Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

To the credit of his tickets, the flight was as calm as could be.

Johnny Cage had booked himself a nice seat up front in first class, gotten comfortable, and wasted zero time in popping on his headphones. The last thing he wanted right then was to carry a conversation with his depleted energy.

Hell, even signing an autograph would feel like an immesurable chore at that moment.

Never before had sitting on a plane felt so exhausting.

He supposed it had nothing to do with the process of sitting itself and everything to do with all the things that had happened. It had been days, he theoretically had time to recover, but fuck if it didn't absolutely suck.

As if there weren't way too few of them left, they had almost died too. It felt like every month there was a new freak wanting to take over Earth just to show off how powerful they were.

At least he could add "beat up an Elder God" to his already overflowing list of achievements. He would have considered making this into a movie if he didn't know very well that Sonya would at best never talk to him again and at worst bury him six feet under.

Oh what he wouldn't give to get her to join him in a movie. He leaned back on his seat, closing his eyes for a moment, and let himself imagine it.

That only got to last for a few blissful moments before the rain noises in his ears were rudely interrupted by the unmistakable sound of an incoming call.

He opened his eyes, frowning at he looked down at the offending screen. A voice call declared itself louder than he would have liked, and for a moment he regretted his choice to buy in-flight wi-fi.

But such was the life of such an important actor as him.

God, he sounded so full of himself like that. A worse thought was that he sounded like his dad. He cringed momentarily at the idea.

Right, the call. He picked up his phone, bringing it just close enough to let himself see who thought they were so important as to disrupt his limited rest- his agent. It was his agent. That was pretty important. Something that was made more important by his sudden realisation that he hadn't told anyone about his last minute, hurried trip to the temple.

Damn Raiden and his insistence to get as few people involved as possible.

He sat up straight on his seat and, after a second of mentally preparing himself, he accepted the call.

"Heeello?"

"You're an asshole, you know that, Cage?"

"Good to hear from you again too, Nick." He held himself back from letting out a laugh.

"There a reason you're not picking up? You just randomly disappeared and none of my calls went through. Damnit, man, I feared something had happened to you!"

"Sorry. I'm on a plane, getting back home." It was honest. "I was just visiting some colleagues. Work stuff, you know." That part wasn't.

Technically, if he stretched the meaning of his words a whole lot, it could be true. If "colleagues" could mean "guys I had to risk my life alongside" and "work" could mean "save the world". He chose not to drop the details on this one.

His agent let out a frustrated sigh, but he could tell there was some relief hanging in there.

"Next time you plan a trip, you're telling me in advance. No more of this. Promise?"

"Promise. Just an impromptu trip. Won't happen again."

He made himself more comfortable in his seat.

"But I'm guessing you didn't just call me for that?"

"It was partially to check on you, but while I have you here we might as well get back to business. I've got a flick for you."

He breathed out. God, that sounded so difficult at that moment. Just this once-
"I'll have to decline."

A moment of silence followed by an abrupt "what?"

He could barely believe he said it himself. He was desperate for a break, that was for sure, but being that desperate was rare.

"You never do that." His agent's disbelief was so clear people could probably sense it from outside the cabin. "Are you sick or something?"

"Honestly? I might be." Would that be a good excuse? "Might've caught something during the trip. Maybe even now on the plane."

He waited for another moment, the other clearly mulling over the new information before speaking up once more.

"I can get you lead role in this one."

His lips pressed into a thin line.

Fuck. He always knew how to hit where it hurt him.

"Listen, Cage, it's a good gig. I wouldn't be offering it to you otherwise. You haven't gotten a chance like this in a while."

Couldn't be a bad one if he was so insistent. And he'd be lying if he said he didn't miss being the protagonist, the star of the show. Even if it meant big script and long hours.

Now that he thought it through, maybe that was exactly what he needed. A movie to spend a long time on. To have to think about scripted stunts and fake, over-exaggerated violence, and not about tournaments, nor about Shinnok. Hollywood was a lot of bad things, but "world-ending" was not one of them.

He sunk in his seat in defeat.
"Fine. Details?"

He could tell Nick got excited at the win before the other even spoke up.

"Sending you everything right now. You've seen that there's a resurgence of superhero films, right? People love seeing charismatic magic guys win the day. Right up your alley."

A muted ding! assured him that he had, in fact, already gotten sent the details. They must've been prepared a long time before he even considered saying yes.

"I did notice." He hummed. "Some good ones have been releasing. What's with the change, though? Does Mickelson not find superheroes 'garbage shit for kids' anymore?"

A laugh echoed in his headphones.

"Oh, he does. But this isn't his project."

Subconsciously, he tilted his head, even though the agent couldn't see. Nick elaborated anyways.

"A producer we haven't seen around for a while came back to the scene. Apparently he was on some long tropical vacation, those kind of earthly meditation ones. Yearned to make another film. And between you and me, Cage? He's got cash."

"Loaded with an interest in superheroes. Your average eccentric dude, eh?"

"He's eccentric, you're eccentric, if you get along who cares?"

He raised his phone up to take a look at the screen, his eyes going over the information relayed before him in Nick's message. Lots of details all neatly organised together that he'd take a proper look at once he was back home.

For now, his eyes stopped at a name.

"Steven Grant? Think I've heard of him."

"You definitely have. He was quite a name a while ago. No clue why he ditched the stage, but if he's back, it must have not been worth it. It'll be smart to get on his good graces, cause if he stays he's a worthy investor."

"I'll look over the contract when I land." The screen decidedly made him dizzy, so he put it down and shut his eyes again. "When do we meet in person for the details?"

"I can do day after tomorrow since you're just arriving."

"That'd be perfect."

"Got it. Let me know when you land. Have a good flight, Cage. And for the love of God, don't disappear again."

"Ay ay, captain." It wasn't in his plans to make it a habit.

A beep marked the end of the call, and his ears were met with the artificial sound of rain once again. He let himself relax. Despite how tired he felt, the idea of being back made his skin buzz with anticipation. It made it easy to feel like nothing had changed.

But for now, the best thing he could do was rest. There was work awaiting him when he arrived, and he had to be fresh and ready for it.

Oddly enough, it felt good to be back.

Chapter Text

A hand clasped onto his shoulder, dragging him out of his half-asleep haze.

Who would've guessed a day wouldn't be enough. Thank God he had gotten some coffee.

Oh, right, he was being talked to. How long had Nick been blabbering about?

"Are you hearing me or are you just spaced out?"

"Both." He offered unhelpfully, holding onto the cup in his hands like a lifeline.

Nick let out a frustrated sigh for what felt like the twentieth time that day.

"Are you sure you're good to do the meeting? I can reschedule."

"Too late." He brushed his hair back with his free hand, making sure his sunglasses stayed in place. "We're already here. Come on, don't worry so much. I'm a natural."

"That's what worries me. Your natural charm."

Cage grinned. He may have been tired, but he was nothing if not an actor.

"After all, this is more an introduction than anything. Not like we're doing any serious work today."

"You should still make a good impression."

He rolled his eyes.

"I'll say it again since you clearly weren't listening. Figured out what brought our big guy back to the scene." His agent begun, and this time he made an effort to listen. "Apparently he got in an accident in a helicopter he was riding on. Got all sorts of bad scars from it. You notice anything, don't you dare point it out, got it?"

"You made it sound like it was gonna be something embarrassing."

"It's embarrassing to him, apparently." A shake of his head. "Don't bring it up. We don't wanna come off as too nosy and lose this, got it?"

"Got it." Another sip of coffee. "Wasn't planning on making a deal out of it anyways."

"Good." The hand was removed from his shoulder, and Nick stepped forward to open the door.

He straightened himself up, making sure he looked confident but not annoyingly so, and marched inside once the door was opened.

The room was comfortably populated. Some conversation was already ongoing between the group, although it seemed less professional and more a general attempt at small talk, so it didn't seem like they had missed anything important.

Their eyes landed on him at his entrance, whatever they were talking about cut short. He flashed them a grin, greetings being quickly exchanged with familiar faces.

But it was the unfamiliar one that caught his attention. Once the usual pleasantries were exchanged he found himself standing in front of the producer at last.

Steven Grant was a man in a fancy, well kept suit, carrying a practiced smile. Cage made a note that he was just slightly taller than him and in his mind cursed the idea of having to look up to his producer for the rest of the job.

He was also the one to initiate the conversation.
"Mister Cage. Pleased that you could make it. I was told you just recently returned to the US, I apologise for the short notice."

"Not a problem." He declared way more certainly than he felt about it. "Was just on vacation."

"I'm glad, then, that my invitation for you to join us wasn't a bother."

"Of course it wasn't." He put his hand out. "Great to meet you in person too. I've heard a lot about you."

Grant took it with a practiced smile. He felt the coarse fabric of bandages under his fingers as he shook the producer's hand. If there were scars elsewhere, they were either too well concealed, or wearing sunglasses inside was stopping him from noticing them.

Although he had taken a look through whatever he could find on the internet, Steven Grant still surprised him. He carried himself with a sort of confidence that wasn't unseen in the industry, but felt like it had something more lingering behind it. A certainty most who claimed themselves as successful didn't hold despite what they would say if asked.

The producer put his hands together once he let go, looking around to address the entire room.

"I fear we will have to keep this meeting short. Important business has come up in my personal life, I'm sure you understand."

There was a general mutter of agreement around the room.

"So, let's not waste any time and get right to it. Although I know the temptation to stick to the classics is great- it's what people seem to want after all, right? -we're here to plan something worth making."

With a nod, one of the assistants walked forth, papers practically overflowing in their arms. He made a motion towards all of them, leading the assistant to start handing them over. Cage took a quick look at the one he was handed and was met with the familiar formatting of a script draft.

"I want everyone to take a good look at the copy of the script they're given by the next time we meet." Grant's tone was just loud enough to catch everyone's attention. "Then I want to hear your thoughts. There's work to be done with this, and I'd love to hear your feedback. Also, for the actors, you'll find notes on the back about your characters."

He flipped the paper to find the man was in fact not lying. Neat.

He felt his phone buzz in his pocket, making a mental note to check it out once this was over.

"If you have something you think is important, you may contact my assistant and we can discuss it at an earlier date, but I doubt that will come up. Any questions?"

A woman raised her hand, an actress that Cage had worked with once before. It seemed, like him, she too couldn't escape going from one action film to another.

Grant nodded towards her.

"When's our next meeting?"

Another buzz. He wondered if that might have been something important.

"Right. Thank you for reminding me. Does Wednesday work for everyone?"

"Have an event to attend on Wednesday." Another person spoke up, one he had seen before but didn't really remember. He guessed the guy just wasn't memorable enough.

Grant narrowed his eyes for a moment, then returned to his comfortable smile.
"Thursday?"

"Thursday works."

The rest quickly agreed. Cage hadn't been back for long enough to arrange a schedule to begin with, so honestly Wednesday could've worked too, but he went with the flow and agreed with no hesitation.

Just like that, practically as quickly as it has begun, the meeting dispersed, Grant being the first to go with his eyes on the watch around his wrist. Nick hummed in contentment, joining Cage as the two of them made their way out.

"That went well."

"See?" He grinned once more. "I told you. You overthought it."

"Someone has to." The agent pointed out. "Balances us out."

Once he took the final step down the stairs, finally having exited to fresh air, he momentarily dragged his attention away from Nick to fish his phone out of his pocket.

He was met with two messages, perking up slightly at the contact name. Kenshi, of all people. He tapped on the notification, opening up their chat.

I'm in town are you bushy today?

B u s y

He snorted a bit. Voice messages seemed to hate that guy specifically. He quickly typed in a response.

just finished actually LOL. wanna meet up?

"We're done for today, right?" He realised probably a second too late that he hadn't asked.

"I suppose." His agent shrugged. "Would you like me to look over the script for you, or-"

"Nah, I've got it." He folded up the draft in probably worse shape than he should, attempting to make it fit in the pocket of his coat. "Gotta get into character, you know?"

Nick let out a quiet "alright" as his phone buzzed again.

No I tested you just because

Of course I do

He assumed that meant texted.

you had lunch? i got a place that has some banger pancakes

"That'll be all for today. Thanks man. Talk to you again later?"

