From alt.games.mk Sat Jun 18 15:06:45 1994 Path: panix!zip.eecs.umich.edu!newsxfer.itd.umich.edu!gumby!yale!yale!yale.edu!xlink.net!nntp.gmd.de!Germany.EU.net!EU.net!uunet!news.delphi.com!usenet From: Stephen Karstensen Newsgroups: alt.games.mk Subject: The Tournament: an MK story Date: Sat, 18 Jun 94 02:49:49 -0500 Organization: Delphi (info@delphi.com email, 800-695-4005 voice) Lines: 333 Message-ID: NNTP-Posting-Host: bos1d.delphi.com This is a bit of fanfiction about the ORIGINAL MK Tournament. Comments welcome. Check out Trial by Fire, and coming soon.. Outworld: The Tournament Continues. The Tournament The muscular warrior's fist collided with his enemy's jaw, and the young black belt staggered back. The muscular one paused to flex, his thin Fu Manchu moustance hanging low over his chin. The throng of shaven-headed monks nodded in approval under the warm eastern sun, and the muscular one turned to the ancient judge, seated on his carved throne hi gh above the two participants, distant from the combat on its stone platform above the wooden bleachers surrounding the courtyard. The muscular one turned back to his foe, waiting only a moment as the judge nodded imperceptibly. Bounding toward the fallen and reeling loser, the muscular one gripped him with both hands, one on each forearm, his grip like a steel vice. All eyes were on the two combatants. The beaten man suddenly jerked in the victor's grasp, and a light mist surrounded his body, his eyes bulging from their sockets, mouth working like a fish out of water. The mist coalesced above his head, then app eared to be sucked forward, as smoke into a vacuum cleaner. The mist flowed into the muscular one's forehead, his face split in a wide grin as the loser crumpled in his arms. The muscular one threw the dead man to the ground, revelling in the shocked silence of the assembled spectators. Most satisfying of all, the judge's eyes seemed to register more than shock....or even fear. It was utter terror. The figure dropped to the ground, making only the barest of a whisper as it padded silently through the shadows. Up ahead, a man in a coat was pulling the main door of his shop closed and locking it. The man turned, and started as, where there had been only an empty sidewalk, there was now a figure cloaked in shadow. Before he could scream, a forearm struck his chin, slamming him up against the glass door, and covering his mouth, silencing any sound. "You should never have crossed paths with the Lin Kuei." The voice was deep, brutal yet elegantly sophisticated, cold yet entrancing. "It was a mistake. Your last." There was a brief pause, and the figure took in the man's eyes..glittering in the streetlights, but wild with fear. Then, the man's body was through the glass door, the sound of glass breaking echoing through the empty shop. The figure was gone as quietly as it had come, and the man lay dead, his nose crumpled inward, blood streaming from both nostrils, nasal bone driven into his brain. "HAIIII!" The fighter seemed to glide forward on one foot, his path blurring behind him, other foot outstretched in a powerful kick. It stopped a mere inch in front of his foe's face, the young thug frozen in fear. "I could have killed you there, pal." His tone was annoyingly arrogant. "Stop messin' with me and my family." "CUT! That's a good one!" The director stood up, waving to the technicians and attendants bustling around him. "We break for lunch! Be back at 1." The actor frozen in the kick relaxed. The thug brushed himself off. "Damn, Johnny. That was a little too close." "Calm down, Bill." The kicker shoved him lightly on the shoulder before hopping down off the set, a mock barroom setting. "I wouldn't hurt you. I'm too good for that." Bill shook his head as Johnny Cage left the set, immediately flanked by six agents. "I really hate that asshole." "Johnny, I need you to sign..." "That action figure line for Sudden Violence.." "Dragon Fist III's contracts are waiting in your..." "Johnny, about your new..." "Johnny..." "Johnny..." "The tournament.." Johnny Cage stopped. "Quiet!" Silence. "Now, what did you say?" He looked directly at the last speaker. "I said, you got a letter about the tournament." "You. You. You. You. You. You." Johnny rapid-firedly pointed out all but the last agent. "Get lost." They disappeared, leaving Cage alone with the short, balding man. "I said, you've been accepted. I made your arrangements, booked