to a few of the stories my grandfather has told me, some people are naturally inclined to enjoy traditional food or customs from the places of their ancestry, despite having never visited the place before. Maybe, just maybe, the Czech culture has something to do with Smoke's shattered memories and might hold an answer to his death and rebirth.

I file the thought in the back of my mind and save it for later. I check my phone and see that our plane is scheduled to leave in forty minutes, so I flag down the waitress and pay our bill. Stryker has all of us take our remaining scraps to go, and we gladly oblige since we know he's going to eat them later. After seeing his radical transformation after being served, I think we'd all rather deal with a well-fed, happy Stryker than a raging, hungry one.




Mortal Kombat - Smoke Ch. 02



We reach our gate and line up with the rest of the waiting passengers. This time, instead of dodging the shocked and angry glances from people, I stare right back, making them so uncomfortable that they never look at us again. Sub-Zero joins me in this game, though he comes out far more successful than me. Those icy blue eyes of his are beautiful and welcoming when he's happy, chilling and deadly when he isn't. I step up and go first, followed by Stryker and the other men, hoping to get on this plane and get going as soon as physically possible.

The desk attendant takes our tickets and lets us in without giving us any trouble, welcoming us with the same warm tone and smile as all the others. I do notice however, out of the corner of my eye, a newly seductive smile crossing her lips when she sees Smoke. Something about that tiny smile makes my stomach clench, and a bolt of jealousy roars through my blood. My envy becomes worse when I notice that she's a very pretty woman. Naturally blonde, with warm brown eyes and full pink lips, she's the trophy wife that every rich old bastard goes after. Her beauty makes keeping my anger under control even harder.

Stop it! He's not even yours. You have no right to stake a claim on him.

My inner conscience is right, despite my heart desperately wishing it wasn't. Smoke is far from being mine, but hearing that enenra of his whispering about how attracted he is towards me only makes me angry that another woman would even consider pulling his attention away from me. I'm becoming possessive of a man I've barely know for five hours. Yet here I am, standing at the very edge of our flight to New York, glaring at an unknown woman who dared to look at my friend.

This man is going to force me to kill someone.

Once I pass the desk, I turn around and wait at the side of the door for the others, wanting to keep all four of us close. Stryker tips his ball cap to the girl and smiles warmly, handing her his ticket and coming up to me. I motion for him to go and find our seat, silently telling him that I'll wait for Smoke and Sub-Zero. He nods and smiles, heading into the small hallway that connects that plane to the terminal.

Sub-Zero goes next, handing the girl his ticket and stepping forward quickly, his eyes ever watchful for any type of threat. I smile at him and motion for him to find Stryker. He also nods and heads off, leaving me waiting for the last member of our group. When Smoke finally steps up to the counter, my lungs seize up as I wait for the attendant to pounce on him.

Thankfully, as I watch Smoke hand the girl his ticket, he barely seems to notice her mood change. His eyes lock on mine, his mask hiding any trace of a smile or frown. But those warm chocolate pools are open and friendly, giving me a tiny sense of relief. He walks right by the attendant without a single word or look. When he finally reaches me, he pauses beside me, leaning in to whisper in my ear.

"I watched that girl from the moment we arrive at this gate. She was frowning constantly and looked like she wanted to punch someone. What do you think made her happy so suddenly?"

He has no idea...

Small wonder, though. That enenra of his is practically drooling over me. Whatever chemical or magic is in my blood, it wants me and no one else. It's probably blocking out any and every other possible option for a mate and forcing Smoke to focus all of his attention on me. There are times and places where those things can be loveable.

"I think you made her happy." I decide to tell him the truth, wanting to avoid be marked as a liar before we even get off the ground. "You caught her attention."

"She certainly didn't catch mine." His voice is smooth, and his eyes move to stare into mine.

My cheeks suddenly flare, but I smile warmly at him. "Go ahead. Sub-Zero and Stryker are already on the plane. I'll be right behind you."

He nods and walks into the hallway, leaving me alone at the edge of the terminal. I risk a last glance back towards the desk and notice the pretty attendant staring at me. Her eyes are cold, her lips pursed in a look of disappointed loathing. My pride and possessiveness suddenly flare to the surface, and I give the best 'fuck you' smile I can muster. The girl's jaw drops, and I continue smiling as I disappear into the hallway towards the plane.

I step onto the plane and immediately get caught in the back-up of people. I sigh to myself. I hate this part. Every time I fly, there's always some jackass trying to shove a suitcase that's twice the size of the overhead cabinets into the tiny space. This time, he's right in front of me, so I manage to elbow my way past him, ignoring his shouts as I search for my group.

They're not hard to find. Sub-Zero and Smoke, with their full Lin Kuei armor, are impossible to miss in this crowded plane. We were lucky enough to have grabbed the only flight that wasn't completely booked up; the lady at the front desk had motioned that their spare seat would be open, so they won't have to interact with the general public much.

The row behind them – mine and Stryker's seats – are only partly filled for now. Stryker's middle seat is empty, but his cap is resting on that chair, a sure sign of a last-minute bathroom rush. The aisle seat is filled with an overweight business man with an ill-fitting suit and hideous pink tie. I grimace but head towards my seat anyway, smiling as I pass Sub-Zero and Smoke on the way. They both look up at me and nod, their eyes warm but uneasy. It's their first time flying, so Lin Kuei or not, they're nervous. I give them another smile, this one more reassuring.

I pass their row and stop at mine, glancing down to look at the businessman blocking my path. He's hideously overweight, balding, extremely sweaty and completely unaware of my presence. My stomach churns at the sight of him, but I block out any thought of reading his soul and instead gently clear my throat.

Watery grey eyes flick up from his travel magazine, widening when they see me. My stomach does another flip, but I keep my spine straight and smile softly. 

"Excuse me. The window seat is mine."

"Oh! Oh, of course!" The man scrambles to push himself back into the sea, giving me just enough room to squeeze by. I settle into my seat and buckle myself in, leaning my head back and closing my eyes, relieved to finally be on our way.

"So...why are you heading to New York?"

Fuck.

I open my eyes and turn towards the man seated so close to me. He's leaning towards me and staring at me with his cold eyes and practically drooling on Stryker's seat. I resist the urge to pull away, and instead smile uncomfortably.

"I'm meeting some friends."

He nods slowly, his eyes moving over me. "Bet none of your friends are as pretty as you."