"Call me if you need me." His agent gave him a thumbs up before leaving.

He turned to the screen again.

No I just arrived

Send location?

He took a moment to find the diner he had in mind, sharing the location to Kenshi before beginning to walk. He realised it wasn't too far from the office once he checked the map, and a bit of exercise couldn't hurt.

He received a response soon.

Your paying by the way

He snickered.

sure. lunch is on me B)

Chapter Text

The diner was rather small for his usual tastes.

Every once in a while, he liked to indulge in less extravagant locations. Places that were quieter, less populated, where he got no stares nor people talking to him. He saw them as a little break; a treat for him for getting through meetings and recitals and boring conversations. A moment of peace that he well deserved.

Hanging out with a friend felt like the perfect activity for one of these places, although he'd have to admit it had been a long time since he had gotten to do that. He had gone out to dinner with endless co-workers, producers, fellow actors, but it had never been anything more than a professional obligation, in lavish bars and clubs that blasted music loud enough to destroy his ears. This felt different, more personal.

He wasn't sure if he was allowed to call his relationship with Kenshi a friendship, exactly. The two of them knew eachother through combat and had gotten close through exclusively that. But the other man had gone to the trouble to ask him to hang out first, so that must've counted for something.

He took a deep breath, savouring the smells of the diner. Whatever cleaning product they had used for the freshly mopped floor. Brunch being made in the kitchen. And the unmistakable, overpowering scent of coffee.

He was thankful that nothing had changed.

There weren't many people present, just enough to keep busy, all either consumed by their conversations or the dishes in front of them. He went practically unnoticed as he walked past them, slipping his sunglasses off and to the top of his head, unnecessary now in an interior space.

It wasn't difficult to find what he was looking for. Kenshi had chosen a booth already, sat on one of the couches at the further end of the building, a white cane neatly folded up and sitting on the side of the table. He found himself agreeing; it was unarguably the best place to be.

Although it was odd to see Kenshi without his blindfold, the man's eyes were still kept hidden behind a pair of dark coloured glasses. He didn't blame him; being a walking nightlight would definitely attract attention.

He decided to see if he could sneak up on the other. He kept his steps short, yet deliberate, headed straight for his acquaintance.

"I'm glad you weren't late."

He stopped for a second, then let out a small laugh, seeing the other man grin as well.

"Damn. You clocked me so easily."

"I recognised your footsteps, Johnny." Kenshi hummed in satisfaction.

He slipped into the seat opposite him with relative ease, the couch cushy enough to let him get comfortable. Kenshi's eyes were set somewhere far away, at a point above his shoulder.

"No Sento today?" He tilted his head.

"Left them at the hotel room. They are not exactly easy to carry around without people staring." Kenshi shook his head. "Besides, they track souls only. They would not have been any more useful in a building full of furniture than this is." He tapped his cane.

"Seeing you without them is so weird. I think my brain sort of didn't even realise they could detach from you. Gotta say, I love the glasses look though."

The swordsman tipped his glasses slightly.
"Someone told me I look like a lawyer. No idea what that meant."

"No clue." Cage leaned back on his seat, letting himself stretch out. "So what's brought you over here? Vacation?"

"You could say that." His shoulders fell slightly, a clear sign that something more was going on.

He took a moment to think before hesitantly asking.
"Want to talk about it?"

"It's just..." Kenshi leaned his head on his hand, his mouth half buried in his palm. As if he didn't want to let himself say more than he wanted. "Home is a mess right now."

Ah. He sat properly, aiming to actually be attentive. Even if the other couldn't notice.

"There's a lot of bad things going on." He half-heartedly mumbled. "I suppose I am trying to escape them."

"As a fall-out of the tournament?"

"Not particularly." He shook his head. "More like issues that were already there."

"Right. That makes sense."

It seemed he wasn't going to get anything else from the other man, and he wasn't eager to push further. They each had their own issues, that he knew.

"If you-" Cage started, pausing for a moment to motion at a passing waiter for menus, "-if you need somewhere to stay for a bit, you can come over to my place. Won't charge you rent. Pinky promise."

"Generous of you." He hummed. "But I think I'll be alright for now."

"Offer will stand."

Kenshi smiled slightly.
"If I ever get bored, I will come to your mansion and seek your entertainment."

"Oh, so you only want me for my fantastic acting." He tried for a joke. "I see how it is."

"I don't."

A second of silence, then the two dissolved into chuckles.

The waiter returned, two menus in hand, although they hesitated once they saw the seeing eye cane. They left them on the table anyways, mumbling something about returning soon.

"Anything you might fancy?" He flipped the menu open. "I can tell you the categories."

"You promised me good pancakes." Kenshi pointed out. "I want to see if they live up to that claim."

"Got it." He went directly to that section. "We have chocolate chip, those blueberry ones, multi fruit- why do they call them that?"

The two discussed their orders for a bit, the waiter arriving right after. Kenshi settled on chocolate chip. He took maple syrup. Coffee for both. As the waiter walked off with their menus in hand, he turned his attention back to Kenshi, who had located a napkin and was folding and unfolding it in a desire to have something to do with his hands.

"I'm working on a new project, by the way." He mentioned more to break the silence than anything. "New movie."

"Oh?" The swordsman raised an eyebrow. "Another Ninja Mime?"

"I wish." He snorted. "No, it's uh- a superhero flick."

"Close enough."

"Yeah, to be honest." He tapped the pocket of his coat where he knew the script draft rested. "Working with new people too. I guess it's my attempt at a vacation. Doing some fighting that doesn't determine the fate of the world for once, you know?"

"I do know." His tone was bitter.

"Fictional stakes." He motioned uncertainly with his hands more out of habit than intent. "Where people only die in a story and not actually."

Another moment of silence shared between them, the fan overhead being the only buzz to break it. The napkin was crumbled under Kenshi's fingers.

"Do you ever think we were lucky?" The swordsman spoke up. "That we survived, that is. While so many others didn't?"

He lingered on the words that immediately sat on the edge of his tongue. The instant reaction was to claim they were simply better, more skilled, there was never a chance they would've died. Something he might've spat out without thinking before the tournament, keeping up the image of this unbeatable, egotistic star.

But he wasn't that person anymore. And this wasn't a performance. This was him talking to a friend.

"Often." He admitted. "I think about those people often. It wasn't that long, sure- but fuck, we all fought together, didn't we? That makes you get close whether you like it or not."

"People do weird things in life or death situations." Kenshi nodded. "Sometimes that means making bonds you would never make otherwise."

"If it's worth anything- this all might've sucked, but I don't regret meeting any of you."

He looked away, pretending to be seeking out the waiter to hide his expression, as if someone would see him and judge him for it.

"It was the one positive, I'd argue." The other agreed in a low tone.

For both their sakes, he pretended to be convinced that Kenshi merely adjusted his glasses when he brought his hand to his eyes.

He took a deep breath, sitting up better in his seat, determined to set the mood straight once more.

"Well, when things suck ass, you find the positives." Cage declared in an attempt to convince them both. "And we're gonna do that now too. We'll keep the part of making friends and getting to hang out together."

Kenshi hesitated, then offered a weak smile.
"And going together to get pancakes."

"And going together to get pancakes." He repeated with a grin.

Speak of the devil. Their order arrived a mere few moments later, as if the staff had been waiting for them to finish. He thanked the waitress leaving their plates down, asking for a few more napkins after taking notice of the barrage the other man had inflicted upon the one in his hands.

"Coffee on your twelve o'clock." Cage pointed out once they were by themselves again. "Your pancakes have whipped cream, but there's extra on your three."

"Convenient." Kenshi hummed, taking a moment to locate his utensils. "Don't tell me you still take your coffee with ninety percent sugar."

The sentence came out just as his hand had touched one of the sugar packets sitting between them.

"You did that on purpose."

A grin.
"Maybe a little bit."

"You just don't get my exquisite tastes." The actor dumped the contents onto his mug despite the comment, ready to reach for another. "When you reach my level of greatness, you'll understand."

"By the gods, your pancakes are already suffocatingly sweet. Do you not wish for your drink to be a palette cleanser?"

"Fancy term." He pointed out, impressed. "But no. I want sweet things and more sweet things. That simple."

"Why not get yourself a sweet drink, then?"

"Because I like the taste of coffee."

"You are a man one cannot debate with."

"Nope." He chuckled. "It's because I always win."

"Moron." Kenshi let out, but there was no ill intent behind it, his expression clearly fighting back a smile.

He took the blow with no retaliation, because at the end of the day, he had managed to lift the other's spirits. And that was all that mattered.

He served himself another sugar packet.

Chapter Text

It had gotten dark by the time they actually decided to start going home. They had left the diner a while back, not wanting to quite literally get kicked out, and had taken to the streets, Cage eager to grant the other a little tour of the place.

Although it wasn't Kenshi's first foray around the area, he admitted it had never been for anything but work. He held himself back from asking the swordsman what kind of work, as he knew very well it was probably violent and definitely illegal, and he'd rather not hear a horrifying confession in a public space.

Maybe another time, somewhere more private. Hopefully never, though.

Kenshi held onto his arm, his cane lazily held to his side as Cage struggled to figure out where the GPS was taking him so they could actually make their way to the hotel. So much for reliability when it came to walking places. He had offered a cab, but when Kenshi insisted he didn't want to have to force him to take the long way around, he had doubled down and decided they were walking there to prove how he was not bothered in the slightest.

The sight of him fighting and losing against the navigator seemed to amuse the other enough to not have insisted on them splitting paths just yet.

"They should invent mass available teleportation." He grumbled, gaining a laugh. "The Lin Kuei robots had it. I think we should get it too."

"They are robots." Kenshi shrugged. "Don't know if their method would work with, you know. Flesh."

"Raiden can do it."

"Raiden is also a God."

"I can't even complain in this house." He raised the tone of his voice in exaggeration.

"You're implying we're ever gonna reach the house."

"You're so mean to me, you know that?"

Kenshi laughed, bringing another grin to his face, but it was cut short by the man's expression falling and causing them to stop in place. He raised an eyebrow.

"What ha-"

The swordsman let go of him to clamp his hand over his mouth, hissing a shh! Confused, he complied, seeing Kenshi make a motion towards his ear, prompting him to listen.

For a few seconds, there was nothing noteworthy. The far away sound of cars passing a few streets over. Muffled conversation coming from too far to be important.

Then he heard it.

Clicking.

Not of an object. The kind of sound made by something living, yet a pitch not supposed to be able to come out of vocal chords. A series of sounds that seemed random at first, then coordinated, having a purpose.

Almost like speech. A language.

"What is that?" His voice barely reached above a whisper.

Kenshi's eyebrows furrowed, and he motioned for them to move towards the noise.

They stepped slowly, ears perked for the sounds as they grew closer. Whatever it came out of was more than just one, and it became more evident the more they walked.

Kenshi tapped on his arm to signify that. Three different taps. Three different creatures.

He took a sharp breath. They could handle it, he was sure. Whatever "it" was.

They came to a side street. By then the noises of the city had come to a worrying halt. As if the entire place was trying to be quiet as well.

Then the peace shattered as a screech broke through the air.

Their hold broke off, each of them dodging to seperate sides as something came barrelling towards them, its bony claws narrowly missing their shoulders. He managed not to let himself land on the ground rather ungracefully, performance forgotten in the shock of the sudden attack.

Kenshi thankfully seemed to have fared better, still properly on his feet. As the creature stood tall, its wings folded back to leave space for it to attack, and in the newfound light of the moon he figured out he was looking at a demon.

Sure, he wasn't sure if that was the exact terminology. But if it were to be described somehow, demon would absolutely be the word.

Thankfully he was the only one to spend time thinking about that. With a soft click, the cane in Kenshi's hands folded, clearly prepared to use it to retaliate against the oncoming threat. It hit the creature straight in the chest, forcing it to step away just enough to clear some distance between them.

He hadn't forgotten the swordsman's previous count, however. Energy buzzed under his skin as he turned around, faced with another one of the demons making its way towards them, its sharp fangs catching the moonlight and making their threat most apparent.

