M x M insinuation/light lime - there are hints of a relationship in here, but not graphic.

Swearing - there is strong language in this chapter, but not oozing with it.

Violence/ adult themes/ disturbing content - this chapter has ALL THREE. Please be aware there are strong hints of rape and murder.

Disclaimer: I do not own MK and I don't make any profit. Crap.

Well, I was going to put this on hiatus, but then got the bug to write again, so...here we are. It's been a while since I've visited the MK fandom, but I hope this chapter lives up to your expectations.

Hint: today's word is hubris!

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"Goddammit."

Sub-Zero squinted at the sky, eyes like polished oak. Natasha spared him a shy glance and pressed her red face back into harvesting rice. She looked ridiculous, too blond and too out of place to be at ease. One might as well plant an orchid with grass and call it a garden.

He grunted in displeasure, but said nothing more. It was a cool, windy day that strengthened him and gave his element power in such an unaccommodating realm, but it also served to send him into violent fits of awareness. Though well trained in the Lin Kuei arts, he found it difficult to focus on simple human tasks with his powers rousing out of dormancy, unbidden and unbridled.

Sub-Zero sighed heavily and watched Natasha run her hands through the glittering water in her rice paddy. It was sheer whimsy, he had no need to grow his own food, but it gave him a certain independence from the clan. He listened to the constant symphony of birds and insects. It was nice to leave the hidden Lin Kuei city for something less…treacherous.

The moist, quiet air pressed down around him. He started his kata restlessly. He had been learning a new technique as of late, though it was scorned by others. It was the only European martial art he had encountered so far. It was called savate; a supple art, driven by grace and technique rather than power and ability. Swiftness and judgement shaped the pillars of its form. Sub-Zero pummelled the air as Natasha looked to her rice.

Though it was with great hesitation, he infused savate with his own personal kori technique. His Ice responded eagerly, almost untameable, and had it been raining, its surging, tingling insistence would have driven Sub-Zero mad. He used a defenceless stalk of bamboo as target practise. The air stilled, balancing itself as he tapped into its feral rhythms. His skin prickled. When he looked down his arms were tinged a cyanotic blue. It was difficult to summon his element. To unleash it meant to do so without restraint.

Ice crackled from his open palms. The bamboo groaned as it was frozen solid and its supple stalk shattered under its own weight.

Natasha shrieked and fell into the muddy water. Sub-Zero felt a mix of amusement and pity as she lifted herself up on her elbows, drenched in dirty water, pretty blond hair tangled and wet. She coughed violently and looked at him, too loyal to accuse him outright, but her anger was clear.

"Shall I warn you next time?" He asked dryly.

"Yes please," she replied carefully, voice tightly controlled.

A mask could conceal many things, and Sub-Zero was glad it hid the smile creeping on his lips. "Well, then," he muttered, and managed to appear dignified as he offered her coat, ill-made and badly aged. Natasha ripped it from his hand.

"Thank you," she bowed a little, and wrapped it around her damp shoulders. "I—ah, ahhh!"

Sub-Zero had known Natasha to be sensitive, but never excitable, and he watched with unabashed astonishment as she exploded from the shallow water and slapped at her calves, hands frantic, her freshly picked crop flying all over the ground. He crossed his arms and waited for the spell to pass, too surprised to intervene.

"What are you doing?" He willed his voice into calmness. It had the desired effect, and Natasha ceased her odd dance but her big vine-coloured eyes were full of fear. She looked embarrassed and nauseous, but set her jaw and pointed to her right leg, just below the knee, where her dress and boot failed to meet and pale skin lay exposed to the sun.

And there, quite happily seated on that pale skin, was a big fat leech.

He simply looked at her.

Natasha returned his gaze, hair wet and in disarray. "I want it off," she whispered, and tensed her right leg, afraid the leech would suck her dry that instant.

Sub-Zero hesitated, but his restlessness had eased. He shrugged his shoulders. "Well, then," he repeated and motioned her to sit on the bank.