"Thanks," I squeak, barely managing to swallow. "And, uh, yourself?"

He grins and pulls away slightly, straightening his tie. "I'm settling a final business deal with a major bank. The deal could bring in millions for my company and help us raise the number of clients we could take in."

I force a tight smile as I nod, listening to his boasts but wanting to burst from the plane. As a cashier, I have very little patience for pretentious assholes who think they rule the world. This one, however, is horrifically ugly and overly self-important, the kind of person I'm taught to ignore and despise. And now I'm trapped with him in a tiny flying tin can for the next six hours. Fantastic.

He leans in again, his smile widening as he stares at me. "How old are you?"

I swallow again. "Twenty-two."

His eyes suddenly grow heated and dark. "Just a few years difference. I'm staying at The Carlyle for my trip. Would you be interested in visiting me sometime?"

Do not punch in face. Must not punch in face.

I pull back another inch, pressing my spine into the armrest. "That sounds like a wonderful place, but I already have plans with my group."

"Oh, come on girl. I can promise it'll be worth your while."

At this point, I've had enough of his come-ons and I'm sick of his smell. I straighten my spine and force my eyes to go cold. I glare at him, watching as his confidence deflates and he starts to pull back.

"Not interested," I growl through clenched teeth.

Besides, you're not the one who has my interest.

The man hesitates, then smiles at me again. "Forceful little one, aren't you? I like that." 

Shit!

"I'll bet you're an animal in bed, aren't you girl?"

I'm ready to smack him, but just as I'm about to pull my hand back, someone close to us clears their throat. The man and I both turn and look up at the row in front of us. Smoke is staring down at the two of us, arms crossed over the top of his seat and his eyes cold and unfeeling. He glares at the man beside me, piercing his soul with rage-filled eyes.

"I apologize for the interruption, but if you want to spend time with my girlfriend, you'll have to take that up with me." His voice is as unfeeling as his eyes, sharp as a blade and colder than ice.

The man goes pale and pulls away, his eyes staring at anything but me as he begins to sweat profusely. I remain frozen for a moment, staring back at Smoke with a mix of shock and confusion. I keep the bubble of elation well concealed, not wanting to lose control of my emotions just yet. His eyes flick to the man, narrowing as he makes sure I'm free from his disgusting gaze, and then flick back to me. They become warm suddenly, and he winks at me before turning around and settling back into his seat.

I stare at the back of his seat, shocked, overjoyed and suddenly bewildered. Girlfriend? He called me his girlfriend. True, it was mostly to get that creep off my ass, but still. Stuff like that just doesn't happen for no reason. As much as I appreciate the few seconds of being claimed by Smoke, this has 'enenra' written all over it.

Oh, stop acting like a teenager! He helped you, that's all. Calm down.

"What was that for?" Sub-Zero asks in a low whisper.

I'm snapped out of my inner musings and focus in on what the two masked me ahead of me are whispering about.

"I had to help her somehow. Was I supposed to let him harass her until Stryker came back?"

"No, but...your girlfriend?" Sub-Zero sounds as confused as I am.

Smoke pauses for an instant. "I had to think of something believable."

My lungs seize up and my heart literally stops. For the first time in my life, I think I might actually die. Believable. Smoke and I as lovers is believable. Some small, secret part of me - the hyperactive, lovesick teenager that I've kept locked inside my head for the last six years – finally starts to creep into my veins. Before she can come bursting out and risk an impromptu in-flight romance session, I force my sliver of shocked hopefulness down and stare out the window.

Despite trying to ignore the people around me, something in my gut tells me that I'm being watched. It's an uneasy feeling, and my curiosity gets the best of me. I move my gaze a millimeter to my right and seek out my watcher. From the corner of my eye I can see Smoke peering through the crack between the seats, his dark eyes locked on me. I resist the urge to make full eye contact, managing to keep myself totally still and convincingly uninterested in the rest of the world.

Before I have the chance to tear my eyes from him, I notice something about Smoke that makes my blood turn as cold as Sub-Zero's hands. His eyes, normally the color of rich chocolate that makes my mind go numb, start to shift. A bright silvery fluid starts to seep out from within his irises, slowly consuming his entire eye and making him look almost inhuman. I'm unable to stop my breath from catching on horror. Those are the eyes of his enenra.

At the sight of those bright, hungry eyes, my throat locks up and my stomach starts to turn. That age old hunger starts to resurface, and I have to bite my tongue to keep it from boiling over. Against my will, my own eyes shift over and full meet his. Bright, ravenous silver stares back at frightened, uncertain blue. I watch him silently, waiting for him to either turn away or claw through the seats.

We stare at each other for a moment, a tense standoff between a novice Necromancer and an obsessive enenra. Before I can say anything to persuade him away from any dark intentions, Smoke moves. His eyes widen suddenly, as if in shock, and the silver color quickly fades away to reveal his naturally beautiful coffee-colored eyes. He stares at me for another heartbeat before looking away, swearing under is breath. I watch as he pulls back and settles back into his seat, hiding himself from my view. 

I stay frozen, unsure of what to do or say or think. I stare at the back of Smoke's seat, waiting for something, anything, to happen. I hear a sigh, then the sharp sound of metal clinking against hard plastic, like someone had just smacked their armored head against a seat tray in attempt to hide themselves from the world.

"What?" Sub-Zero's voice is concerned. "What happened?"

"Don't ask." Smoke's voice is soft, almost ashamed.

"Smoke, what happened?" Sub-Zero is more urgent now. "What went wrong?"

I hear smoke sigh again. "Damn that creature."

"Ah...I see. I'm sorry for his inconvenience."

The conversation ends there, and I sink into my seat, letting out a sigh of relief and confusion. Poor Smoke. He can control his darker half relatively well when we're in normal settings, but once even the possibility of mating is proposed, that enenra comes out full force. By the sound of their conversation, it seems Sub-Zero is also familiar with his friend's unwanted companion. And, apparently, he's accustomed with the trouble it's caused.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the doors are now closing. Please turn your attention to the flight attendants for plane safety instructions."

I breathe a sigh of relief, happy to know that we're finally on our way. Just as I lean my head back and close my eyes, Stryker comes racing down the center aisle and slides into his seat, smiling apologetically at me as he buckles himself in and adjusts his cap.

"Sorry about that. There were twins in the back row." He grins wickedly, and I can see the hopeful mischief in his eyes.