your flight, and got everything you'll need. Your plane leaves tommorow morning." "Good." Cage nodded in approval. "When I win the Shaolin Tournament, nobody will ever doubt my fighting skill again." "Not to mention the publicity!" The bald guy finished, as they both began to walk toward the studio cafeteria. He stopped to gesture in the air, pointing out imaginary marquee lights. "Johnny Cage, Grand Champion of the Shaolin, starring in..Dragon Fi st III!" As they approached the double doors of the cafeteria, Johnny suddenly stopped. "Halt the filming after lunch. I need to train." The bald guy gave him a puzzled look. "Are you insane? You're already in top shape...an extra half a day won't matter. Besides, from what I hear, you're already three weeks behind on the movie." "Trust me, I gotta train more." "But Stilson'll throw a fit!" Cage laughed. "Fuck Stilson. If I want to take the day off, I will. I'm Johnny Cage, damn it." "All right you morons, quiet!" The grizzled old man banged the tabletop with the butt of his .45 automatic. When the crowd seated in front of him finally settled down, he turned to the huge tapestry of a black, coiled oriental dragon that covered the wall behind him. Standing there, his back to the throng assembled before him, was a stocky man in white. "We got stuff to discuss, an' our big man is here to say so." The crowd suddenly began to chant, a growing crescendo, as the figure turned. "You heard the man..shut the fuck up!" The figure's face came into view as he faced the mob. The left half of his head was covered in a plate of steel down to the upper lip. His left eye glowed an electric red, and his bushy beard jutted like spikes . "We got business to discuss..an' I jus' found out somethin' from K'ung Lo." He paused, letting them take this information in. "Anyone here know the name Shang Tsung?" His gleaming red eye swept the room, matching the cold glare in his living one. Nobody moved. "Shang Tsung was awarded the title of Grand Champion in K'ung Lo's Shaolin Tournament for the Martial Arts over five hundred years ago. He was beaten the next year by a Shaolin Monk named Kung Lao. Shang Tsung came back the next year and beat Lao ag ain." "Shang Tsung's palace is where the tournament's been held ever since..and I did a load of research on this. I've had my reasons..and it's paid off." Silence. "Tsung was a rich fucker. REAL rich. Nobody ever knew just how rich until recent. Turns out..the walls of that palace are twenty-four carat, three inch thick, solid freakin' gold!" Nothing. "We loot that place, and the Black Dragon gang will be set for the NEXT five centuries! This is IT! Our calling!" "And just how do you propose to get this place to yourself?" A scarred fellow with an eyepatch folded his arms and stood up. "Simple, asshole." The thug regarded him defiantly. "I'm only the best fighter this world's ever seen...and I hear anything goes in this tourney. I enter, I win...and we got our chance to move in. It's foolproof." "How do you figure you're gonna win?" The figure with the electric eye flicked his chin at one of the men stationed at each corner of the room, and that man quietly drew a gun, shooting the thug in the back. His face hit the hardwood floor with a sickening thud. "You sorry sacks of shit are either with me, or against me. You trusted me in the past..and it's made the Black Dragons the most feared gang in criminal circles ever! You trust me on this one, and we are SET. Who is with me?" Nobody spoke. The electric eye swept the room. Then, from the middle of the seated crowd, a chant rose up, at first a single voice, then more joining in until the roof threatened to come down from the volume. "Kano... Kano... KANO... KANO... KANO!!!" The ancient figure bowed his head, his blue silk robes fluttering in the night's breeze. A storm was coming, and the time was right. He lifted his arms to the swollen, violent clouds. Lightning struck, lighting up the darkened heavens for a moment. The thunder deafened, but an ancient, wizened voice rose above the din with strength. "Heavens pull forth, split to my command..I summon you, Lord of Lightning, Master of the Rain...come to me!" The clouds lit as a thick, deep voice rolled in response. "Who summons?" "I need no introduction...come to earth and speak to me face to face!" "To strike you dead where you stand would be trivial," The thunder-voice replied. "Why do you disturb me?" "You cannot