"Yes, sir." She bowed her head and curled on the damp grass, eyes downcast.

The assassin walked to her side and crouched beside her. It was a long time since he had approached anyone without the intention of killing them. It was an odd thought and he pushed it aside for later examination. The day was still testing his control and he was careful to suppress the urge to flex his hands, still blue from practise. He glanced at her face, saw how she trembled, whether from their proximity or the leech stuck to her knee, he couldn't tell, but he felt no pity. He couldn't now, so close. She'd see it in his eyes.

"Does it hurt?"

"Mmm?" He squinted at the leech. It was a deceptively difficult task, requiring a restraint he hadn't been expecting. The tiny black body wriggled along its perch as Natasha's hands skittered from one side of her knee to the other. Had he been in a better mood it would have been funny.

She nodded towards his hands as they approached her tiny assailant. "When you use your powers, does it hurt you?"

"Sometimes," he muttered absently and stabbed the leech with his finger. The poor creature flopped from its perch. It hardened on the ground, coated with a pretty veil of ice before it ceased to move. Sub-Zero had watched people die the same way. Hadrian had amused himself with that tactic, but it required considerable strength to permeate one's enemy so completely. Though seventy-five percent of the human body was composed of water, it was inflexible, locked in the flesh, and it was difficult to manipulate for any amount of time. And, as was typical in the Lin Kuei, not every foe was human.

Natasha followed his glance. She remained silent, but her shivering lessened with Sub-Zero's proximity. His elemental nature served to draw the cold from her. She said nothing as his breath condensed in the air and settled on his mask.

"Bah!" Sub-Zero rubbed his mempo. Some ice came off, but most remained fixed on his mask and threatened to close over its slits. He stood up and turned away towards the water. "Goddammit," he muttered again.

Natasha didn't flinch. She inhaled deeply, lips quivering, and gave his shoulders a candid glance. "Sir…if you don't mind me asking," she stood up and surveyed her ruined crop, "is it true—the…well, the madness? Does it really affect your…the warriors?" Your kind was too alien.

"Yes." He glanced over his shoulder. She blushed at his amusement. "They grow too powerful and too far-reaching. It's difficult to come back after tasting that sort of power." He studied her face, eyes glittering. "Why do you ask?"

She bowed her head, more out of habit then fear, and the secretive veil of hair drew across her expression. When the silence stretched, unwavering, expectant, she looked at him and shrugged. "You just seemed preoccupied and the others began waggling their tongues." This time she did look afraid, but at Sub-Zero's arched brow, she pushed on, defiant and terrified. "I simply wanted to know." She pointed to his mask, now coated by a transparent glaze. "You've never done that before, sir."

"Stop calling me that." He gestured towards the rice. "You can salvage more, if you like."

Natasha spared him a frank look. "It doesn't matter, now." She was a timid thing, but her ability to say what she wasn't saying shook Sub-Zero's natural self-assurance. "Shall we go?"

Sub-Zero spared her a penetrating glance. She had set him off kilter and all the hair in the world couldn't hide the triumphant flush in her cheeks. He scowled behind his mask and looked at the bevelled sky, a watery mix of faded yellows and blues. There was ice somewhere, high above where he stood, hidden in the air, but he could feel it reverberate behind his eyes. It was frightening to imagine a flex of will could bring it all crashing down. The elusive Coldness from that night surged again, and he quickly thrust those thoughts aside. Bringing down the sky was work best left to gods.

"Alright," he muttered.

She nodded and stepped towards the path winding through the forest. Her steps were clumsy, off-balanced, and poorly placed. Sub-Zero watched her fumble and felt the most unexpected surge of contentment. Her helpless fury put him at ease. Treachery would assail him from many sides once he claimed the title of grandmaster, but not this side. Not Natasha. He watched her blond hair fly as she wobbled precariously from foot to foot, but he didn't help her. She had precious little pride as it was. He simply trailed after her and offered an unobtrusive hand when mud or roots or sheer clumsiness threatened to send her tumbling. Sometimes his hand was ignored, sometimes it was not.

