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.