He closed the distance between them first, pulling his fist back and letting that feeling crackle between his fingers. As it reached out, clearly aiming to bite his head off, he leaned down to avoid it and shot his hand forward, letting the threads of magic erupt out and straight into what he assumed was its abdomen. It did enough to stop it in place, and he quickly followed with another strike to the jaw, sending it tumbling to the ground.

The creatures screeched between one another loudly enough that his ears begun ringing. He took a quick look at Kenshi, seeing the demon attempting to attack him kept competently at a frustrating to it distance, its swipes missing by a good amount as the man used his makeshift weapon with as much ease as if he held Sento once more.

As the one in front of him tried to get up, he slammed his arm onto it with full force, keeping it trapped between him and the asphalt. He felt its claws graze his stomach, just enough to draw blood, and pressed his knee against its free arm to keep it in place completely.

His ears picked up on the sound of more movement. Three. Damnit. He raised his free arm up, preparing to deal with the new threat to the best of his ability.

The hit he prepared himself to block never came. The creature went directly past him. For a split second, confusion bloomed in his mind, before he remembered he wasn't the only eligible target.

The demon writhed under his arm as he whipped his head back.

"KENSHI!"

Warned just a moment too late. It had already reached him, its thin, almost skeletal wings opening up to rush it to its target faster. With so much noise, he had been unable to locate the new threat himself, so Kenshi put his arms up at the last minute, trying to avoid at least a killing blow as its clawed hand shot out towards him.

And just before it touched him, its head violently jerked back, its wings taking a sudden switch to stop its mad dash. Already halfway up to try and help, Cage was met with the unexpected image of some sort of curved, sharp metal dug into the demon's face.

Before any of them had any chance to react further, a blur of white descended upon it from above, the figure's boot landing directly onto the blade to shove it even further inside. A loud crack of its breaking skull echoed through the street, sending the demon flying directly into a building whose wall it crashed into, crumbling right at the spot and no longer moving.

There was a moment of stunned silence towards the newcomer. Kenshi slowly lowered his arms, a look of confusion blooming on his face.

Then the demon that was trying to reach Kenshi, now the only one that wasn't either held down on the floor or dead, snarled, its tongue clicking in the rhythm of an all too familiar threat. It made a maniacal beeline for the new figure, the white cloak obscuring their identity doing little to hide them in the dark.

It didn't seem to matter. With a swift motion a baton found itself on the person's hands. As the demon unhinged its jaw, aiming to rip their head off, its teeth connected with the blunt force of the weapon, its jaw locking at the impact and leading both it and the baton that was now clamped inside its mouth to the ground.

In an immediate response, the stranger rammed their fist towards it, which he could just now see was fitted with a gauntlet that didn't exactly have spikes on the knuckles, but definitely something similar. Despite expecting some attempt at a counterattack, the demon instead fled, leading to their hit missing and landing on the asphalt below.

He shuddered at the sight.

Despite that, they didn't seem to react to it as much as he expected them to. The demon's jaw closed down fully as it retreated, snapping the weapon still trapped between them in half, scampering to get away as the figure draped in white got up.

It barely made it a few more steps before their hand shot out without even facing towards it, and another one of the crescent blades shot out, landing straight between its mangled wings. The silver dug into its spine, tearing through flesh with a worrying ease, and it screeched in pain, stopping to claw on its back in a futile attempt to remove the offending object.

The second shot had it meet the same fate as its brethren.

The figure turned towards him, and he realised he had been gaping at the performance like an idiot. He shut his mouth as their eyes met his, covered behind some sort of mask that made it look as if their eyes were glowing while their face was obscured in shadow.

They put their hand up, pointing towards the demon still held under his knee.

"Is that one still alive?"

A male voice. There was something familiar about it, but he couldn't tell if it was genuine recognition or the accent being widespread in this part of town. Seemingly all the hints he would get about them.

"Yes." He spared a quick look at Kenshi, who had perked up with a frown at the new voice, still left out of the loop. He would explain this entire thing in detail once they were alone, that was for sure.

"Good." They approached him, stopping a few steps before and leaning down to take a good look at the demon.

It had stopped struggling at some point during the fight, caught off guard just as much as he had been. Despite the hiss that escaped its mouth, he noticed the way its eyes had widened as it was brought face to face with the newcomer.

"Congratulations." Their tone was calm, almost as if practiced. "You get to live. You're gonna go back to whatever hole you came from, and you're gonna tell your friends what happens when you enter my city. When you endanger my travellers."

They pulled away, and it squirmed with a noise that let out more panic than anger. He released the pressure on its back and it fled almost in an instant, combat ending unceremoniously in the blink of an eye.

He got up, brushing off his pants as he tried to think of something to say to the stranger. He settled on gratitude.

"Thanks, man. Those guys were a whole lot of trouble-"

"Get back home." They cut him off, turning their back on him. "Streets aren't safe."

He didn't get a chance to answer before they walked off. He stood there for a moment, feeling like an idiot, then hurried off to Kenshi, who had yet to move, his folded cane still held in his hands as if he expected to have to fight again at any second.

"Please tell me they didn't get you."

"I'm unharmed." He furrowed his eyebrows. "But I have no idea what happened."

"I'll tell you everything as we get home." He took the other's arm again. "It was some crazy shit. You're not gonna want to miss that one."

He looked back at the leftover bodies of the demons one last time, the only proof that the event had happened to begin with, before guiding Kenshi out of the street.

Chapter Text

"Settle down, settle down." Grant's voice barely made itself heard over his thoughts, the producer tapping the marker he was holding against the whiteboard to call everyone's attention.

Thursday had arrived and he hadn't stopped thinking about what had happened. Kenshi had patiently answered his insistent messages, assuring him the incident had yet to reoccur and that the swordsman was safe. His own scratches had been tended to, and he had to constantly make sure to keep his hands folded together so he wouldn't give into the urge of the way the wound itched. He didn't want to make it worse, especially not now.

However, his mind was way harder to keep under check, and it wandered restlessly. Demons. In here. Now that Shinnok was sealed of all times. There wasn't a single chance that was good news, and the fact that he had no idea where they could've possibly come from made his head swim. Portals to the Netherrealm were big, bright, and most of all loud. Something like that would've made front page on every local paper, yet not a single word had gone out of it.

"Everyone has very good calls." Grant pointed to the board, which seemed to be split into two sections. "Let's go through them one by one, see what we can work on."

He tried to convince himself that maybe they were remnants from before the fight. Lackeys that hadn't found their way back yet. But that demon they had let escape, it wasted no time presumably getting back. Had that just been it pretending? Just trying to get away from danger?

"Scene twelve and thirteen cut too suddenly to one another." If he had paid attention, maybe he'd know who was speaking. "Maybe we need a transition?"

"I think scene twelve is redundant altogether." The actress he remembered pointed out. "What if we scrapped it? Went directly to morning."

"It parallels a later scene." Another he didn't remember answered. "It's meant to be a look into the professor's thought process and how he sees himself compared to how the world sees him."

"Maybe we don't need either scene, then." A scoff. "This is a superhero movie, why get so deep?"

And who the hell had that been? The figure that had saved their lives yet barely spared a word their way, a cloaked mystery that hadn't even flinched nor seemed shocked at the presence of the creatures. He could swear on everything he ever held dear that demons had never been a problem around town before, there was no way this wasn't the first time they were dealing with this.

"We can put this scene to the side for now." The producer offered. "We could replace it instead of cutting it entirely. Any ideas?"

But after all, there was a lot he had been blind to before the tournament. The Netherrealm had been one of those things. Had there been demons around and he just hadn't noticed?

No. Kenshi was shocked too. There was something he was missing.

"How about we take a break?" An offer that was met with a mess of discussion. Only when people started getting up did he figure he should have been paying attention, and tried forcing himself to join reality once more.

He shook his head in an attempt to literally chase his thoughts away as he sat up.

"Mister Cage?"

For a split second, it was the voice of that same figure in the street that his ears picked up on.

His heart jumped, and he probably would've instinctively reacted in violence if his hands weren't put together. Instead, he looked up to find Grant looking at him, concern painting the man's expression.

Right. Not the weird fighter. Different accent. It was just Steven Grant.

"You appear unwell." The producer pointed out. "You've been very quiet today. Is everything alright?"

He hurried to put on a smile, setting his sunglasses back on his face to hide the way his eyes had definitely been spacing.
"Ah, yeah, sorry. Slept like shit. It happens sometimes."

"Unfortunate. If you do not mind getting caught up later, you could go home and get some rest?"

"I'm fine, actually." He wasn't, but going home sounded like an even worse idea. The distraction of people's constant talking was nice. "I'll just go to bed early tonight."

"Got it. Hoping it works out for you." Grant raised his hand to pat him on the shoulder.

It barely got to land before his hand twitched and he pulled it back, a slight hiss of pain coming out as he rubbed his thumb over his knuckles. Cage hesitated for a moment, unsure if he was somehow the cause, but Grant said nothing, merely breathing out in what could be classified as disappointment.

"Everything okay?" It was his turn to ask.

"All good." The man nodded with ease. "Mere injury. I got back into boxing, see, and I fear I might've rushed too soon into my old schedule. Take it as a lesson not to do what I did." A laugh.

He returned it, trying not to make it sound forced but failing. A feeling lingered in the back of his mind.

An absurd idea.

"Must've felt like hitting concrete."

He tried framing it as a joke. It wasn't one.

He noticed how Grant paused for a bit. How his thumb stopped tracing over his knuckles. How, in that second that he sat still, the overhead lights almost draped his face in shadow.

And then he let out a chuckle, and the idea felt completely foolish.
"Oh, it absolutely did. My coach is way better built than I give him credit for. I swear nothing could even make him flinch."

"Yeah." He wasn't sure what he was agreeing with, but he let himself relax, feeling a little ashamed. It had been a stupid idea. Why would this movie have anything to do with what happened?

"Listen." Grant reached to one of his pockets, pulling out a card with his good hand. "If you still have issues with sleeping after today, give me a call. I know some great doctors, they'll be able to help you right up. I'd give you their numbers directly, but I still have a fair bit of catching up to do and I don't want to send you to a wrong call."

"I appreciate it." He took the business card with two fingers, the glossy material revelling in the light.

"Tell me if you need anything." A smile. "Can't have a movie if my cast has problems, now can I?"

"I suppose not."

This pat on the shoulder was met with no surprises, and the producer took his leave out of the room, off to join the others.

Cage lingered in place for a bit, feeling like an idiot for the second time that week. The card was still in his hands, a reminder that they had even talked at all. He looked at it to find it was rather minimalistic: the producer's name, seemingly in handwritten cursive, and two numbers on the back, personal and company. No showing off, no unnecessary clutter. All to the point.

He pocketed the card and hoped to never have to use it.

Chapter Text

It was getting late, and he was struggling to get work done.

To his credit, he really had tried. He had walked back to his home, hung his coat over his seat, and decided to sit himself down and actually do some work looking on the reviewed script. Contribute to the movie. He had even picked up a rather fancy pen to try and do so.

It hadn't gone well. It didn't take too long for him to realise he had reread the same sentence for the fourth time without understanding it, pen in hand yet no notes taken. He had even given himself a break, gotten up and made a cup of coffee to keep him alert.

That cup now sat empty, off to the side, marking the only thing he had actually made progress on.

So much for clocking out from his Earthrealm protecting duties. Damn Raiden and his invitation.

The lack of answers had bothered him more than even the actual presence of the demons. At least if he knew where they had materialised from, he could go deal with it. Now he was a sitting duck, trying to act normal while possibly another invasion was being planned out under his nose.

It wasn't like he could get up and search the entire city by himself. That needed hours of work and access to places that he didn't have. At the end of the day, he was an actor, not a government official.

Government officials.

His eyes went to his phone.

He turned it up almost automatically, without thinking, his finger tapping the contacts icon before he even started debating it. He scrolled for a moment, stopping right over a name, and thought.

Was this such urgent business that he'd have to call on someone this important?

What was he saying. Of course it was. There were demons. In the middle of the city. Ones that were trying to kill them. If this wasn't their place to intervene, what would be?

He tapped on the call button, putting it on speaker, and held his breath.

He let it ring. Waited, tapping that pen on the table repeatedly without any rhythm.

Just as he resigned himself, deciding it hadn't been that good an idea to begin with and reaching over to hang it up, it buzzed in an answer.