"What helps…ah—oof!"

Sub-Zero looked at her wobbling back. "What?"

A green eye peeked over her shoulder. "What helps? The madness, I mean. What helps keep it away?"

He frowned, but answered her honestly. "There really isn't a cure. I suppose focus helps."

"Meditation?"

"No," he caught her before she fell, but was gently pushed away. "Focusing on solid things. Normal things, I suppose."

"Salvation lies in the routine."

Sub-Zero stared at her. "Err, what?"

She stopped her march and glanced at him, blond hair crisscrossed with shadows from the canopy. "My papa used to say that. He was a painter." She gave him an enigmatic glance. He noticed she looked very pretty that way, in the classical sense, like a Mona Lisa. There was an immortalized vividness in her shape and expression. Perfect simplicity.

"I didn't know you painted."

"I wasn't a painter," she murmured and waved her hand in a surprisingly callous gesture. "I used to write books. I was well known in Vienna by the time I was kidnapped." Her green eyes stilled at the memory. "Now I'm here, and it doesn't matter."

"But you said you couldn't read."

"I lied." Natasha blushed at his astonishment and the confident artist façade faded. She gazed at her feet. "I…I was mad at them. And scared, too. I didn't want any responsibility. I was used to living on my own." She gave him a supplicating glance. "Housekeeping isn't that hard. And they didn't bother checking. They didn't…." Suppressed emotion reddened her eyes and face. "They just said I was pretty."

Sub-Zero knew her rage. He had seen it in others, too. The indignation of being uprooted from an independent lifestyle with careers, goals, and families in favour of a thousand year old ideal was a secret contempt that permeated the clan. It wasn't easy to regress from being lauded to a piece of meat.

"I might…." She looked ahead, shoulders curled upon her chest. "I can help."

He shrugged and urged her forward with a tap. She obeyed and continued the trek back to their home, her head low, hands clenched at her heart. He glanced sharply over his shoulder, struck by a sudden chill of foreboding. Natasha's delicate courage had aroused his paranoia and he scoured their surroundings for any signs of the unnatural, but Scorpion was nowhere in sight. The effort reminded him of his mask and he brushed ice away with annoyance.

"So," he nodded towards her meagre pickings, "what will you do?"

Her back was to him, but the slant of her shoulders was familiar. "Maybe a quick dessert." The pursed lips were in her voice, and Sub-Zero hid a grin. "Will you have company, again?"

Company meant a variety of things. Smoke or Maelstrom or other pests unworthy of her culinary expertise. He summoned the appropriate tone of solemnity. "I'm expecting no one else. Smoke perhaps. He follows his own rhythm." Freeloading shit that he was.

Natasha's shoulders adopted sharply angled criticism. "There isn't enough."

It had become her petty pleasure to thwart Smoke when he appeared unannounced and uninvited—his lack of formality offensive to her pristine upbringing. "He will have to be satisfied with something else." Her disapproval was a palpable sourness in the air and he gazed at her, noting the balance of power.

The poor bugger wouldn't know what hit him.

"Well, if it comes to that he'll just have to make do." She glanced at his tone, and hid a reddening smile beneath her hair.

"Yes," she murmured, and swung her basket, the image of Heidi. Her body seemed to unravel with that single gesture, and her full height swayed in the speckled light like wheat in a breeze. "Oh, I forgot my jacket." She paused, basket swinging, and her eyes blended with the soft bamboo shades around them.

Sub-Zero had been hoping she wouldn't remember. "I'll go get it."

"I—wait." Her fingers grasped his shoulder. She bit her lip and clutched her basket with two-handed mortification. Her eyes darted from the ground to his face as the silence lengthened. "Er…I can find another jacket…it's old."

It had been a shocking connection. Sub-Zero felt breached, scraped open. He drew back and gazed at her pink little fingers. She was a woman, but the thing between them hadn't been lust. A crackle of something surged between them, unexpected, uninvited. It was, he dimly realized, purely human contact. The familiar touch between friends. When she had hugged him, it had been with relief—a fate avoided, but that casual touch…. Christ, nobody had done that since he had arrived. His brother had barely confided in him with words, never mind gestures. The cold prick.