I smile back at him. "I hope you got their numbers. We're probably going to have to cancel any dates you planned once we find Raiden."

His grin widens, and he holds up a carefully folded piece of paper. "Way ahead of you."

I laugh and shake my head. "Such a guy."

I turn and continue to stare out the window, tuning out the flight attendants performing the horrifically complicated tasks of buckling our seatbelts and pushing the call button. I don't really see the need for it – the chances of us all dying in a fiery plane crash are about one in ten million (I'm a Necromancer; I have to know this shit). It's all very mundane and something almost everyone knows. However, with it being the first time they've ever flown, I can understand if Sub-Zero and Smoke start having problems. Thankfully, Stryker is there to lend a hand when Sub-Zero can't figure out how his seat belt works and makes sure he's strapped in tight.

Once the show is over and all the passengers are good to go, the pilot announces that we'll be taking off momentarily. The plane jerks as it pulls away from the terminal, and the sudden movements startle Smoke. He jumps and inch and digs his fingers into the armrest, his breathing slow but unsteady.

Acting without instinct, I reach through the space between his seat and Sub-Zero's and rest my hand on his shoulder. He freezes, turning his head so his dark eyes meet mine once again. I hold his gaze, trying to force down any residual traces of unbridled lust or fear that might still be alive. 

Holy fuck, those eyes...

"You alright?" Thankfully, my voice comes out stronger than I feel.

He nods, his eyes shifting away. "Fine."

I stare at him, offering my best guess. "Are you afraid of heights?"

He swallows loudly. "High cliffs are not my strongest point."

I do my best to give him a reassuring smile. "You'll be fine. No one in my clan has ordered a giant, fiery plane crash today."

His eyes soften and he nods at me. I nod back and pull my hand away, relaxing into my seat again. As the plane takes off, I watch Smoke tense up again, then slowly relax. I smile again and lean my head against the pillow, tapping Stryker on the shoulder and asking him to let the stewardess skip me. He nods, and I dig into my purse and pull my trusty iPod out. I plug myself into my music, letting the sweet voices of Norah Jones and Josh Groban surround me and separate me from the world.

The plane continues to climb as we head toward New York and our mysterious army of warriors. I wonder who they are and how they'll react to me, but I'm too relaxed to care at the moment. As the stewardess comes around and serves drinks, I rest my head against the cool window and drift off into sleep.

* * *

I'm cold suddenly. A soft breeze whips around me, caressing my skin and causing me to shiver. The cold feels wonderful, and I remain still so it can continue its wondrous touch. I smile slightly and sigh, loving the silence and the cold that surrounds me.

Wind? But we're in a plane!

Absolute panic forces my eyes open. I half expect to be freefalling in the air, staring down at the rapidly-approaching ground. Instead, I'm laying on my side in the middle of an enormous graveyard, dressed in nothing but my skimpy panties and lacy bra. Moonlight shines down through the surrounding forest, making the shadows move and sway with unseen life.

What the hell?

I push myself up onto one elbow and survey my new surroundings. The graveyard I'm laying in must be ten square acres. It's unnaturally dark here, even for this time of night. The soft grass under my fingers continues outward, pitching and rolling through a dense forest filled with chipped headstones. The grave markers are carefully set between the thick trunks of oak and pine; the ivy that cascades down a few of them has begun to creep up the trunks as well, marking its new home.

I hold my breath and listen for any sound of life. I come up empty. There isn't a bird call or a snapping twig to be heard. In the style of Marcel Duchamp, this forest is quiet...far too quiet.

It's beautiful...deathly so.

"Where in the hell is this?" I ask no one, my eyes flicking around the darkened world. 

"Would it matter?" The voice is dark and rich, seductive and terrifying all at once.

A finger traces along my spine and I jump, spinning around and instinctively covering at least some of my almost bare body.

Smoke lies beside me, dressed in full armor but missing his mask. His eyes are bright, the moonlight reflecting in those orbs so perfectly that I almost want to fall into them. His smile is warm and genuine, welcoming me to this beautiful world like it's our own little secret. The breeze catches a few strand of his hair, lifting them delicately into the air and he continues to smile at me.

I stare at him for a moment, becoming extremely aware of just how much of my body is on display. I may be able to raise the dead and suck the soul from a living person, but I was raised with the idea that our bodies are sacred and should only be shown to those we truly love and desire. I do desire Smoke, but I'm nowhere near comfortable enough to start prancing around naked in front on him. I flush bright red and swallow sharply.

"Hi. How did you get here?"

He shrugs. "No idea, but I can't say I'm complaining." His dark eyes skim over my body, hungry yet cautious.

I pull back another inch. "Well...why are you here?"

His smile deepens, becoming darker. "It's your dream, Sara. My purpose here is whatever you want it to be."




Mortal Kombat - Smoke Ch. 02



Acting on instinct, I shake my head and inch backwards. This whole thing may be a dream, but I don't like it. It's too dark, too cold for it to be a dream I can enjoy.

"This is a dream, meaning you're a figment of my subconscious. I did not call you here."

"Didn't you?" His tone is almost mocking, as if he doesn't believe my denial.

I shake my head, more blood rushing to my cheeks. "No. I can raise the dead, not summon the living. I can't control minds."

His smile softens a bit. "No, but you can call the dead to you, correct? The corpses in the parking lot listened to you quite well. They seemed almost...interested in you."

"Well...yes. That's the bad part of my heritage, I suppose. The dead are drawn to us in a way." I chew my lip nervously.

His smile darkens again, his eyes becoming more lustrous in the soft moonlight. "And what, exactly, is an enenra?"

The question takes me aback for a moment, but I manage to answer. "It's a spirit made of smoke and mist and the soul of a dead-"

I squeeze my eyes shut and hang my head. Of course I've drawn him to me. Why else would he be making such a claim? Part of him is dead, which is why that damn enenra of his is constantly drooling over me. Smoke probably isn't aware of it, but his little hitchhiker is likely subliminally shifting his host's thoughts and feelings closer towards me so it can get closer. Shaking off my embarrassment, I lift my head to see Smoke staring at me, a triumphant smile gracing his lips.

I glare at him. "Smartass."

"Yes, well..." He pushes himself up and turns to face me, crossing his legs and resting his hands in the grass as he grins at me. "My host isn't completely aware of all that just yet."

I stare at him, bewildered. "Your host?"