"This better be an emergency, Johnny. You know very well I'm at work."

He perked up, a smile tugging on his lips as he brought his phone closer. He had already missed her voice.
"Can't I have called to see how you are?"

Sonya scoffed from the other side of the line. It amused him, but he hurried to clarify anyways.

"Don't hang up. I have an actual reason. It's not an emergency, I don't think- but it's definitely important."

"Special Forces important?"

"Earthrealm important." He stressed the first part.

She didn't talk for a moment, but the sound of shuffling let him know she was still there. When she spoke up again, her voice was much clearer.

"Spit it out. What's wrong?"

"I think we have unwanted guests." He kept his tone serious, determined to show her he wasn't pulling a joke. "Vaguely demon-shaped guests, if that says anything to you."

"What? Where the hell did you find those?"

"Right at home. In the middle of the city. Too daring, isn't it?"

"Fuck." Sonya mumbled, and he couldn't help but agree.

"Think they might be Shinnok's lackeys?"

"Why be there and not at the temple looking for him, then?"

"Good point." He pushed the script aside with the back of his pen, aware that he wasn't gonna get any work done. "Thing is, they were here and they jumped us."

"Us? Who else saw them?"

"Just me and Kenshi." He hurried to elaborate. "We were catching up and found three of them in a side street."

"Are both of you okay?"

The concern in her tone made him smile fondly.

"Yeah, we made it just fine. Just some scratches."

He lingered for a moment. Should he tell her about the figure?

"You didn't see where they came from? A portal, anything?"

"Nope." He popped the p. "Like they appeared out of thin air. They were probably at that part long before us."

Sonya let out a sigh, a creaking coming from her side signaling she adjusted her sitting.
"Don't hang up. I'm gonna see if we have any information on this."

"Yes ma'am." He said out loud, although he was unsure if at that point she could hear him.

Silence followed. He tapped his pen on the table once again, finding himself restless. Sometimes he wished he too had all those fancy gadgets and knew how to use them right.

Figuring out the agent would take just a moment longer, he got up and decided to tidy a bit. The now empty mug went in the sink, filled ever so slightly with water to be easier to wash the bottom off of the remnants of coffee later. He debated what to do with the script for a moment, then decided to leave it where it was, deciding it was the most visible place for him not to forget it.

He picked up his coat from his chair, folding it in half to put it away. It pinched up awkwardly, and he reached to empty out its pockets on the table.

"I'm back." She declared, startling him just a little. "There's no official reports, apparently, but there have been more sightings. All after Shinnok was sealed."

"That can't be good timing." He shook the edges of the fabric to make sure everything had fallen off.

"Tell me about it. We'll gather up a team to investigate it, see if we can find any of the portals they might be coming from. You keep me updated if you see anything."

"And for the love of God." She breathed out, frustration clinging to her words. "Stay safe. Don't try playing the hero and fighting them all by yourself."

"I won't. I promise."

"You better. This isn't a movie."

"How I wish it was." He laughed slightly, taking a look at the junk unloaded on his dinner table. Receipts. A crumpled up note. A parking validation from work.

His eyes lingered on a point for a moment longer.

The very edge of a signature.

"Sonya, can I ask for something off record?"

A moment of silence.

"Worrying thing to hear from you?"

"You guys have information on people, right?" He picked up the card in his hands, his thumb grazing over the edge. "Secret things and all that."

"More worrying. What's this about, Cage?"

Ouch. He had lost first name privileges with that one. He turned his phone off speaker, bringing it up to his ear instead to be able to lower his voice.

"Look. I don't have any proof, but- there's a guy I have a weird feeling about. Just showed up again right around the time the demons did. Could be nothing, a mere coincidence. Or it could be something."

"One of your people?" He could visualise her raising an eyebrow. "Working with Shinnok?"

"Please. These people would absolutely sell their soul to the devil. I just- humour me for a moment? See if you can find anything weird about him?"

There was no response, and he feared he might've gotten hung up on. When he grabbed his phone to check, he heard Sonya click her tongue.

"Fine. Got a name?"

He raised the card up a bit, half in triumph and half for it to catch the light better.
"Steven Grant. With a v. Movie producer, if it helps."

He couldn't hear whatever she was doing, although he tried to listen in nonetheless. It wasn't news to him that the Special Forces operated on touch screens and there were no keyboards to be heard clicking.

He shook the coat off his arm where he had temporarily placed it, letting it fall back on the back of the chair. So much for putting it away.

"Producer, you said?"

"Yeah." He perked up once more. "You found him?"

"I have a record-" She muttered with no particular excitement, "-but I don't see anything out of the ordinary. Guy's clean. Maybe too clean."

"A big producer being that clean?" Cage frowned. "Sketchy."

"I know. He kinda looks familiar. Think I've seen him somewhere before."

"He's a big name." He sighed in defeat, sitting back down. "Wouldn't be surprised if you have."

"I don't know that movie stuff." Sonya admitted easily.

"Right- well, sorry then. Guess my hunch was wrong."

"Worth looking into." He visualised her shrugging. "Anyways, I'll get searching, see if we can find where the demons came from. Blade out."

"See ya." He offered as the call came to an end.

Chapter Text

That day's recital came to an end with a surprise. While he gathered up his things, Nick blabbering on in his ear about how small the place was and how he hoped they moved soon to a bigger stage, he watched one of the employees walk into the room, her eyes going around in uncertainty until they landed on him at last.

"Mister Cage." The receptionist hadn't even let go of the folder in her hands. "There's a woman waiting for you downstairs. Perhaps your grandmother?"

He stood for a moment in confusion, because unless people had magically started coming back from the dead, there should have been nobody down there to come greet him. As he took the steps down with her, though, he figured out the conundrum rather easily at the sight.

A figure standing easily taller than everyone in the building, age marking their face and the strands of hair falling neatly to the sides a complete white, yet the second they shared a glance and he took a good look at the blinding, shocking blue of their eyes, his shoulders dropped in relief that it wasn't anything unusual.

"Gotta go." He announced to Nick, with a feigned ease as if this was planned in any way. "Promised her we'd go to that restaurant she likes."

He wasn't a good liar, but he wasn't put on the spot long enough for it to be obvious, so his agent simply shrugged it off and they shared their goodbyes. He hurried over to the figure, who had been, admittedly, patiently waiting for him to finish, and gave out his arm with a flourish.

Although it took a second for the motion to be understood, it was received, and he lead them out of the building with a newfound confidence, aiming to brush any of the staff's suspicions off. Only once they were a good distance away, and he was certain they would not be heard, did he speak up.

"Would it have killed you to call? You needed to scare the shit out of me?"

"I see no use in that." Although it wasn't the same voice he was used to, the recognition clicked in his brain in an instant before he had to even think about it. "This is much more direct."

"You still scared me, Raiden." Cage pointed out.

The God seemed to have no problem with that. He let go of his arm, straining his neck to look up at the other.

"Nice outfit. Didn't realise you paid attention to the times. What's with the woman part, though?"

"Gods are beyond mortal concepts like that." Raiden's tone was flat as always. "Also, your reaction to the news amused me."

"Asshole." He chuckled. "Gonna guess you're here about the demons."

"It is getting tiring." Something like irritation flicked over the thunder God's words. "One problem follows another without pause. I would beg for this to be the last, yet I know that is likely not the case."

"Don't suppose the Elder Gods have any help for us here."

Raiden's jaw set, looking somewhere out in the distance. He followed his eyes to where the God was looking and with difficulty landed on the faint visage of the moon that had begun to make itself apparent as the sun set.

"Not all Elder Gods adhere to the Council. Some have their duties alone."

"Please elaborate on how that is relevant to our conversation."

"I am not the only God present in these parts." He answered as if it was the simplest thing in the world, then begun walking.

Cage stood there for a moment, then hurried to catch up.

"By the fact that he's not here, you're not talking about Fujin. So what in the everloving fuck does that mean? I thought Shinnok was gone?"

"He is sealed." Raiden corrected, his hands behind his back. "Yet Shinnok is far from the only one."

"So this is a God problem?"

The thunder God shook his head. Cage frowned.

"Are you allergic to explanations?"

"The lunar guardian has descended upon the city." He continued with a familiarity that didn't extend to the actor. "As all of us do, he goes by many names, but recently it appears Khonshu is his preferred one."

"Khonshu. Cool." He breathed out. "Is Khonshu a problem or help?"

"That we are yet to find out." Raiden's eyebrows furrowed. "He is either here to deal with the problem, or to cause it. But if this is his work, there is little I can do to locate it. Gods exist outside of time and space. Either way, a full moon approaches, and he is sure to make an appearance one way or another."

"I'm starting to hate you guys." He groaned. "But you called him a lunar guardian. The Netherrealm doesn't exactly have a moon."

"Every realm has a moon. Some multiple. He is an Elder God, I remind you. His reach extends far beyond Earthrealm."

He'd take the God's word for it. He couldn't claim he had gone around other realms enough to have a say in it.

"If he's causing it, why cause it here? And not somewhere like your temple?"

"I presume this is where his avatar lies."

Cage narrowed his eyes.
"Like the blue people? Or- like, the anime?"

If his joke brought humour, it didn't show on Raiden's expression.

"Some Gods choose mortals to carry their word. Priests, yet at the same time fighters. Khonshu's Fists have existed since before this city was an idea and will exist long after it is forgotten."

"Sheesh. Like warlocks, then."

Then, after a pause.

"Do you have an avatar?"

"No." The answer came without hesitation, so at least he wasn't lying. "I am a mere realm God. The creation of an avatar requires power on a scale I do not have."

"You don't seem bummed up about it." He tilted his head.

"I do not wish to be an Elder God."

"You should try. Could save us a lot of trouble of having to communicate with them every time."

"That is not how any of that works and I believe you are well aware."

"Ruining my dreams once again."

A moment of no more talking. He adjusted his position a bit, then realised he had been following without thinking.

"...Where are we going, exactly?"

"To locate the gateways." Another answer given so easily one would think it was implied.

"Thought you didn't know where they were."

"I do not. That is generally what the word locate means. To find."

He rubbed his hand over his face with a groan and just barely missed the God's attempt not to laugh.

Chapter Text

He pleasantly figured out they weren't alone when they reached their destination and saw that Kenshi was waiting for them.

The sun had set, leaving the only brightness to come from the lights of the street lamps, but they were more than enough to take a good look. Kenshi had gotten rid of his glasses and his cane that day, returning back to the all too familiar sight of that red blindfold and Sento sheathed on his side. Cage was kind of glad to see that blade again; now if they got attacked those demons were absolutely dying in seconds.

"Lord Raiden." The swordsman bowed slightly, the lack of surprise in his expression marking that the actor had been the only one not to be warned about the arrangement. Assholes. "My apologies, looking at you directly is still very confusing to the souls granting me sight."

"Takahashi Kenshi." Raiden nodded slightly in understanding, then his eyes went towards the katana. "Sento."

Although he heard no response, he assumed the souls within it responded in some sort of greeting, as Raiden nodded once again before straightening up.

"I have been going through these streets." Kenshi rested a hand on Sento's hilt, his eyes landing on Cage instead and staying there. "No signs of any more demons. There is, however, a concerning amount of ghosts, though they were not willing to talk about their deaths."

"Can't blame them." He crossed his arms. "Bet dying fucking sucks."

"I doubt they would quit their onslaught so early for no reason." The thunder God hummed.

"I do so too. I assume they must be regrouping, reassessing their threats perhaps."

"You mean after we beat their ass."

"That too." Kenshi held back a grin.

The swordman cleared his throat, letting his expression fall back into being neutral.
"Speaking of. I asked around about our unknown helper that night."

"You did not tell me you received help." Raiden tilted his head.

"Yeah, well, didn't have the time." Cage waved his hand dismissively. "So? Figured out who they are?"

"A vigilante, of sorts." Kenshi begun walking, urging the other two to join him. "His reputation paints a confusing picture. The living talk about him with fear and hesitation, yet the dead have nothing but praise for him."

"Ominous."

"At the very least." A huff before he continued. "Apparently they call him the Moon Knight. Hence the white outfit."

By the breath Raiden let out, it didn't sound like good news.