He turned away, mortified himself. God, if it hadn't—if it wasn't such a cool day and if he wasn't so riled up, none of it would have mattered. Now he was angry and full of energy. Sub-Zero glared at his blue hands and clenched them into fists.

"I'm sorry." She peeked at him, expression genuine.

"No." He shrugged gruffly and focused on the helpless curiosity in her voice. "I just wasn't expecting that."

"Oh." Natasha glanced at her basket. She felt his need for isolation and stepped back, nervous hand thrust into her hair.

Sub-Zero scowled to himself. Hadrian was right, he was a wimp. "Natasha," he gestured down the path, "do you want it, or not?" He looked at her and saw the most profound look of understanding written on her face.

She lowered her head. "I…no, no I'm sure. I have another." Her blond hair fell protectively around her face. "Thanks, though." Her eyes darted to meet his and immediately shied away. He shared her discomfort, an odd sense of exposure. She fidgeted under his scrutiny like a nervous colt: all awkwardness and energy.

He heaved a sigh. "Alright," he gestured towards the path, "let's go."

"Mm." Natasha nodded and resumed her clumsy march. She tripped on the third step and had Sub-Zero not been there, she would have plunged into the slippery undergrowth. Her gratitude was a distracted squeak as her arms flailed about. He watched with amusement but offered no further aid. He merely trailed after her and the cacophony she created.

There was something soothing to her ill-grace. He felt at ease around her, calm. She was normal. He could destroy that. It was arrogant to use her as his canary, but in Lin Kuei business, it was either arrogance or anguish. There were worse fates than being a moral compass. Scorpion, he had no doubt, would attest to that. It would amuse the spectre to know his Lin Kuei pup mulled over his servants. He glanced around again, but the swaying trees were empty.

They came upon the Lin Kuei compound soon enough. It was more like a small city, its ornate streets encircled by a formidable wall and transformed the labyrinth of homes and nondescript buildings into a fortress. Sub-Zero was always surprised how ordinary things looked. There were plenty of indulgences to keep mutineers occupied: bakeries, cafes, movies, daily markets, even television, though it was strictly regulated. Yet for every Parisian pastry in the place, there was not one map. The archer's slits along the wall were filled with bright-eyed guards instead of tourists. Only the upper echelons of Lin Kuei society dealt in currency, everyone else had to barter. Things were cosmopolitan enough, if one didn't look too deeply. Everything held a bizarre mix of old and new.

It was rather like an onion, each level a crazed tangle of roads and alleys, but subtle indents in the streets marked where gates could slam shut. The compound was compartmentalized—dissected by an internal system of fortifications, and like all things Lin Kuei, once inside there was no leaving. It was odd to see people—some in uniform, others not—bustle about their daily business as they would in New York or Milan.

Sub-Zero took the lead and together they approached the southern gate with its furtive collection of Lin Kuei civvies watching passers by. The two on duty spared him wide-eyed glances and stood at attention as he went by. Smoke's words haunted him as he entered the compound and noted eyes turning in his direction, pulling at his skin, wanting to know his secrets. He glanced over his shoulder, and the guards gazed so blandly towards the crowds it was obvious how aware they were of his proximity. Natasha caught his gaze and glanced at the them, but she was merely a servant—a woman—and their eyes slid over her body.

Natasha lowered her head self-consciously, basket clasped against her belly like a shield. "Who were those men?" Her voice was low and sighing though they were out of earshot. They walked in the heart of Lin Kuei power. Even the air was listening.

"I don't know," he confessed, and strode down a labyrinthine series of back alleys that shaved ten minutes off their walk. It was dank and the streets askew with neglect, but even there eyes tracked his step. It was dubbed "Lady Luck Lane" by some sadistic shit. An apt name. In the five minutes it took to walk through the angled alleyways, you knew exactly how she felt about you.