Before he can answer, the gears click into place. No wonder I sensed an unusual darkness radiating off him. He's the reason I felt so uncomfortable – I was sensing something that didn't belong in a dream. It's only now that I notice that his luminous eyes are silver, not brown.

Pause, making sure all the information matches up. "You're the enenra."

He grins wider and bows his head, sweeping one arm out dramatically. "At your service."

I continue to stare at him in wonder. He's confounding compared to Smoke. They're almost complete opposites. Where Smoke is controlled and serious, his enenra is playful and shameless. It's as if Smoke has two different minds that move and control one body.

"And how did you get here?" I ask cautiously.

He straightens and smiles wickedly. "You did say dead things are drawn to you. While the man and I are connected by blood and soul, I'm not completely bound to him. You've seen us separate once before. He won't die if I leave - far from it - and it can be beneficial for two of us to work separately."

I nod slowly, taking it all in. "Why attack with one, when you have two?"

His smile widens again. "Exactly."

I attempt to relax a bit and sit on the soft grass, never taking my eyes off his. "So... does your other half know that's you're here with me?"

He laughs, an infectiously musical sound, and shakes his head. "No. Poor thing's sound asleep. I tell you, that boy could sleep through a stampede."

"You can tell when he's asleep?" I ask, slightly surprised. I know enenras are bound to their hosts, but I never knew they could travel outside their body or be aware of the other's actions.

He nods. "He and I are linked more closely than any other creatures could possibly be. We are together, yes, but we are separate beings."

I chance another burning question. "Do you know what he's dreaming about?"

He nods again, his smile becoming more playful. "Always. I'm part of him, Sara, you know that. We share thoughts, feelings, emotions...everything. There isn't an action taken or a word spoken that isn't felt or sensed by the other. I know his most chivalrous actions and his darkest thoughts."

"So even though your human half is sleeping, he can still tell that you're here?" I wait patiently for an answer. 

Honestly, this is an amazingly critical moment for my people. While Necromancers are bound to enenras by flesh and desire, no one has really had the chance to sit down and talk to one. We know they're made of mist and feed off the anger and pain of their hosts, but as to how they really work... we don't have a damn clue. Talking to Smoke's little companion could open up quite a few windows for us.

He shrugs. "Partly. He can't sense it while he's sleeping, but once he wakes up he'll know I was gone."

Wide-eyed, I manage to crack a small smile. "Fascinating."

His own smile widens. "I fascinate you?"

I nod. "As an enenra, you do. My people are connected to you through sex, but we know very little about you. We have no idea how you think, what you feel...anything."

He looks almost wistful. "Then aren't you lucky I'm here?"

I almost answer, but something about his voice catches my attention. It's as deep and melodic as Smoke's, but there's a hint of something foreign. A trace of an accent on his lips as he rolls his words and catches them on his tongue.

I cock my head to the side, studying him. "What is that?"

His eyes widen, then narrow in confusion. "What is what?"

I hold my stare. "You have an accent."

His smile fades to a scowl and he looks away. "Ah, that. That's part of our past."

I nearly tackle him. His past is something I've been dying to know. I can read Stryker's soul, and I know most of Sub-Zero's story, but there's something about Smoke that I can't get through. He's missing a few key parts of his soul and memory, so I can't correctly read his past and thoughts without hitting a few roadblocks.

"Your past?" I nearly shout the words out of excitement.

His gaze hardens. "That's not something you want to know." His tone is clipped, trying to end to conversation.

Oh, hell no. You're not getting off that easy!

I pull back my enthusiasm, but my curiosity remains. "Why not?"

The enenra sighs and avoids my gaze. "It's a dark part of his life that you shouldn't know. A painful part."

I pull back a bit more. Usually, my people can handle the worst of the worst. Bisection, plagues, bodies crushed under rocks... we've seen and dealt with it all. Enenras, for their part, come from the burnt, tortured parts of a person's soul. They're experienced the worst shit a person has done or felt. For an enenra to warn a Necromancer of something painful and tragic...this must be really bad.

"Does...Smoke know about his past?" I ask that instead, hoping to get my guest back to his playful self.

He relaxes, but still scowls. "No. I've kept those parts from him. He doesn't need to feel that again."

I bite my lip as I watch him. "You care for him, don't you?"

Finally, his eyes meet mine. "He is a part of me, and I a part of him. His health and sanity are part of what keeps me alive. If he breaks, I break with him." He pauses, his eyes going dark. "If I were to unlock those memories, to allow him access to his past...he wouldn't make it far."

I grimace. 'That bad, huh?"

He nods. "The absolute worst."

"Could he ever know about it?" I ask cautiously. 

The enenra takes a slow breath. "I suppose, but only if he braces himself for the impact. His story is not a happy one."

"Has he ever asked about it?"

He laughs. "He's begged me to tell him more than once, but I've always refused. I can't risk harming him like that. I don't want to subject him to something that painful."

I clamp my mouth shut, not sure of what to say or do. If what the enenra is saying is true – and they're one of the few creatures who don't take well to lying – then Smoke's childhood must have been awful. I hate to even think of what that man went through in life. The poor man. How he can sleep at night...

"Enough about our story. It's nothing you want to see just yet." Seeming to break out of his trance, the enenra lifts his head and smiles at me. His eyes soften and become brighter and more open. "I'm more interested in you."

I give a sharp laugh. "Of course you are."

His smile turns a shade darker. "Of course I am."

Smiling, I lean back at stare up at the stars, bracing my hands behind me as I stretch. "So why here?"

"It's your dream, Sara. Why did you pick a graveyard?"

I hesitate, frowning as I think. "Because I'm comfortable here. It's cold and quiet in a graveyard. I'm surrounded by death and shadows, something that I can feel at home with."

"That seems logical." He shifts and moves beside me, sitting close enough that I can feel his breath.

I continue to stare at the stars. "So, if your human half is Smoke...what do I call you?"

His lips graze my neck and I shiver. "I don't care what I am called as long as it comes from your mouth."

"My mouth. Why only mine?"

I hear his laugh against my skin. "I'll be claiming that soon enough, along with the rest of you."

I smile at that comment - something inside me doesn't register it as the threat it really is. Instead, I'm surrounded by the soothing cool of the wind, the gentle sway of the trees, the moving shadows of the moon. It's all very peaceful for someone like me. Very calming, almost enough to-

I groan. "Motherfucker. You made this place."