Cage raised an eyebrow towards him.
"Whaaat was that about?"

"Khonshu's avatar." The God's eyebrows were furrowed. "That's one of the titles his Fists go by."

"Khonshu?" Kenshi spoke up.

"Moon Elder God, apparently." He offered as a quick recap.

"If his avatar is fighting against the denizens of the Netherrealm, then this was not Khonshu's act."

"So we're back to square one, basically?"

Raiden looked up at the sky, his expression suggesting that the moon might as well have been openly mocking him.

"Wouldn't it be possible that the avatar of an Elder God would know where the demons are coming from?" Kenshi perked up. "If we find him, he could assist us."

"Small problem." Cage spoke up again. " Where do we find him?"

"I was told of a place where he seems to operate from." He took his hand off from Sento. This Midnight Mission, as they called it. Some sort of organisation that apparently provides help."

"Sounds too good to be true." He hummed. "What's the catch?"

"Let's go and find out."

Kenshi begun to lead the way once again, to neither of their complaint. Cage took a vague note of the God next to him being incredibly silent as he moved, to the point where he had to check once or twice if he was still following.

Oh, he hated all that weird shit. So much.

Speaking of weird shit, they were met with more when Kenshi finally stopped, waiting a second for them before motioning towards a general direction in front of himself.

It didn't take a genius to figure out what he meant.

In front of them stood a building taller than he had expected to see. Although covered in windows, the interior was so dark that they did not reveal a single thing. A big door stood at the bottom, seemingly enticing them inside.

He would've taken it for some sort of apartment building if it weren't for the crescents marking the windows.

"Bit over the top, isn't it?"

"Did I hear that come out of your mouth, Johnny?"

"All I'm saying is you're not hiding from anyone like that."

"The purpose of this organisation is not to hide." Raiden pointed out. "If you wish for the common people to be able to locate you, you make yourself apparent."

His eyes lingered on the markings.
"I also assume Khonshu enjoys the attention."

"Right, well." He stood up straight, fixing his coat. "Let's go see what's going on inside, shall we?"

Kenshi nodded in agreement, and the two of them begun their way to the door.

At least, that was until he was pulled back by the coat like an undignified kitten.

He looked back with an offended glare to see Kenshi had received the same treatment and seemed just as caught off guard about it.

"Wait." Raiden acted like he hadn't just hauled back two grown men like they were children. "Something is wrong."

" Yeah something's wrong. You're ruining my shirt!"

His exclamation was mostly ignored as the God let go of them, but his furrowed expression did not change, staring up at the building like something about it frustrated him.

"Takahashi." He motioned towards Kenshi. "What do you see?"

Kenshi lingered for a moment, then took a hold of Sento once more. Mere seconds later, he grimaced at whatever sight was presented in front of him.

"What the Hell is that?"

"A wise question."

"Heyyy." Cage groaned. "You guys are leaving me to the side. What's going on?"

"The-" Kenshi stumbled upon his words, visibly unsure. "It's- it's the building. It's..."

"Alive." Raiden supplied.

"What."

"Yeah." The swordsman shrugged helplessly. "It's alive. It's having a soul amount of alive."

He took a look back at the building, half expecting it to grow legs and teeth and attack them. It, being a building, remained motionless.

"You sure it's not just- the people inside?"

"No no, there's people inside too." Kenshi huffed. "But it, the building, has a soul. What is this?"

"Something that should not be here." The thunder God spoke up once more. "Yet, oddly enough, is not causing harm."

"So we have living buildings to add to the list of weird shit that's shown up." Cage frowned. "Cool. Worrying. Why's nothing normal right now?"

"I fear nothing has been normal for a while now, Johnny."

"Let us not provoke it." Raiden shook his head. "It may not be hostile at the moment, but we cannot be sure that barging in will be a favourable action for it."

"Obviously I wasn't gonna go in the literal living building. "

Kenshi seemed to want to disagree for a moment, then another look towards it made him change his mind.

"So the moon God's errand boy is operating through some eldrich abomination. That's fun, right?"

"Avatars have done more unexpected things." Raiden seemed rather unphased after the initial reveal. "This does not bring us closer to our goal, however."

"All this tells us is that supernatural occurrences are the norm here." Kenshi looked towards Cage. "And, I'm sorry, you hadn't noticed any of this before?"

"It's a big place." He hurried to defend himself. "Lots of weird shit happens everywhere. You don't hear about it unless you go searching, alright?"

"I'm juuust saying." Kenshi's voice took a teasing tone. "All this happening where you live, and it's your first time seeing it..."

"I had better things to do." He crossed his arms again.

"This is meaningless." Raiden sighed. "The risk is not worth the possibility, not certainty, of Khonshu's avatar assisting us. We will have to track him another way."

"Guess we'll have to wait until we get almost mauled by demons again."

"Or find a better way."

"I have a suggestion." Kenshi muttered. "It's that we continue this conversation somewhere else so I do not have to look at this thing anymore."

He tried to imagine, for a moment, how Sento could be seeing the building.

He swiftly decided he didn't want to know.

Chapter Text

The search came to a close early in the morning, before the sun had yet gotten the chance to rise. They had come out empty handed when it came to the demons, but Raiden had shook his head and declared they would reveal themselves once again soon enough, that it was only a matter of time before they found what they were looking for.

Kenshi wasn't sure if that would be good or bad news for them.

The swordsman had bid them goodnight after Cage's groans of how he would have to go to work with no sleep that day and taken his own path solo, deciding on a pleasant stroll back to the hotel he had chosen for his stay in the city. His walk was surprisingly demon-or-any-attacker-free, and he found himself back without any problems.

But saying that he went back alone would be wrong. Sento's humming acquainted him through the path, a collection of voices quietly discussing their opinions on the events of the day, just loud enough for him to hear but quiet enough to be tuned out into background noise.

Kenshi would lie if he said he didn't miss their company. Their presence had become a staple in his life since the day he reclaimed the blade, and the few days he had gone by without it to keep up appearances had ended up with him unhappy at the emptiness they left behind. He was happy to be with them again, and the warmth and slight buzz of the hilt as he rested his hand on it told him the feeling was mutual.

Despite their grandiose appearance, it was not difficult to take Sento in and out of the hotel. Apparently his claims of it being an ancient artifact that he was transporting were enough for the staff to simply nod in understanding and let him carry it around without an issue.

Even if Sento took a slight offense to the characterisation.

You call us old, brat? The visual of a man just a few years older than him finds its place in his mind, the figure's arms crossed and a pout marking their expression.

Their Japanese is a stark contrast to hearing everyone around him constantly speak English, but it's simply another thing he missed having.

He holds himself back from chuckling out loud as he ascends the staircase of the hotel, one hand firmly holding onto the railing. He lets his mind slip back, into that hidden place reserved only for him and the souls that came before him, and lets his body lead him back to his room on autopilot. He knows the way by now.

I'm not lying. He hums in response, a gentle tease to the voices.

I find it endearing. Another speaks up, and this time Kenshi sees an old woman with wrinkles marking her wide, foxy grin. People looking at us and admiring. We, inspiring the warriors of the future.

We're not being put in a museum. A third voice rushes past him, the soul having something keeping it busy even there. He only catches a glimpse of a long ponytail swinging behind them as they move.

I will not put you in a museum. Kenshi promises. It's simply your disguise.

Our secret identity. The second soul pointed out in glee.

He let out a little laugh, pushing himself back into reality as he reached the corridor leading towards his room. He reached out with his free hand, feeling against the hinges of a door, then adjusting his position to come in contact with the room number instead.

Wait. Another member of Sento speaks up, and although he does not receive an appearance for them he sees the concern etched on their face.

His hand lingered in the air for a moment, just enough for the others to stir, their attention catching on whatever he couldn't see.

"What is it?" He let out in a whisper.

Someone's in the room. The voice of an old man, tinted with caution.

No. A more hesitant tone, the visual of a teenager trying to hide from what they were facing. Something.

Sento's murmuring turned into a low argument, the souls unable to come to an agreement. He listened for a moment, figured they were getting nowhere, then took a sharp breath and focused on his surroundings instead, resting his hand on top of the door.

It was late enough for there not to be too much meaningless noise, letting everything settle around him without ringing in his ears. The quiet snoring of someone who had clocked out for the night a few rooms over. The faded music playing back downstairs at the reception.

The slight creak of an open window caught on the wind. The groan of wooden boards under a person's weight.

He shifted his weight, settling his breathing to not attract any attention. One hand reached into his pocket, grasping the keycard to his room. The other wrapped around Sento's hilt, the energy snaking up his fingers and through his arm as he allowed the souls within the blade to entwine with his own, connecting them once again.

He lingered a moment longer. The souls fell silent, as if they too were holding their breaths.

An ever so silent click of claws against the windowsill.

In a split second the room is unlocked, the card discarded the moment the door is shoved open. The next, Sento is unleashed from its sheathe, cutting through the air.

It doesn't find a target. Instead its edge stops on the edge of the intruder's throat, right before it breaks through skin and draws blood.

Through Sento's eyes he peeks into the soul of the stranger and it becomes apparent what the collective cannot agree on.

It's a human. And yet it's an animal. The vision in front of him marks of a person, yet on its edges lingers a sight that would better suit a feline. A puma, or perhaps a tiger, he guesses, although he is not presented with a clear answer.

The only clue he gets is when the figure speaks up, and he doesn't need sight to feel the threat of fangs marking her words.

"Takahashi Kenshi." It's a female voice, but not one he recognises. Her tone is level, cautious. He makes note of how she doesn't flinch or falter in sight of Sento, as if this was an expected part of her visit.

"The one and only." It's meant to be a joke, but no humour comes out. "But I assume you already knew when you broke into my room. Here to try and kill me?"

The beast tilts her head. One of the souls mumbles anxiously as her chin just avoids grazing Sento.
"Kill you? No. Not even close."

"Then state your purpose."

A beat passes where she says nothing. Then Sento's residents flare up in warning.

The woman moves fast. Impossibly fast. She's closed the distance between them before he can react, a clawed hand clasped around his throat as his back is forced on the wall.

Sento guides itself against her neck, placing the two on a stalemate. The metal of the katana put against the sharpness of the beast's claws, each daring the other to see who could deal the fatal blow first if it came to it.

"What I want to know," She speaks up, close enough for it to ring in his ears, "is what a former Yakuza member is doing stalking my base."

Base. The word doesn't fit right, like she wanted to say something else but used it instead at the last minute.

My home. A female voice suggests, the visual of a figure taller and more built than him presenting itself in his mind. He imagines it's not too far from what the one in front of him probably looks like. You have threatened something important to her. Her soul is in disarray.

He tests the waters and breathes in, feeling the edge of her claws against his veins. She doesn't attack, not yet, and he takes it as a chance that maybe she really does want to talk.

"You're with the Midnight Mission." He breathes out.

Her stance does not change. He isn't proven wrong.

Chapter Text

The tension in the air stayed thick.

It was like the building itself held its breath in anticipation, aware of both the participants.

"No. I don't think you will, professor." The man crossed his arms behind his back. "I think you will instead give me the artifact."

He took a sharp breath, aware of the predicament he had been placed in. The other's eyes burned into him, waiting for an answer.

But he wasn't going to grant it to him. Not so easily.

"Actually, officer, I have a different idea." He stepped forward, straightening himself up.

The man's expression darkened, but he put his hand up to stop any interruption.
"Give me a moment. I'm sure it'll interest you."

He put his hands together, approaching further.
"I don't keep the artifact, as you request, but instead of handing it over to you, I hand it over to its rightful-"

His monologue was cut short as he stepped on the other's shoe, having moved too close too soon. He backed away, muttering a swear under his breath.

"CUT!"

The director's voice broke them out of the act, highlighting even more how it had gone wrong.

"Damnit." Cage rubbed his eyes. "Sorry, man."

"Yeah, we need more space." The other actor simply shrugged it off, brushing off his shoe real quick. "When are we getting the actual set?"

"By next week." Grant spoke up, his arms crossed. The look in his eyes made Cage think he too must've had a busy night. "Should have it by Monday, at most Tuesday."

"It can't come fast enough, then."

"I'll pester them during the weekend." The producer sighed. "It's already later than it should be."