Sub-Zero fought off a sense of entrapment and increased his pace, aware of Natasha's soft panting as she struggled to keep up. He glanced over his shoulder and she drew close to his flank. She didn't need to be warned twice. Any city, even the façade of one, had its criminal element, and Natasha was far too foreign looking to slide beneath temptation. There were those in the Lin Kuei who sought their own company despite the clan's disapproval, and there were the rebels, radicals, revolutionaries, disenchanted, or simply demented. Every carnivorous element of Lin Kuei society lurked in the alleys where it was difficult (and expensive) to eradicate them. The old city was twisted and narrow, easily confusing those who didn't live there. No initiate, civilian, servant, or Arch Assassin was safe here.

But he was Sub-Zero.

He wasn't safe, he was invincible. The colours on his uniform provided an impenetrable shield, and for once he could fathom why Hadrian was so proud with his place. Any other Arch Assassin walking alone would have made a tempting target, but his legacy was made of larger things than money and murder.

Who would cross a man who had brushed elbows with Raiden and Shao Khan? Even as he passed by a small grey house—an infamous stronghold for every illegal activity within the clan—whispers suddenly ceased, and he stared at the moist sheen of eyes behind its small, dusty panes. No one stood in his way.

The narrow alley suddenly veered left and widened between two buildings to provide a slim view of their destination: the wealthiest part of the Lin Kuei metropolis. Natasha sobbed with relief when they stepped into the open air again, and the silent hostility of Lady Luck Lane faded. He glanced at her bent form and knew there was a story she wasn't telling him, and perhaps it was best left unsaid. In the open he dared not offer comfort, but he eased his pace and allowed her time to recover. She was naked without her tattered jacket, all her exotic angles exposed and vulnerable. There was none of Maelstrom's confident sexuality in her. None of the hardness. That basket hung heavily between her hands, burdened by some invisible weight.

The prestigious section of Lin Kuei territory rose from streets and apartments into great estates, each with an independent security detachment. Only Arch Assassins and high-ranking officials called it home. The grandmaster himself lived among those tranquil gardens. From their vantage point the entire sprawl of wealth and opulence glittered in the hillside, majestic and completely out of place. He would always think of celebrities when he walked the ascending road. Hadrian had always gazed upon it with jealously, back when they had been initiates. His eyes had absorbed all the power before him in one furious moment. It had been the only time his brother had wept.

Sub-Zero realized he was standing still. "C'mon, then." He bent his head and began the gradual ascension towards his home, deeply nestled at the road's end. Natasha said nothing but her curiosity was a palpable thing. Her footsteps became clumsy and casual again, and once the road had bent out of plain sight, she fell into stride. There was a false sense of peace, but fallacy was a step ahead of nothing so Sub-Zero let the sunny skies and chirping birds put a bounce in his step.

The narrow road slithered up the hillside and meandered around fields and gardens. He watched trees sway in a faint breeze. One dark shape was still among the sway of many, out of sync with sun-softened shadows. His good mood instantly withered.

"Stop," he commanded and held out his hand. Natasha looked at him in confusion. "Wait here."

The shadow was absolutely still, at odds with the life swaying all around. It was a man. He could tell by the breadth of the shoulders. Sub-Zero raised his arms as he stepped closer to the ditch and drew humid air to his skin. The shadow suddenly came to life, bristling as he approached the tree line.

"Who are you?" Sub-Zero demanded. "Come out where I can see you!"

To his surprise the shadow obeyed. Natasha stiffened behind him, her thin sandals scraping against the manicured gravel. She smelled like sweat and fresh earth.

Scorpion emerged from the shadows. Even in broad daylight he looked ghastly, his bloodless flesh stark against his yellow uniform. Smoke was limp in his arms, head lolling, expression blank. Sub-Zero felt his innards clench in embarrassment and fear. Natasha's fingernails dug into his arm.

"Jesus fucking Christ," she said, and meant it.

"What are you doing here?" Sub-Zero demanded churlishly, though he was secretly reeling.