harm me, for my mastery of magic exceeds yours...Raiden, God of Thunder and Lightning...harken to my call!" The clouds clashed, and the rain fell as if the very sky had been torn open, drenching the ancient figure to the bone. The wind picked up, speeding to a hurricane velocity. Thunder and lightning clashed, cracked..and a forked azure bolt struck the g round a few hundred yards away, exploding dirt and debris in a thick shower. The smoke cleared, and where the lightning struck, a glowing form appeared. Clad in loose white clothing consisting of baggy pants, high, soft boots, a formless, long-sleeved jacket, and a wide, disc-shaped hat of woven straw. Eyes glowed purple, an d the entire humanoid form was outlined in an electric blue. "You do not unnerve me in the least..what do you wish?" "I offer you a personal invitation, Raiden.." the ancient one shielded himself against the wind, seeking secure footing, but otherwise unperturbed. "You are currently the lowest member of the Celestial Bureauracy...not taken seriously in the least by your peers among the Pantheon..regain your status by taking part in the Tournament." "Why should defeating a group of mere mortals cause acceptance?" Raiden's face was cold, brutal. "I am a God!" "But considered as little more than mortal by your fellow dieties..an insult!" Raiden lifted his head to follow a storm cloud's progress. "Or are you afraid that you would lose to one of these...mortals?" "I fear no man...divine or mortal." "Then accept my invitation, Raiden..enter the tournament." "I will accept your invitation," Raiden lowered his gaze to meet the eyes of the ancient one. "But I warn you that to meddle in the affairs of Gods brings great risk. Are you willing to accept such responsibility?" The ancient one nodded, slowly. "I am." Soft, oriental music filled the air, but the meditating man gazing into the flickering candle took little notice. He closed his eyes, bowing his head once more. "Your time has come, young master." The ancient voice from the doorway caused him to look up. The ancient, bald monk bowed to him, then stepped to one side. The young man stood, resembling the older monk little in his white sneakers, baggy black sweats, and bare chest. He stretched, then followed the old man out into the main chamber. The setting sun cast a glow over the meadow, but he did not see this, for his attention was focused on the assembly of the ancients, seated near the altar. He dropped to one knee, quickly. The ancient monk who had brought him here turned to touch the top of his black-haired head lightly. "Rise, for today you take your oath." He stood. "We, the assembled wise men of the White Lotus Society, have thought long on our choice of who to represent us in the Tournament of Shaolin." He said nothing, but merely stood, his fierce gaze sweeping the throng respectively. "Our choice must be the most honorable and pure of our fighting monks...one who has proven both master of mind and body." "You are the youngest of our members, and sometimes rash and impatient, yet strong in your beliefs. You may in time learn wisdom, but your skill is unsurpassed, and you have the promise of a true master. You have been sworn in as a White Lotus..do y ou accept the charge to represent us in the Tournament, and to restore its former purity?" Liu Kang nodded. "I do." "You have told me of what you desire...and yet little has been said of compensation." The figure in shadow rolled the parchment into a tube, then tossed it back on the desk. The dimly lit office bore heavy oriental influence, down to the gold dragon statuettes on the heavy oak desk. "You will be paid, Master." The Chinese man in the blue business suit tapped his pen on the desk blotter. "I have already stated that." "Yes, but this...request carries great difficulty, and adequate risk. I know from the past that you are not one to back off on payment, Mr. Wu, but what are you prepared to offer in return for this?" "I offer you enough money to retire from your dangerous profession in complete security and comfort." "So you say." "I am willing to give you any price you name." "To get close to him would require entering the Tournament." "If you say so." "Six billion. Half now, half upon completion." "You drive a hard bargain, Master." "I am the best." "Then prove it." Mr. Wu slid the rolled parchment back across the desk to where his negotiator was barely visible in the dim glow from the