"Sorry about your shoe." Cage stepped by the other actor's side. "I can pay the cleaning bill."

"It's not that bad, man." He laughed, shaking his hand dismissively. Truly a direct contrast to the role he was hired for.

"Let's take a break." Grant made a motion with his hands, signalling a time-out.

Cage stretched out, the hours he had been standing up starting to catch up to him. Snatching the opportunity to rest, he lounged down, eager to take it.

He checked his phone, expecting to see maybe a message from Kenshi with some updates, only to find a series of messages that made him raise an eyebrow.

We need to talk. In person.

Urgently.

It's really important.

Sonya.

Sonya and wanting to meet him in person was a combination that was either very good for him or very bad, with no in-between. His gut was going for the latter.

With a glance around, hoping he didn't seem suspicious, he sent out a quick answer.

how urgent?

The fact that he got an immediate answer alone should have been concerning enough, but the text didn't help either.

Very.

He let out a sigh. If a portal to the Netherrealm had manifested in his home or something like that he was going to kill Shinnok all over again.

ok where?

"Hey, I might need to clock out early." He got up, aware of the looks that turned his way. "Got an emergency."

"What happened?" Grant was the first to ask, tilting his head slightly.

"My uh- my grandma." The lie came to him in a flash as his phone vibrated with another text. "She's sick. They took her to the hospital, trying to figure out what's wrong with her."

He only felt a little guilty as people murmured condolences. He was more concerned about the feeling in the back of his head that if Raiden knew he was 1) being called a grandma and 2) used for his own gain, he would probably have gotten struck by lightning where he stood.

"Sorry." He said to nobody in particular. "I really gotta go."

He received no resistance as he looked back at his phone.

Your place. I'm waiting there.

He narrowed his eyes behind his sunglasses.

u dont have keys to my place

He waited for an answer for a moment before giving up and stuffing his phone back in his pocket. He'd get what he asked for in person, then.

Or most likely, not at all.

Chapter Text

As expected, and declared, Sonya was already waiting for him the moment he entered his home.

It was slightly unnerving to see her. Right in the middle of his dining area, waiting impatiently with her arms crossed and a hefty folder placed on a table, its silver cover catching his eye alongside the black symbol etched on it.

"You sure as fuck got here fast." He let out instead of a greeting, slightly unnerved as he hung his coat.

"I wasn't kidding when I told you it was important."

"Yeah, hi, I have many questions." His frustration was only overshadowed by his confusion. "First off. Is that fucking Special Forces insignia?"

She absentmindedly brushed her hand over her ponytail, a nervous habit of hers he had caught on at some point during the second tournament. That, unfortunately, meant a yes.

"We need to set some ground rules before we have this conversation. Number 1. Does anyone else but you live here?"

"...No?" He would've made a joke along the lines of are you offering, but it seemed that it would get him pummeled at that moment.

"Good. Number 1, then. This conversation doesn't leave this room."

"Sonya, should I be worried?"

"Yes." She didn't miss a beat answering him. "This is classified Special Forces information that I'm only sharing because of this specific fuckin' situation you're in. Nobody else learns about this. Not family, not friends, not Kenshi."

"Not even him?" He blinked in surprise.

"As I said." She tapped her hand on the enclosed folder. "Nobody."

Ouch. That one hurt. Nonetheless, he found himself nodding in agreement.

"Number 2. You can't ask how I got these files."

"So this isn't legal, that's what that means."

"What did I just say, Cage?"

"Okay, okay." He shook his head. "No questions asked."

"Good." With the terms apparently set, she flipped open the folder, choosing surprisingly not the first page but a point near the middle of it. "It's about the guy you asked me to look into."

"Wait, this isn't about the Netherrealm?" Cage let out in disbelief.

"No- well, not yet." She shook her head in frustration. "If you let me talk, I'll actually tell you, moron."

"You haven't told me anything!" He threw his hands up in the air. "You didn't exactly give me any heads up! You just kind of scared me into meeting you. In my own house, that you broke into, by the way."

"Cage." It came out almost like a growl. "Focus. I told you this is important."

"Steven Grant can't be so important you almost gave me a heart attack over him." He groaned, rubbing a hand over his face.

"You're right." Another tap of her hand on the table. "Because Steven Grant doesn't exist."

The words made him stop in the middle of the motion.
"Sorry, what now."

"Look- remember how I said his records felt too clean for a rich dude?" She made a vague motion, clearly having prepared this rant way before that day.

She flipped the folder over so he could also see it and he was met with a worryingly detailed record.
"I looked into his files. There's nothing seemingly weird at first- guy's very careful with whatever he's doing. The thing is, there's multiple gaps in these files. It seems he has a habit of disappearing off the face of the Earth then showing up again like nothing happened."

"He takes vacations often." He shrugged, not fully convinced himself. "Apparently one of those guys that just disconnects completely when he does so."

"Sure." Nothing in Sonya's voice seemed to indicate that she believed that. "Guy could just be a weirdo. Except I looked further. Steven Grant only has legal papers starting from a few years ago."

She flipped to another page.
"No records of anything on him as a child, or as a teenager, or any time like that. He's a registered citizen, no immigration records either. My first thought was, well- maybe he just changed his name."

"I'm sensing a but." He muttered.

"Steven Grant's records are solid in theory, but they don't go much deeper than that. The only thing that really stood out to me is his career, cause he didn't start off as a producer."

She slipped a form off the folder, handing it out for him to be able to read.
"Apparently he started off with recovering Egyptian artifacts. There's not a lot of information about how he got them, but before him these artifacts were at some point seized by a merc group named the Karnak Cowboys."

"Shady business with mercenaries?" He raised an eyebrow, taking the page in hand. "That sounds more like it."

"Either shady business, or-"

She flipped the folder back to its actual beginning, clearly reaching what she had wanted to bring up to begin with.

"-he was part of them. This guy look familiar to you?"

He bit his lip.

The man he was presented with was arguably younger. Held himself differently. Yet there was still that something, that nudge that there was still more behind it that he wasn't privy to.

The same feeling hiding behind Grant's practiced smiles and polite words that he still hadn't been able to shake off.

"Fuck." Was all he let out. Sonya seemed to agree.

"I once again emphasize the importance of you not sharing any of this information. We're not exactly supposed to know the members of that group, you know."

She waited a moment in case he had something to say. In truth, this was a rarity; he was well aware he had a habit of never shutting the fuck up. But here he found himself stumped, unsure of what else to say.

How had all of this come from him working for another movie flick?

"Remember how I said he looked familiar?" She sighed instead, resigned to the silence. "There was a guy in the Special Forces back when I first joined. One Marc Spector."

She tapped the folder for emphasis that the name in fact belonged to who they were talking about.

"Jax would run practice drills with him to show us back when I was in training. He was a big deal, apparently one of our best. Then one day he just left, seemingly out of nowhere. Never found out why until now."

She turned a page.
"He was discharged on mental health records."

"So bad that even the Special Forces didn't want him?"

The joke fell flat. He tried.

"Spector moved on to be a merc. We have multiple claims he was part of that team up until he disappeared off the map. His records go completely quiet, and a month later Steven Grant surfaces out of nowhere." She ran her hand through her ponytail again, the gears in her head clearly working overtime. "The dates match. The trade matches, and they look pretty damn similar to me."

"So my producer is an ex-military dude who got a new identity." He pressed his thumbs against his temples, aware of the headache that had begun building up. "Probably hiding from the law. Probably has a three digit kill count."

"Definitely." Sonya sneered.

"What if he's just turning over a new leaf?" He sat up. "Maybe he really does wanna try going through life again, making some nicer decisions. Make some movies instead of kill people. Can't blame him for that, right?"

The expression the soldier gave him told him something more.

"Come on." His hands dropped. "There can't possibly be more problems."

"There are." She muttered, almost defeatedly. "Or rather, just one. But an important one."

"Fine." He sat back down on his chair. "Hit me."

"Marc Spector is dead."

Another long moment of silence.

Then he found himself holding back his headache again.
"What do you mean he's dead. I thought we established he's just Steven Grant now."

"There's multiple witness reports that Spector died at the time he went off the grid. From multiple people, including one of the other mercs in his team. Some altercation, and he was shot and left to die in the desert."

"So he even faked his death?" An exclamation. "Jesus. Should make a movie about his own life at this point!"

"If he faked his death, why would his co-worker confirm him as dead?" Sonya made a vague motion with her hand. "Why not just cut ties and not get involved at all?"

"Maybe they split off on bad terms. Or everyone really did think he died. Maybe he was really convincing."

He lingered for a moment.
"...or it's some weird shit going on."

"Which would fit someone who just suddenly decided to show back up right when gates to the Netherrealm appear in town."

"You think Grant caused these?"

"I don't know if it's him specifically, but look at the entire image." Sonya straightened up. "A dude multiple people swear they saw die shows right back up like nothing happened, comes and goes, and one of the times exactly when he comes back, an invasion from the realm of death begins. It can't be all coincidence."

"It was also after we sealed Shinnok." He pointed out. "He came and went a lot, but this is the first time the Netherrealm came with him."

"And the first time Shinnok wasn't there to do it himself."

"You know the fucked part?" He leaned back on his seat. "This wouldn't even be the first producer I've had who's been secretly a demon this whole time. Something about weird that it happened twice, huh?"

Sonya raised an eyebrow.
"Maybe you should consider a different career path."

"Hollywood would be lost without me." He stretched out, getting up from his seat. "And who else would embark on this quest other than me?"

"Don't call our classified mission a quest." She narrowed her eyes.

"Too late." He wrapped an arm around her, noticing the way she barely reacted to the motion as if she had expected it. "You and I, we have a quest to save the world!"

"By figuring out if your producer is a demon." She sighed.

"By figuring out if my producer is a demon."

Chapter Text

It was about three or four in the morning, he'd guess, when he got the undeniable feeling of being watched.

He had been in bed, meant to be asleep, when alarm bells started going off in his head that something was there with him. Whatever had been had entered completely silently, but was apparently important enough to wake him.

He opened his eyes and turned to face the doorway to be met with a tall figure, its skeletal wings lopsided as it leaned onto the blade it carried as if it were a cane. Eyes like pools of the void itself turned onto him. The glint of white circling its head, a halo meant to deceive one into thinking they were facing an angel, no matter how the rest of it said otherwise.

His first reaction was to scream.

His second, which only barely overshadowed it, was to actually recognise what he was looking at.

"Hi Ashrah." He forced out as calmly as he could manage, pretending not to have lost multiple years of his life to the sight in front of him.

The shadowy figure perked up in surprise.
"Johnny!"

Part of him was incredibly relieved at the confirmation it was just her. Another part of him pointed out that, between her and Sonya, people broke into his house too easily and that he absolutely needed to update security.

"Did I wake you?" She tilted her head, making her form seem just a little less threatening. A little.

"Yeah, kinda." He sat up in his bed, figuring he wasn't gonna get back to sleep easily after that. "Why are you in my house?"

"Checking in on you." Casually. As if she hadn't just broken in to do that.

He held back a sigh in favour of sitting up better.
"And you couldn't just- call me? Leave a message?"

"I was already here." She frowned.

"Why were you already in my house?"

"No, no." She shook her head, visibly annoyed, then pointed towards the window. "I was there."

"Why were you outside my house?"

"Some of my siblings were there. They're not anymore."

There was something at the edge of her words in the end there. He took a wild guess that the demons mentioned were no longer alive to begin with.

Wait. Demons.

That woke him up properly, a hand fumbling around to turn on the lights. Once illuminated, Ashrah looked a lot more human, just enough to silence the anxiety thumping at the back of his head.

To be replaced with another, of course.

"You found demons?"

"My siblings are everywhere." Ashrah hummed idly.

"I mean here. " It was his turn to point out the window. "Outside my house?"

The demon simply nodded, then tilted her head once more.
"Are you surprised? They're mad at you."

"At me?"

"For Lord Shinnok."

Oh. That explained that, actually. Pretty much perfectly so. He turned to look towards the window, almost unnerved at how nothing stood out.

"Right. Mad that I handed Shinnok's ass to him, huh?"

"A little bit." Ashrah giggled, the visual clearly entertaining her. "Some of my siblings think you should die for it. Others insist that should be left for Lord Shinnok to do. But nobody agrees on anything back home anymore."