I blink rapidly, breaking out of my trance. I'd been so lost in my dream world that I hadn't even noticed him touching me. I lay on my back in the soft grass, staring up into the trees. The enenra sits above him, straddling my hips and grinning like a fool.

"I hope you like it. Your kind are very easily subdued." His tone is humorous, yet still a bit mocking. "The one thing all of you have in common: you all seem to like graveyards. How perfect."

I glare at him. "Smart little thing."

He barks out a laugh. "Little? Oh, my dear, I'm far from that."

I catch his reference immediately, and narrow my eyes even further. "Asshole."

He smiles. "Perhaps. But I have you, don't I?"

I move my hand to smack him, but my attack is easily blocked. He moves faster than lightening, grabbing my wrists and pinning me to the ground. I glare back at him, squirming under his grip, unable to free my hands or buck him off. He grins down at me, leaning over so he can stare me in the eyes.

"Such a pretty little thing," he purrs. "I'm gong to have fun with you."

"Really?" I spit. "I don't think your partner would appreciate you partying without him."

He chuckles and leans forward, licking my face. "I don't plan to. It's no fun if I can't have you in the waking world. The dream realms aren't personal enough."

I wrench away from his tongue, starring daggers at him. I knew enenras were wild creatures, maybe even a little unpredictable and manipulative. But this dark? This menacing? They're after us for sex, not blood. Why he's playing these mind games, I'll never know, but I don't enjoy it.

He smiles almost wistfully. "But, for now, you and I can have a little fun."

Grinning maliciously, he leans forward, using his weight to pin me to the ground. His free hand reaches up and cups my cheek, holding me steady as he leans closer. He hovers an inch from my face, hesitating just long enough to make me squirm before he presses his lips to mine. Before I can start to struggle, I'm overwhelmed by the taste of crisp wind, honey and campfire smoke. It's intoxicating, and I close my eyes and press harder against him, trying to taste more of him.

He obliges, opening his mouth to mine. I copy his motion, parting my lips so my mouth can be flooded with his essence. It works, and I'm swallowed up by a wave of desire and light-headedness. He's making me dizzy and weak, and I don't care enough to fight him. Instead, I let myself fall, surrounding myself in his laughter and taste as I spiral into a dark hole that I cannot – will not – climb out of.

* * *

The chime of the plane's intercom shocks me awake. I inhale sharply as I bolt upright in my seat, my heart pounding and my breathing uneven. I place my hand to my chest as I slowly come back to reality. I look around to see that most of the plan is empty. The gross business man from before is gone, and only the plane staff are moving around the cabin.

I breath a sigh of relief and turn to face the window. The plane is parked at a terminal, the extendable hallway still locked to the plane. It's dark out now, close to midnight, and the airport is almost deathly silent.

"Hey there, sleepy head."

I whip around to see Stryker smiling at me, his steel-blue eyes shining in the fluorescent overhead lights. He's laughing slightly, but it's calming and reassuring. The plane didn't crash while I slept and everyone is acting normal.

I exhale loudly. "Stryker."

He laughs again. "Bad dream, kiddo?"

Images from my dream flash through my mind – the enenra, that kiss – but I hold them back and nod my head slowly. "Yeah. It was a weird one."

Stryker puts his hand on my shoulder. "You alright?"

I smile and nod. "Fine. Just a little shaken."

He shakes his head and grins. "You were out, Sara."

I laugh. "I'll bet. Once that music starts, I'm gone."

His smile widens. "No offense, Sara, with you being a Necromancer and all, but you were dead to the world. We hit a nasty patch of turbulence halfway through the flight and you didn't even move."

That actually makes me laugh, and I'm finally able to sink back into my seat. "I don't mind turbulence. It's like an in-flight roller coaster. How bad was it?"

His smile turns sinful, and his eyes flick to the row ahead of us. "Bad enough that Sub-Zero nearly broke the armrest from holding it so tight."

"You never said anything about the plane almost dropping out of the sky!" Sub-Zero's deep voice snaps from the other side of the seat. 

Stryker turns and faces the seat. "Relax. The plane did not drop from the sky. We hit a jet stream or a patch of air and we moved a bit."

"Idiot," Sub-Zero hisses before swearing under his breath.

I turn back to Stryker. "I take it we're in Chicago."

He turns back to me and nods. "Yep. We landed about ten minutes ago. I hope you don't mind, but I pulled out your iPod when we started going down. It's in your backpack."

I shake my head. "No, I don't. Thanks." I pause, looking around at the nearly empty plane. "How long until we leave?"

He shrugs. "They said they'll take about ten more minutes to clean the plane, then they have to get everyone else checked in and boarded." He stands up and steps into the aisle, stretched and cracking his back. "While we have the plane to ourselves, I'm going to run to the bathroom."

He walks down the hallway, leaving me sitting alone in our row. I hear a seat belt unbuckle and watch Sub-Zero stand and step out of his row, his eyes hazy and wide from panic. He takes a long breath, then turn and starts down the opposite direction of the aisle. 

"I...need to take a walk." He says slowly, exhausted from his first flight.

I sit silently, completely alone except for Smoke one seat ahead of me. I remain silent, holding perfectly still and hoping he won't notice me. After my visit from his enenra, I'm not really in the mood to talk to its host. Honestly, I'd like things to remain more normal between us, not more awkward.

I don't get my wish. Once Sub-Zero is out of sight, I hear another click from the seat ahead of me. An instant later, Smoke has turned around and has hauled himself up to the top of his seat. He folds his arms across the top edge and stars down at me, his dark eyes clouded and unreadable. I stare back, my heart racing and my blood slowly going cold.

"You spoke with him." His voice is soft, not accusatory or angry like I'd expected.

I swallow and force myself to nod. "Yeah. How did you..."

A tiny light flickers in his eyes. "He came back happier than usual. For him, that could only mean he did something with you."

A tight smile crosses my lips. "Did he...tell you what happened?"

He shakes his head. "No, but I could see it in his thoughts. Apparently, the two of you had quite and talk." His eyes narrow at me, not in anger, but in curiosity and interest.

Super fuck!

Every drop of my blood is poured into my cheeks and I turn away. This is my nightmare come true. I was hoping that somehow, that damn enenra would be able to keep our very private meeting secret. But, nope. He had to let his memories loose and let Smoke know the entire thing. Damn that creature.

"Apparently, the two of you got very close." His voice is slower, almost calculating.