Scorpion bent down by the roadside and laid Smoke on the manicured gravel. He straightened, his midsection stiff with drying blood. "Curb your tongue," he rasped. "I saved him."

Natasha moved first. She squeezed Sub-Zero's muscular arm for comfort before stepping timidly into the chasm between the two. She kneeled beside Smoke and laid her hand against his forehead, then watched Sub-Zero and Scorpion from the corner of her eye. The spectre's over-mantle matched her wind-blown hair.

Natasha quickly looked away. Her hands gingerly swept over Smoke's uniform, peeking between the unyielding angles of his uniform for a glimpse of the soft flesh underneath. Even from his vantage point, Sub-Zero could see underneath Smoke's Celt-white skin was slick with blood. His face was relaxed and ashen, but he was still breathing. Natasha spread her fingers over his mask, feeling the air move around them, before calmly moving to one side and vomiting on the road.

"Ugh, Jesus." Sub-Zero grimaced and looked away, roiling with discomfort and wariness.

Scorpion's eyes suddenly landed on him. They were filled with such malevolence it was like a physical blow. The air was suddenly cold and prickling. Sub-Zero felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end and stepped towards Natasha and Smoke. Her thin shoulders trembled, but she abruptly straightened, her hand stray hairs behind her ear. Blood gleamed in dark trails across her cheek and neck, unnoticed.

"She will be fine," Scorpion hissed impatiently, stepping closer. "There is something you must see."

"Yes." Natasha looked over her shoulder, terrifyingly calm. "I will see to him."

"But…."

"Hush," she spoke very softly. "Everything will be fine. Everything will be alright."

Sub-Zero frowned. What the fuck did that mean? He regarded both warily, but he was given no time to think things through.

"Now."

Scorpion's warm dead hand clamped around his elbow. There was a painful pricking at the contact, and Sub-Zero suddenly felt faint. He regarded Natasha as if he had never seen her before, but her head had already turned away. She leaned over Smoke and spoke to his slack expression as if he was talking back. The arch of her spine looked vulnerable, brittle. There was a terrible composure descending over her. Shock.

It was the last thing Sub-Zero saw before the world blurred, became a dizzying swirl of colour. He flailed drunkenly as the earth under his feet disintegrated without his permission. They were teleporting. Christ.

Gravity and sense reasserted themselves as quickly as they had fled. Suddenly they were standing in a different place with different light, smells, and sounds. He had to shift his weight to avoid overbalancing on a hill that hadn't been there before. Sub-Zero wobbled, feeling weak, and was acutely aware of Scorpion behind him. The spectre let him sink to the ground and kneeled behind him, muscled arm gently wrapping around his neck.

"Oh God, I…" Sub-Zero closed his eyes and swallowed thickly, "I don't feel good."

"No?" There was a cold laugh. "I don't suppose you would."

"Whuh?"

A dagger as slim and sharp as a needle was thrust into Sub-Zero's line of sight. He stared at it, wincing as the sun reflected off of its polished edge. There was blood on its tip, but it was a maroon-grey colour, as if it had mixed with something else.

"It's an old Shirai Ryu secret. Our best."

It was so hard to think. Hard to tell where he ended and the earth began. Was he melting?

"Didjyu poison me?" He slurred, fighting the overwhelming urge to lean back on Scorpion's shoulder.

"Don't sound so frightened." Scorpion's fingers clasped Sub-Zero's mask and forced him to look straight ahead. There was a house. People. Lots of movement and wild colours. The ninja's harsh breath rasped against his ear.

"Why are you doin this?"

Hard to breathe. Speak. Think. Heart timing everything. Thuh-thump thuh-thump thuh-thump.

Scorpion's cheek pressed against his. "I know what you did," he rasped quietly. "I saw their bodies." His mask pressed against the soft curve of Sub-Zero's ear. "Do you wish to know how your brother died?"

"Stuh…stop it. I didn't—I don't…."