It took him a moment to remember who exactly he was looking at, and then he felt stupid for it. Of course. Why had he not asked the demon about demon business earlier?

"Hey, speaking of." He saw her attention being turned to him again. "Do you know how your family's gotten here? Last I knew, there's no plane rides to the Netherrealm."

"Through the rift."

There was a moment of shared silence. He blinked a couple of times.

"The what."

"The rift?" She frowned. "The rift that opened in between our worlds."

"When the fuck did that happen?"

"A little before you sealed lord Shinnok." The way she said everything so casually made him even more flabbergasted. "He kept everyone away from it when it first was made. But now he's not here anymore. Anyone can use the rift."

"And-" He tried to keep himself calm. "And where is that rift, exactly?"

Much to his disappointment, he was met with a shrug. Not that easy, then.

"Anyone can use the rift." A repeat for emphasis. "Lord Shinnok isn't keeping people in their place anymore. Any of my siblings can try to do as they please. Some say they'll take over Earthrealm, become more powerful than him and rule over both realms. Others say they'll find where he is and free him. Chaos, all of it."

"If they wanna find Shinnok, why open a rift here?" He scoffed. "We're nowhere near the temple."

"Rifts don't open on purpose." Another shake of the head. "That's portals. Rifts are accidents. Bad accidents. Like your earthquakes."

"Okay, so I'm just really fucking unlucky then."

"Probably, yes."

He let out a groan, dropping back into bed. Once again the universe decided to conspire against him specifically.
"You said your siblings were here? They know where I live?"

"Don't worry." Ashrah smiled. It was somewhat encouraging, despite the razor sharp teeth. "I make sure they don't show up near here again. We got rid of the ones that tried, me and the man in white."

"The what?"

"The man in white." Ashrah made a motion of pulling a hood over her head. "Looks like a bird. Smells like the sky when it's dark. Almost attacked me, but we were fighting on the same side. We fought together. Good fighter."

"The Moon Knight?"

"Maybe? No time for introductions when you fight."

Fair point. He hadn't introduced himself when fighting alongside them either. Kenshi needed to have ghosts snitch on the guy for them to get any information.

"That's good news." He decided to elaborate at Ashrah's confused expression. "Raiden said he's a God's avatar. Good to have a guy like that on our side."

"Ohhh." She nodded in understanding. "Makes sense. Lord Raiden has been here?"

"On and off."

"I'm glad to hear that."

Ashrah sat up, the blade she was leaning onto sliding back into her sheath in a move so fast he barely registered it.
"I'm going back to hunting. Good luck to you."

"Good luck." He repeated as she walked out of the room, disappearing somewhere in the shadows of his house. He really should've asked her how she had gotten inside to begin with.

Half-heartedly, he turned the lights back off, aware that sleep was unlikely now. All he could think of was that the day after he needed to call that security firm.

Chapter Text

Attempt One:

Getting the guy alone somewhere to see if he slips.

Easier said than done. The second part, that is. Getting him alone was pretty easy. He had gotten the idea when he watched Grant dump his coffee off into the sink with an expression that portrayed barely restrained disgust. When he noticed Cage staring at him, he simply offered a slight shrug.

"My fault." He spoke out. "Got the wrong order. Guess I was in a different mood this morning."

It was easy, then, to come up with the rest of his plan.

Steven Grant appeared to be more social a person than Cage had initially expected, and when he put out the idea for the two to go on a coffee run for everyone, Grant's only question was about if he had their orders noted.

He realised he had no idea if demons could drink coffee. Fuck, he should've asked Ashrah. Did Ashrah know what coffee even was? Would Grant have gotten coffee just to pretend to be human? Why dump it then? Why not get tea?

Right. Literally none of that mattered. He had a quest. Said quest was to prove if the guy was a demon or just a regular war criminal.

"Have you heard about what people have been saying?" He tried to bring it up in casual conversation as they were heading to the café. As casual as that subject could be, anyways. "Something about demons?"

"Yeah, I have." Well. At least he wasn't denying it. "Lots of people talking about it. Kinda worrying, right?"

"Sure sounds worrying." He made an exaggerated motion with his hand. "Makes you wonder if anywhere's safe, right?"

"More of a reason not to wander around at night alone." Grant sighed. "I was thinking of checking if we could move our work to different hours so people can get home way before sunset."

"Clever, yeah." Damnit. He wasn't saying anything incriminating. "Should do that."

"I'll get on it once we're back."

A blast of cold air hit them once they actually entered the building, whatever air conditioning unit the place had working on full blast. The café wasn't too busy. A few people here and there sat at the tables, but most were waiting at the counter for their order to-go, not unlike them.

He put his sunglasses on the top of his head once they walked into the café, as if he had ever used them for the sun to begin with. Instead he took the chance to take a good, proper look at the other man to see if there was anything out of place, anything to signal he wasn't human.

Steven Grant looked the same as he had yesterday. And the day before that. And so on. And anything new he did notice was a clear product of injury; Grant seemed to favour his right leg a bit more and if he looked closely he could faintly see what looked like very faint scars across his face.

No crazy eyes, no secret horns or wings. If anything, the unhealed injuries made him feel more human. His demon theory had gotten fuck all.

"It's a burn."

Whoops. He had looked too closely. He put his hand in front of his face as he cleared his throat, leaning back a bit.
"Yeah?"

"From the accident." Grant made a vague motion towards his own face. "It's covered with make-up. Looks nasty otherwise."

Ah yes. The thing he was asked not to bring up. He looked away with an awkward whistle. Damnit, he should be getting the guy closer to him, not possibly scaring him off.

"Sssorry."

"It's fine." A dejected shrug. "You were gonna ask eventually. You took longer than most people did."

And as if things weren't awkward enough, the next thing that followed was silence. Between them, anyways. The employees of the café yelled orders between one another, the rattling of the coffee machine basically unstoppable.

He looked around the café in an attempt to locate any other possible subject to talk about when he met the eyes of a man sitting alone in a table, staring at the two of them with a raised eyebrow.

Good enough. Guy could be a murderer and he'd still prefer dealing with it than this conversation.

"Hey, you know that dude?"

Grant looked away from the employees and to where Cage was pointing him off to, then perked up, his usual demeanor returning so quickly it was almost scary.

"Oh! Well, while we're here, might as well."

He made a motion for the other to follow as he begun heading towards the table, which he reluctantly accepted. Part of him wondered if he was gonna get murdered, then he realised that was stupid, cause who would do that in a public place with all these witnesses?

"Took you long enough to notice." The man said instead of a greeting when they arrived.

"I was with company." Grant tilted his head towards Cage.

The man's eyes turned towards him next, scanning him. For a moment, it almost felt like he was looking at something specific that he couldn't see. Then his look went back to neutral and he simply nodded in greeting.

Grant put his hand out to present Cage to the stranger with a confidence that made him think the two knew eachother quite well.

"This is my new co-worker, Johnny Cage."

"I know." The other nodded. "I've seen his movies."

"Oh shit, you have?" Okay, maybe the man was good news actually. He definitely had impeccable taste.

"You've played in a lot." He looked towards Grant. "And a friend of ours keeps watching them."

"Well, you should've told me." Now it was his turn to look towards Grant. "Would've given them an autograph, man!"

"I was gonna eventually." Grant laughed. "Wanted to ease into it."

Cage slipped his sunglasses back on as the producer cleared his throat.

"Cage, this is Yehya Badr. He has a clinic downtown if you ever, knock on wood, need anything." He tapped his knuckles against the table as he talked. "He's a great doctor."

"Nice to meet you."

He put his hand out and the handshake was swiftly reciprocated.

"You two know eachother a while?" Must have, to be so confident.

"We're brothers." Badr said nonchalantly.

He noticed how Grant perked up slightly, some look in his eyes that he couldn't quite decipher but seemed positive.

He personally never would've guessed. To say the two looked nothing alike would be... an understatement, to say the least.

"On a technicality." The doctor continued as if he could read his thoughts. "We have the same father."

"That makes sense. Just surprised more of the family isn't in entertainment."

"Steven's the odd one out there."

That was something his own father would've never allowed. It was kind of sad to think about, in hindsight. He decided not to get into it at that moment.

"Speaking of the clinic." Badr's tone got more strict, looking directly at the producer. "You're long overdue a visit."

That weird look in Grant's eyes hadn't quite gone away when he spoke up again.
"I've been feeling fine-"

"Today." The doctor cut him off. "You need to keep up with your treatment, or your work gets compromised. And now is not the time for that to happen. We need to talk anyways."

"Okay, okay." Grant put his hands up in mock surrender. "I'll come to the clinic, just- I don't know if it's me you need to talk to."

Cage raised an eyebrow, some clear innuendo that wasn't meant for him lingering on the sentence. Badr simply shook his head.

"You, him, whoever. You'll all hear it at the end, correct?"

Grant lingered for a moment before letting out a hesitant "I suppose". The doctor nodded and Cage mentally let out a swear.

That definitely felt important and he had no clue what it meant. Did this have something to do with the demons? How the fuck was he gonna find out?

"We'll leave you be, we should get back to work soon." Grant spoke up, unfortunately ending the conversation. "We'll take too long for just a coffee run otherwise."

No more information from here, then. He kept it in mind to tell Sonya later as they bid the doctor farewell and headed towards the counter.

Chapter Text

"You tried to goad Spector into admitting if he's a demon... by going out for coffee together? "

Them using classified Forces information meant they couldn't do their meetings in the actual base, so for now his house would have to do, an arrangement that he had absolutely no problem with. He had managed to convince Sonya to do this recon in his living room, which had some rather comfortable couches if he could say so himself.

Agent investigating in luxury. Or whatever what they were doing was called.

"I have a plan." He waved his hand dismissively. "I'm trying to get close to him so he's more likely to slip. That's the best way to get information, right?"

"Well, it didn't work." Sonya put her coffee down- no sugar, no milk, how did she even drink that thing? - on the coffee table in front of the couch. "So what's the new plan?"

"I don't need a new plan. I keep going with this one." He crossed one leg over the other, getting a little more comfortable. "The point is for him to think I want to get close to him for connections, more productions, stuff like that. If I suddenly change up how I'm acting near him, he might get suspicious."

"I'd be surprised if he's not already suspicious."

"He might be." A shrug. "But I'm hoping he's suspicious of the former."

"Risky." She mumbled. "Dude might get skittish if he figures out you're looking into him."

"That's why-" He snapped his fingers, "-I'm not gonna let him figure that out by acting shady. It's weirder not to seem greedy around here."

"The movie industry sounds like Hell." Sonya scoffed.

"It's a beautiful Hell." He took another sip of his own coffee.

Mid-sip, he let out a noise of urgency, motioning towards the laptop seated between them on the coffee.

"Forgot. Got a new name for ya to look into."

"Another of Spector's aliases?" She reached out to the laptop, her eyes still on him.

"Nope. Different guy, but they know eachother. A doctor who has a clinic downtown, says they have the same father."

"We don't have any info on Grant's supposed family." She bit her lip. "I can look into Spector's."

"Not sure if the doctor guy knows about the whole disguise." A hum of consideration. "Called him Steven. Went for the alias."

"Spector was already well into being an adult by the time he started going by that." Sonya shook her head. "There's no reason for him to have been taken in by another family. Or if there was one, it would've been documented. What's the doctor's name?"

"Yehya Badr." He leaned in forward to also look at the screen. "They don't look alike. Might be an affair thing."

"Doesn't have the same surname either. Interesting."

He didn't want to ask where Sonya had gotten the laptop from, or rather she had demanded for him not to, but he had a striking feeling that he wasn't supposed to be looking at any of the information he was being presented. It was exciting. Made him feel like a spy.

"If they do have the same father, it's illegitimate." Sonya spoke up after a bit of searching. "No visible connections at all. They're not even from the same place. Any chance they don't mean it literally?"

"Maybe?" He shrugged, leaning in further to see. He might need glasses. He'd think about that later.

"Elias Spector, a rabbi..." She mumbled the entry she was reading out loud. "Deceased. We're not getting anything out of him. Same's the case for the mother."

"Dead end." A sigh.