Someone shoot me!

I desperately want to curl up into a ball and fall through the floor, but physics and logic won't allow me to do that. Instead, I'm trapped in an oversized sardine can, forced into the world's most uncomfortable conversation with the man I can't stop drooling over. How the god's despise me today. They must be really bored.

Taking a deep breath, turn to face him, my eyes emotionless and horrified at once. "Yes. My actions with your other half weren't on purpose, but I won't deny anything. What he's said is most likely true, but it's not exactly what I had planned on dreaming about."

He's still for a moment, then nods. "I can understand that. He's a crafty one."

I smile at that. "I'll give you that. He's certainly a character."

His eyes go soft again, almost apologetic. "Forgive his intrusion. He's far more impulsive than I am. I hope he wasn't too forceful."

"No more than I'd expected. It's fine. I've had weirder dreams." Before my brain can intercept, my mouth decides to speak for itself. "He's not the one I wanted to dream about."

The instant the words leave my mouth, I clamp my jaw shut and bury my face in my hands. That was the worst possible thing I could have said at that moment, and yet my heart chose to speak before my brain could filter anything out. Damn my emotions! They never listen to word I say!

Thankfully, Smoke is silent, but I can feel his eyes on me. They bore into me, almost reaching my soul yet beholding back. He doesn't want to know everything; perhaps he's thinking that a little bit of mystery is more appealing. Or maybe he thinks that some truths are just too hard to face.

I gather up the scraps of my courage and face him one more time. This round, I'm shaky and beyond nervous; if I were to attempt to stand, I'd crumple to the ground. But I still manage to meet his gaze with my own, holding it there for seconds, hours, maybe days. We stare each other down and measure each other up, seeing the other both as a possible target and a possible conquest.

The soft sound of Stryker's whistling snaps us out of our staring contest. I'm able to breathe again, and I relish the luxury of a deep breath of air. There are several things between Smoke and I that need to be discussed, but I'd prefer Sub-Zero and Stryker weren't a part of it.

I meet Smoke's delicious eyes again, pleading for mercy with my own. "Not now."

His eyes break away from mine for an instant, watching Stryker making his way back towards us. He refocuses on me and nods, turning and disappearing behind his seat again. I'm alone again, and I fight the simultaneous urges to cry and scream. I've just confessed to kissing his enenra and wanting to dream about him. How amazing. The rest of this flight should be just fucking awesome.

Stryker takes his seat next to me, stretching his neck and cracking his fingers. He smiles at me, though his grin quickly fades to a concerned frown. He reaches out and places and hand on my shoulder, his eyes dark with worry.

"Hey...you don't look so good."

I snap my head around to face him and offer a tight smile. "Just a little woozy. I'll be fine."

The plane's intercom clicks on again, signaling the new round of passengers about to board. I'm relieved now, since this means we're one step closer to New York. All we have is one more flight - and possibly one more panic attack from Sub-Zero – and then we can find Raiden.




Mortal Kombat - Smoke Ch. 02



Almost there...

"Tell you what," Stryker starts. "It'll be another three hours before we land in New York. You've had a rough day and you look like hell. Go back to sleep, Sara. We'll be fine."

I look at him and smile softly. "You sure? I can entertain Sub-Zero for a while."

He shakes his head. "It's fine. I'll keep him calm. I'll wake you up when we start to land."

I give him another thankful smile, then lean over and rest my head against the window. The plastic is smooth and cool against my skin, soothing my frayed nerves. Keeping an eye on the seats ahead of me, I reach down and rummage through my purse for my iPod again. I can see Smoke through the crack in the seats, but he never turns to face me. He does stiffen, as if he senses me becoming slightly closer, but he remains in his seat. 

I let out a silent breath of relief and pull back, plugging into my music and losing myself again. It's a slow tempo to start, so my body responds quickly. My eyelids get heavy, my breathing becomes deeper, my heart beat slows down. As I drift into another welcomed episode of sleep, my music selection changes and I'm serenaded by Amy Lee's dark, sensuous voice as she and the rest of Evanescence perform 'Haunted" inside my head.

Watching me and wanting me 

I can feel you pull me down 

Fearing you, loving you 

I won't let you pull me down.

This time, when I dream, I'm alone in my room. The graveyard is gone, Smoke's enenra isn't tormenting me and the gentle sounds of my neighbor's mockingbirds drifts through my open window. It's warmer and more comfortable here than the graveyard of my other dream. Despite the calm and quiet, however, I still feel like I'm being watched. It's like no matter what I do, no matter where I go, Smoke's dark, bewitching eyes are always on me, watching my every move even when I sleep.

* * *   I wake up just as the sun is rising on the horizon, staining the sky gold and violet. I stare out the window, watching the clouds pass as the plane makes its way across the sky. I smile a bit; this is the calm, quiet, peaceful moment to myself that I've been waiting for. A time when I can lose myself in my thoughts and find my own inner peace. Still smiling, I lean my head back against the seat and close my eyes, settling into the dark, silent world of my mind.

Once we find Raiden, he'll need to know about Scorpion and the Tarkatans. Keeping him in the dark about either of them won't help at all.

Indeed. The more Raiden knows, the better prepared we'll all be.

My eyes snap open. That second voice in my head belonged to Smoke, but I can't tell if it's really him or his enenra talking. I shift in my seat uncomfortably; despite how much I may be attracted to the man, knowing he can access my thoughts at will is a little disturbing. Knowing my luck, he'll sneak into my head at the precise moment when I'm having a fantasy about him.

Shaking off my surprise, I take a deep breath and close my eyes again, Stryker's still asleep, and I can hear Sub-Zero's heaving breath just ahead, so this voice and I are alone for the moment. We can discuss this in private without worrying that anyone else might be disturbed.

Just so I can prepare myself, which half would you be?

The half that you're slightly less afraid of.

I sigh a little in relief. Smoke himself, good. At least this half of his mind is rational and calm.

Where's your twin?

Locked away for now. I didn't need him running wild while our minds are connected. Besides, I doubt he'd have anything important to say, anyway.

Locked away where? Where in the hell do you put that thing to keep him under control?

Smoke's soft laughter echo through my mind for a moment, reminding me that he does have a sense of humor to go with that incredible mind and body of his. The man can laugh at himself. Thank the gods!

I have a few places in my mind he's can't escape from. He'll be fine, and we'll be alone until I decide he can come out.