single desk lamp. A hand reached out of the darkness, bare except for a padded guard and forearm brace, studded with small metal spikes. It unrolled the contract, and gestured for the pen. "I accept your offer, Mr. Wu..and I will complete this assignment or die in the attempt." The pen swept across the contract's bottom, spelling out the word SUB-ZERO. "Lieutenant Blade...I've got a fix. He's moving." Major Briggs fixed his headset as Sonya approached. "What went on in there?" "No idea, but Kano's heading down to the docks." "Alert Stimmet, and tell him it's time. We gotta get him isolated or we'll have the entire Gang on our butts." "Right." The frogman bobbed up out of the water, nearly invisible in the cloak of night. A stocky man in white jumped from the pier to a waiting yacht, then disappeared belowdeck. The frogman swam silently to the side of the ship, then clamped himself to the hull with two magnetic grips. The boat started to move, and he braced himself. Hours passed, but soon it was morning. The yacht bumped against a sandy shore, and the man in white jumped to the beach, then headed into the jungle. The frogman unclamped one hand, bringing a waterproof wrist radio up to his mouth. "Sonya. Kano's left the ship. Trace my signal." "We're following you already." Sonya's voice replied. "That bastard isn't getting away from us this time." SHWACK! Sonya hacked through the thick jungle with her machete, pausing every now and then to follow the man in white with her binoculars. She was sure he was alone..and unaware of their following him. "Jim?" Sonya turned and hissed at her men. "Jim? He's heading into a clearing. Try and circle-" She stopped. There was nobody behind her. Strange..her entire company was no less than ten feet behind a few minutes ago. She shook her head, then turned back to track Kano again. Shit! Sonya whispered a curse as the contents of the clearing became evident..a huge palace of definite Asian architecture. It was surrounded by a high stone wall, but the main building was visible above the iron gate. Kano was nonchalantly walking through the gate, which was open. A guard flanked each side of the gate, wearing what looked like silk robes of flecked gold pattern, and star-shaped metal helmets which resembled fox heads. They bore long spears of a black metal, and nodded to Kano as h e entered. Sonya considered just what she was going to do at this point, then reached toward her handgun, which was in a holster at her hip. It wasn't there. She looked down in surprise at her empty holster. "What the hell?" She quickly raised her arms as the sharp metal point of a spear poked her between the shoulder blades. The pain in his head had subsided by now, and the voices had told him he would be able to strike back. They told him they were his friends, and that they could give him the power to pay back the one who did this to him. The darkness subsided, giving way to a wall of flame in front of a deep red background. A deep, resonant chanting began, building to a deafening volume, then out of the red an image rose...a gleaming grey skull...the flames visible in its eye sockets , its gaping maw of a mouth pitch black. "You want revenge..and we want the soul of a cold-blooded murderer...you will return to the world above, and bring him to us!" He fell to his knees, shivering in his nakedness despite the roaring fires. The ground beneath him was hard and rocky. The chants were rhythmic and resonating, and he clamped his eyes shut. He did not want revenge..he wanted to live! He looked at his hands, clutching at the rocky earth in fear. They were outlined in a glowing yellow light, and he cried out. "We will give you the power..the strength..you will be a warrior...enter the Tournament and seek your murderer..kill him...avenge your death!" A calm stole over him, suddenly, and he rose to his feet slowly. "You will owe us nothing in return...for you will have what you desire..life..and we will have what we desire..the soul of Sub-Zero!" He said nothing, but merely lifted his arms to gaze at them in wonder. They were muscular now, and his forearms bore black leather guards, studded with metal spikes. Grasped in them was a gleaming, sharpened spearhead, linked to a thin coil of rope. The spearhead reflected the fire with an eerie light. His eyes narrowed in a mixed pleasure and anticipation. The voices merged into one..deep, harsh, and compelling. "Arise...SCORPION."