"He didn't have your talent, you see." Scorpion leaned back, exhaling thoughtfully. "He could not deceive others half as well, or kill with such duplicity. He was very straight-forward, very upfront about his work." Cold laughter like a mountain wind. "I miss it, now."

So much noise. Couldn't think. Screaming. People screaming.

"Spare me, he said."

Was that his house? No….

"He begged me. On his knees, completely at my mercy. Like I had been, years before."

But it was his house. He recognized it. People running. In red and black uniforms. In blue and black. The reds were winning. Desperate faces everywhere. Lots of ragged, animal-like sounds. "No" and "Oh, God" rose to the sky in a gravelly swirl.

"I was full of hate, but I was going to spare him. Did you know that? I would have spared him, as he had not spared me."

There was a woman in blue splayed under a man in red. Rabid. Probably the first woman he'd had in years. Screaming. Others in red all around, watching, waiting.

"But he looked into my eyes, and I knew he would kill again. I still had a wife and child to protect. So, I slit his throat. He cried like a babe. It was a shameful death."

It was raining. His face was wet. His hands ached.

A man in blue fighting a man in red, didn't see another man approaching from behind until it was too late. Two flashing blades and the blue man fell to the ground, vanishing beneath a flurry of kicks and punches. Savage. A sharp crack echoed against the hills. Guns.

"Don't worry. I will spare you. I spared your grandmaster, too, when he came marching up here for an answer. He thinks you have abandoned him to search for your brother. He's afraid you'll tell his secrets. Was I wrong to show mercy?"

Everything was so bright. Sharp. Stung his eyes, made his temples ache. Made everything ache. The world stopped making sense. He averted his face, went away from all the ugliness.

"No!" Fingernails dug into his throat, forced his head up. "You will watch."

Sunlight fell in bright pools along the pathway. The light was warm where it hit him. Leaves flickered in the wind. Men and women and flames roaring down below. Blood rose thick and metallic on the air. He could see people lying around the courtyard. Most were wearing blue, but some were wearing red. All of them looked pale and still, staring blank-eyed into the distance.

Conrad stood in the middle of it, unashamed. His face was indistinct, but his shoulders were trembling. Laughing. He gestured to his men, urged them to pack things. Those bags by the corner wall. Riches. Money. Things. Taken by strangers down the road, some still covered in blood. In full view of the clan, uncaring of who might see them. They left the blank-eyed people behind. One bent down by the woman in blue. Jenny. Yes, her name was Jenny. From New York. Jenny from New York. The man grabbed her hair, watched her cry for a while, then made a quick motion. Jenny from New York tensed, gurgled, and lay still.

There was more. The grandmaster gloating, clapping his stiff-backed men on their shoulders, congratulating them, promising them glory. Funny.

One man—shining red, robotic, different—stepped into the courtyard. Slipping and sliding on the wet stonework. He waited until the long train of looters had had their fill before firing some sort of grenade, setting off an explosion. All of Hadrian's opinions, all of Hadrian's inner workings, burning. Like Hadrian was burning. Hell here, hell there. No escape.

They left quickly, vanishing down the path in a rowdy line, drunk with excitement. Some were laughing raucously, and the grandmaster let them. No blue. Only a line of carnivorous red uniforms; their voices receding slowly, lingering on the wind like the smoke below. His home must have burned for an hour, perhaps four. It felt longer. Years. Forever.

Things slowly became quiet again. Sunny and quiet. Scorpion held him still, warm dead fingers gently cradling his head.

"Look," he kept whispering. "Look."

---

Was that depressing or what? I listened to the 28 Days theme while I wrote the end. Aww.

I always wondered why Scorpion went back on his vow, and then after I played MK 4, why they were still enemies. I like how this turned out. The rivalry between Scorpion and the new Sub-Zero surpassed that of Scorpion and the original Sub-Zero, and it took a lot of brain-effort to figure out a way of accomplishing that without resorting to some serious deus ex machina. Hopefully it doesn't border on the melodramatic. Ugh.

Anyway, hope you enjoyed it. Catch you later...maybe.