I pause, a new thought passing through my head before my filter can get to it.

You're like brothers almost.

Smoke laughs again, the sound just as delicious as his smell.

I suppose we are in a way. Though Sub-Zero is the only person I truly consider to be a brother to me.

I can understand that. You two grew up together, and you have no memory of your original family. You had to bond with someone.

Yes, and thankfully I found Sub-Zero. I'm not sure of the other Lin Kuei warriors would be as accepting of me as he is. The others tend to find me too quiet to enjoy my company.

I scowl at this unconsciously. Leave it to humans to force the damaged and wounded into exile.

If they had lost all memories of their childhood and family, I doubt any of them would be very social.

Perhaps, but we are not trained to be compassionate. We are assassins and thieves, Sara. You know that. Besides Sub-Zero, myself and Cyrax, you should never mistake any Lin Kuei warrior of being the opposite.

My scowl fades to a deep frown. He's right, unfortunately. The Lin Kuei trains their fighters to be ruthless killers and thieves, and none of their leaders have given much thought to the lives of the people affected by their kill orders. Sadly, most of the warriors themselves become so hardened from warfare and death that they nearly lose all sense of morality and compassion for anyone other than their fellow fighters. We're lucky that we found Sub-Zero and Smoke when they were still able to care about those around them.

Alright then...What kind of welcoming party should I expect when we meet up with Raiden? None of your friends know me at all.

There's a slight pause as he thinks, allowing me barely enough time to inhale deeply and catch a tiny trance of his scent. It's delicious as ever, and my craving for him is sated just enough that I can refocus on our discussion.

I wouldn't expect the warmest greeting from the others, but Raiden should welcome you with open arms.

Anyone I should try to be super nice to?

Perhaps Sonya or Jade. Both of them are extremely protective of our group and very wary of outsiders. However, once they learn of your ancestry and your affiliation with Raiden, they should warm up to you.

Good.

I let out another relieved Sigh. Hopefully, my Necromancer bloodlines will help me be a little more welcomed into his group of warriors. Being an outsider, I don't have any outrageous expectations from his friends. I don't expect a shower of confetti or cake to be served once I arrive. I'll be sure to prepare myself for ten tons of suspicion coming from everyone beside Raiden.

As I mull over what my entrance into the new group will be like, a new curiosity pops into my head. I know Smoke as my unintended object of affection, Stryker as our loveable but foolish cop, and Sub-Zero as the quite one who keeps to himself. But I know almost nothing of the other Sub-Zero, the older brother who died and became a different man after Quan Chi got his hands on him. His younger brother spoke of him only briefly, and it was in a voice filled with regret and pain.

I don't mean to be rude or intrusive...what was Sub-Zero's brother like?

He was...different that Tundra.

My mental timeline clicks into gear. There's an older brother - the original Sub-Zero - and a younger brother named Tundra, who's friends with Smoke. Older Sub-Zero goes to the last Mortal Kombat tournament and dies, so younger brother Tundra takes up the name in his honor. New Sub-Zero remains friends with Smoke, and the older brother's soul is resurrected by Quan Chi and becomes corrupted. A little confusing, but I think I've got it.

How so?

He was far more impulsive that Tundra, more combative and aggressive. He was an excellent fighter, but his anger and pride would often get the best of him and he'd lose focus. He was a good man, a loyal one who'd die for his brother, but his emotions would get the better of his instincts.

I see...

Sub-Zero would often provoke another warrior or instigate a fight if he needed something to do. Tundra will avoid combat if he can, and only fights if he thinks it's necessary.

So is that why you bonded with Tundra rather than his brother? Because of his attitude?

Mainly. Tundra and I are considered the quiet ones of the current list of warriors. We stay very close to each other, and neither of us converses much with the others. We don't trust them.

Let me guess...the grandmaster has them wrapped around his finger.

I hear him sigh as I bring up his despised leader. However, what I know of Smoke makes this a slightly less touchy subject. He's already voiced his displeasure of the Grandmaster and his plans, so tearing the old man to shreds should be a bit more welcomed.

Some of the other warriors are so blinded by loyalty, they can barely think for themselves, which is exactly what the Grandmaster wants. Sub-Zero and I are part of a small group of warriors that can make rational decisions without the Master's help. Unfortunately, with the Cyber Initiative in place, the rest of us may eventually end up becoming like the mindless fighters we despise.

Look at me.

I break the connection, forcing his hand so he must face me to talk with me. My emotions, already going haywire from being so close to him, have reached a boiling point. I'm furious, aroused, hurt and confused beyond imagining, and I need to spit it out. What I have to say can't be communicated through telepathy. He needs to hear my voice for this one.

It takes him a minute to respond – probably trying to reconnect out minds – before I hear him shift in his seat. We have another hour before we arrive in New York, and everyone else on the plane is unconscious. We have the place to ourselves, like we need it to be. He turns around and hauls himself over his chair, crossing his arms over the seat and staring down at me with those dark, incredible eyes. His breathing is slow and even, a perfect contrast to my unsteady breaths.

I take a shaky breath before I start spewing my guts to him. "Alright, I need to say this. I've barely known any of you for more than twelve hours, but I'll admit that I care about you. I have no idea who you are or what you want, but I care about all of you for some stupid reason. I can't control that."

He remains silent, his beautiful chocolate eyes emotionless and impassive.

I continue, my breathing becoming more unsteady by the second. "Despite the fact that I barely know you, that you're carrying an insatiable enenra with you that wants to devour me whole, and that you work under a man that my people absolutely despise, I care about you. Somehow, through all of this, I've become closer to you and your friends than I've been to anyone in a long time. I don't think, if anything happened to you, that I could take it."

I'm barely able to hold back tears at this moment, but it push through the last of my speech. "I need you to promise me...that if you ever find yourself in a situation where the people around you are trying to change you into something inhuman, something that you know in your heart you could never truly be...promise me that you will fight for your fucking life."

I say the last words through gritted teeth and I try not to cry. Tears stream down my cheeks, and I'm barely able to breathe. I've just spilled my soul to this mysterious, deliciously dark man, and all I can do now is hope he understands.

Smoke stays completely still for a moment, staring at me with his dark eyes. For barely an instant, I see a flash of sliver flick through his eyes, a sign that his enenra has been in on the conversation. His eyes then shift back to their usual deep chocolate color just as he reaches over the seat and takes my hand. His fingers wrap around mine, gentle but firm, never letting go.

"I swear to you... if such a circumstance were to ever take place, those people will have my humanity once they pry it straight from my heart. I will never allow them to make me into a monster I cannot possibly be, to force me to take actions I could not, in my heart, make on my own. They will not take my past, they will not take my soul, they will not take my future."

They will not take Sub-Zero from me, nor will they take you.

Those last few words, both spoken and thought, shake me to the core. He's basically proclaimed his devotion to his best friend and me, after knowing me less than a day and seeing the damage I am capable of. He's brushed all of that shit aside and promised to protect me however he could. 

I hang my head, breaking eye contact with him as tears fall onto my arm. As much as I appreciate and revel in his newfound loyalty and concern for me, reality smacks me in the face like it always does. I am a Necromancer, a dealer of death and raiser of corpses. I am capable of monstrous actions and nightmarish thoughts. I will never be 'normal', nor will I be capable of showing the same level of control and understanding that he does. In the eyes of the world, I am a monster and a living nightmare. 

I do not deserve this man.

Why would you protect me? I'm not as close to you as Sub-Zero, and I'm not powerful like Raiden. Why do you care about me?

He goes still for a moment, his eyes narrowing at me in confusion.

Do you not think yourself worthy of my protection?

A new batch of tears starts to stream down my cheeks, and my throat closes up as I try to breathe. All the pain and anger and fear that's been built up over the years starts to seep out, and I can't stop any of it from reaching him.

I raise the dead. I pull souls from living people. I can speak to ghosts and demons when no one else can. I'm the closest thing to a monster you can get. No one has ever offered to protect me... I think you can understand why.

His grip tightens around my fingers, his hands suddenly becoming as cold as ice, though his eyes remain the same dark coffee color. I still twitch slightly at his enenra's sudden appearance, unsure of what to do or say.

Those who will not protect you do not know you. They may call you a monster only because they fear your power. Had you ever saved any of them, their idea of you would be very different.

I shake my head, more unwelcome tears pouring from my eyes.

Some people will always hate my kind, no matter how many times we help them. It's a prejudice that spans generations in some cultures. They will never accept us.

 Then they do not deserve you.

Those six simple words nearly cause my lungs to stop. I stare at him wide-eyed, my tears suddenly gone. This man-enenra has the incredible ability to confuse me endlessly. He can bring me to tears one minute, then make me want to pounce him the next. He makes no sense, yet I want him more then anything in the world.

The people who will chastise you and despise you are not worthy of your help. If they will not care for you, then do not care for them.

I am now speechless, rendered mute by his words and my emotions. He cares for me, more that I thought he did...more than I thought he could. Something in my head goes off, an alarm bell warning me to keep my distance from him. He's too gentle, too kind-hearted to be real.

You're going to make me cry...stop.

His eyes widen as he pulls back an inch, looking almost hurt. I can feel his mind start to pull away, breaking the link we share.

My apologies...I meant no harm.

I snap my head up to look at him, frantically clawing at the fragile connection that links our minds. I don't want him to leave; I want - I need­ – him to stay connected to me. The tiny bond we have in our minds is all I have to keep him close enough to admire, yet far enough not to wound.

NO! Don't go!

He freezes, his dark eyes locked on mine. The thread between our minds is frayed, yet still strong. We're linked, but not as closely as before. I crave that connection, that closeness, but my logic overrules my emotions. I cannot be close to this man, no matter how deep my craving. The enenra within him and the Necromancer blood in me will devour each other if we get too close.

Knowing that I have his mind still locked to mine, I can breathe again. I close my eyes for an instant, centering myself and calming my rampaging emotions before looking at him again. I take a deep breath, trying to keep my growing joy and hopefulness under control.

I'm sorry, I'm just not used to people treating me as you are. Most people despise my kind, or they're so afraid of us that they avoid my clan altogether. I've been on the receiving end of their hatred several times, so we're taught as kids to keep contact with other culture to a minimum. Your kindness is foreign to me.

He's silent again, but his grip on my hands relaxes a bit. He leans forward again, reaching out with his mind and strengthening the bond that links our minds. He knows the truth of my panic now, the reasons behind why I tend to push people away. His kindness and honesty are something I don't deal with on a daily basis. As far as society is concerned with my people, he's the odd one out.

That's disappointing...I had expected more for a race of people with such power and prestige. 

I shrug and smile weakly.

People are strange creatures.

Strange like me?

His question catches me off-guard. I swallow sharply, unsure of how to respond to him. He's part enenra, part tortured soul. No living person is anything close to his uniqueness. And yet, he's more human and loving than almost anyone I've ever met. He's got a cleaner soul then any I've ever scanned, and his mind is sharper then most of the population. He's mystifying, fascinating, terrifying and beautiful all at once. 

He's the one thing I am unprepared to fight.

"I wouldn't call you strange," I whisper, breaking away for our silent conversation. "Perhaps unique is a better word for you."

He barks out a soft laugh. "Sara, don't play naive. I am an assassin with no memory of his past, carrying around an enenra within my soul and taking part in winner-kills-all tournaments that most don't even know exist. I am not unique, Sara. Don't sugar-coat this."

I blush and bite my lip, embarrassed by my simple mistake. "Sorry."

His eyes soften as if he's smiling. "It's fine. I know you well enough that you were trying to take some of the indignity and pain away. I appreciate the gesture, but some scars will never fade, Sara, even with a Necromancer's help."

I nod and look away, embarrassed to the core. Of course he wouldn't consider himself unique. He sees himself as a monster, a fusion of two beings that should never be paired together. I see him as beautiful, powerful, forbidden. Something I should never touch but am hopelessly drawn to. He is impossible to resist, yet far too dangerous to become attached to.

Warm fingers touch my chin, sending a small bolt of lightening down my spine. I inhale sharply and turn back to face him, staring into those gorgeous dark eyes. 

"You're not in trouble, Sara," he chides teasingly. "Just know that I am not as civilized and understanding as you are. Neither of us pays much attention to society's rules or expectations, so don't be surprised if we seem more hostile and defensive than you might be." 

I smile weakly, knowing exactly what he's talking about. As an assassin-enenra mix, Smoke has no use for the laws of man or physics. If he wants to kill a man by twisting his spine around, then dissipate into a mist cloud and move through walls to escape, he can. If Einstein or Newton had ever met Smoke, he would have lost his mind.