"I'll check out the clinic later. Look into this doctor guy." She picked her mug up again. "Anything else of note?"

He racked his brain for answers, trying to think of anything in the café that wasn't the awkwardness of their first interaction.

Slowly, his mind landed somewhere.
"When they were talking, they said something weird."

A raised eyebrow.
"Hit me."

"Grant said something about another guy. A don't know if it's me or him you want to see or something."

"That definitely means Spector." She groaned. "The doctor absolutely knows."

"Badr said they'll all hear what he had to say anyways. All. As if referring to multiple different people." It was his turn to set the mug down, wanting to free his hands so he could emote freely. "Maybe it doesn't have to do with the alias. Maybe Grant has a team of operations. Otherwise why the weird wording, in front of a stranger no less?"

"Think he works with any familiar faces?"

"He might. Dunno. Quan Chi is still alive, isn't he?"

"Haven't tracked him anywhere here." She laced her fingers between the strands of hair making up her ponytail. "Yet, at least. But that doesn't mean he couldn't be working through the other demons- or through this guy."

"So maybe Badr doesn't know he's Spector, but he could still be involved in the demon business."

"Either way, he could have answers." She tapped her nail against her mug. "Our main focus is the demon stuff anyways. That's what we want to take down. Spector's business is his own problem otherwise."

"Hey, we're being heroes. All of this is our problem, right? Saving the people and whatnot?"

She rolled her eyes, but didn't seem to disagree directly.

"Question."

"Answer." He joked and watched as her eyes narrowed.

"Fuck you."

He held back the urge to accept.
"Sorry. What do you need?"

"We've begun doing runs." She waved her hand around. "Looking for demons. Apparently we're not the only ones."

"You saw Ashrah?"

Her gaze lingered for a second.
"...who's Ashrah?"

"This demon going around with a sword. She's on our side- something about redemption." He nodded. "I can vouch for her. She's safe. Ask Raiden if you want, she works under him."

"That's probably good." She didn't seem fully convinced, but didn't seem eager to press further. "What about the other guy?"

"Dude in white? Long cape?"

A nod.

"Yeah, uh..." He lingered for a second, thinking. "He's some God's representative, apparently. Raiden says something about some Elder God of the moon that has left his avatar here- confusing shit. But he's fighting the demons so it's fine. He actually helped us last time."

"And you didn't think to tell me about all that."

....

He might have forgotten to tell her about all that.

"Didn't seem important enough to bother you with it." He lied instead.

Sonya rubbed her hand against her face in what was at best disappointment at and worst anger. He chose not to ask which.

"I want information on both of them. To learn where their allegiances actually lie. I don't believe they're doing this out of the good of their hearts."

"Could be, you know. For the same reason we're doing it? So people don't die?"

"Could be. Should make sure anyways."

"See if you can talk to Raiden." He sat up. "He knows Ashrah personally and definitely understands the God stuff better. Now how you're gonna find him-"

"I have my ways." She cut him off.

"Aaand of course you do. Don't suppose you'll share them."

"He doesn't trust that you won't abuse it." She shrugged, making him let out an offended sound.

"I would never-"

"You're telling me you'd behave with being able to call a God to you at any given moment."

"Yes! Probably. Mostly?"

Sonya let out something close to a chuckle as he pouted.

Chapter Text

Attempt Two:

Fussing over paperwork.

Being frustrated was good for interrogations, right? Or was it the other way around? Were people more or less likely to admit things if they were mad? Every movie ever made it seem like it was the former.

On bad news, they weren't alone. Of course other members of the cast would wander around the set. It was their set too, obviously. But on good news, that didn't make it suspicious to talk to the dude, and it was another place with lots of people that theoretically a demon in hiding wouldn't risk revealing itself in.

Theoretically. He was workshopping that theory.

He had his copy of the script in his hands and had spent the past ten minutes pacing around, attempting to memorise it. Or at least somewhat doing so. Half doing so and half watching what Grant was up to, which was filling up some sort of paperwork that he didn't understand because he hadn't gotten to read. It seemed not to be a happy activity, judging by the way Grant's eyebrows were furrowed and the fact that the last few forms had been signed with what was distinctly red pen, making it look less like an agreement and more like a teacher grading their students.

And, oof, those guys would not be passing if that was the case.

He decided the producer might be more willing to talk in the sense of welcoming the distraction then and there, so he stopped pretending he was reading the same page over and over and marched over to the other.

"How's it going?"

"Good." Said the man unconvincingly. The paper had begun to suffer under the pressure of his pen.

"Iiii think-" He clicked his tongue, leaning over Grant's shoulder to look at the papers; sheesh, he had no idea what most those words meant, "-you could use a break."

"I shouldn't." Even more unconvincing, to the point where Cage was now certain not even he had convinced himself.

Grant fidgeted with the pen, seemingly weighing his options. He took a moment to watch him before speaking up.

"So, I've been curious. Why superheroes?"

Why not demons? he kept himself back from asking.

The other blinked for a moment, then gave up the work to look at him, his expression calming down a bit.
"There's money in it, isn't there?"

"Sure. But there's money in a lot of things. Why specifically superheroes? Why not..."

demons?

"...horror or a classic romance or something?"

"Is it that weird?" Grant hummed, the pen now being flipped between his fingers as he spoke.

"Mostly I ask because my last director hated superhero stuff."

A laugh broke out of the man.
"Let me guess. Mickelson?"

Damn. This guy was good.
"That obvious?"

"Hasn't jumped on the trend." He shrugged.

Another moment of consideration. The pen stopped abruptly.

"I guess it's also a little self indulgent." Grant admitted. "It's a nice fantasy, isn't it? That all your problems can be solved by some freak in a cape with some one-liners and well placed punches. A chance to escape your real ones."

Well, he would argue that he didn't need any freak in a cape, and that he could deliver his own excellent one-liners, thank you. But Grant had a point.

And, infuriatingly, it was not a demon-proving one.

"So why the professor in disguise bit?"

"Oh, I just liked those explorer movies a lot." That one came out way more easily, and the honesty was glaring.

He almost held back a snort.

"What?" Grant raised his hands in mock surrender, a fake exasperation on his face as he fought back a smile of his own. "Sue me. They're fun. I like adventures. You can't tell me you're beyond unconventional combos, Ninja Mime. "

"Hey, I'll let you know it was an excellent combo." He scoffed. "Others are just mad they didn't think of it first."

"I enjoyed it. Just saying."

"You've made your point." He let out an exasperated sigh.

If anything, he did like the script. The "producer possibly being a demon" part had done surprisingly little to sour it. Maybe cause it wasn't the first time this was happening?

God. If he had a dollar for every time a member of his cast had secretly been a demon, he'd have two certain and the possibility of a third. And he still couldn't afford a carton of eggs with it.

He was surprised he had yet to see Sareena. Part of him pointed out that now that he thought it, she was most probably showing up sooner or later. Just the kind of luck a guy who had to deal with an entire demon rift or whatever it was called would have.

Grant seemed to have recovered enough to have gone back to using a regular pen, at least. And not trying to kill the paper.

"Why an actor?"

He reeled back a bit, not expecting more conversation to actually happened, then hurried to recover gracefully.

"Wuh?"

He did not recover gracefully.

"You're a martial arts expert." The producer pointed out, both literally and figuratively. Literally because he pointed his pen at him. "You have a lot of business opportunities. Why become an actor specifically?"

Oh, he could see what this was. The man was returning the question. Making willing small talk. Almost like...

...something friends would do.

Oh his plan was so fucking working.

"Dad was in the industry." No real reason to lie. This was something one could find with one Google search anyways. "Followed in his footsteps. Just so happens I was sick as fuck in it."

"Family business?" A raised eyebrow. "Didn't have you as someone who'd just follow what he was told to do."

"Hollywood was a fun experience." He shrugged. "And I agree with you. I also like adventure."

A hum seemed to show that Grant was satisfied with the answer. And as a friend thing, he decided to also return it.

"No chance you're here the same way, right? With your brother being a doctor and all?"

"Oh, no." The man laughed. "My father was a rabbi. Couldn't be less close to movie-making if I tried."

He shut his mouth quickly to stop himself from saying I know.

Whoops. Close one.

Chapter Text

Sento's blade sears through flesh, landing between bones to meet the demon's shoulder, and its single stumble is enough to give him the time to force the katana through its heart next.

It falls alongside the others, and he takes the break to breathe. He's been fighting too long, and the hordes seem unwilling to stop any time soon.

Behind you.

Despite the warning, there's no worry in the soul's tone. He cranes his neck to be met with a familiar sight.

The amalgamation of a soul shows her kneeling next to the body of one of the fallen devils.

"Dead dead?"

"Unless they return." He returns Sento to their sheath as a peace offering, letting her image dissolve.

"Need a hand?"

"Unfortunately." It's not a shame to admit, truly. The bad part is that there are enough of them for help to be an encouraging idea.

He hears Tigra grunt as she steps back up, her claws scraping against concrete as she corrects her position.

"Been hunting more of them all week."

"Correct me if I am wrong," He hums, "but it feels like their numbers have increased this time."

"I wish I could correct you." She scoffs, and he catches the slight wind of her tail flicking in irritation. "They disappeared for a bit then came back worse. What the hell?"

"Hell indeed." He mutters humourlessly, flicking Sento off their sheath again at the sound of a distant shriek.

So tiring.

The invaders don't seem to cease.

The next demon doesn't get to him. Before it even gets to be within Sento's reach the jaws of the beast have closed down on its wing, the werewoman ripping through the membrane with an inefficiency marked by anger. He doesn't make any attempt to stop her, instead snapping his head in the other direction to possibly catch another adversary.

He tries not to grimace at the sounds of the struggle, which is clearly not in favour of the demon judging by the strangled screeches it lets out. They cut off abruptly and with a wet sound, and he makes a guess that she went for the throat.

Strong woman. The image of an old warrior seems to perk up.

Desperate one. Someone else shakes their head.

The sounds of carnage last a beat longer, the squelch of flesh an undignified thing to catch. Unfitting to the finesse of the woman who had snuck into his room, who had chosen her words carefully and coated her actions with warnings.

It was almost night and day. Worryingly so.

"Tigra." He dares to say her name after a moment of silence.

Another follows, then he hears her spit something out before answering hoarsely.

"Yeah?"

"Have you encountered this situation before?"

She wipes what he assumed to be blood off her face, considering her answer in the process.

"No. Not with demons, anyways. Vampires once. Why?"

Vampires?

There's many tales to be shared, then.

He notes that for later. Another time, with more trust, he might ask for details.

"You are defensive." He cuts to the point. "Not as simple as being territory defensive. You are prepared to fight for your life, yet you are still on edge."

Panicked. The voice of an old woman offers, and he shakes his head. He doesn't think he has the right to make that claim.

Quiet follows, and for a moment he brushes his hand against Sento again, seeking whether or not the woman had simply walked off. But no, that unintelligible mosaic of a soul is still before him.

He barely hears the sharp breath she takes.

"Let's walk." It's presented as an offer, but he knows it's not. "I don't wanna have to look at this thing."

He has no reason to decline. With a nod, he puts out a hand to motion for her to lead the way, the other still resting on Sento.

Tigra does just that.

Her tail flicks restlessly as they move through the empty streets, another late hour away from the business of night life the other side of town boasts. He sees the souls stepping by his side, Sento's chorus eager to hear what he is about to be told.

Now and again, he catches flicks of other figures with that same feeling, but they are gone by the time he turns. He doesn't seek them out further. Ghosts prefer their peace, and he will not disturb it.

"You must have lost people while fighting." She finally says.

The souls go silent as his grip on the sword tightens.

"Countless."

The admittance is quiet. She picks it up anyways.

"It never gets easier." Tigra continues, her claws clicking against the pavement as she goes along the path. "I keep losing people, and I try to tell myself that this time I'll be ready, that I won't care."

"And you never are."

That is what this is for. An understanding hum of a young man in the clothes of a noble. He can't begin to guess how long ago this one would have lived. It is fear that conquered her, made her seek you out.

The clicking is brought to an end. The beast has stopped moving. He does the same.

"And one day you love someone. Someone who technically, should be immortal. Finally, someone you can spend your life with without being afraid, right?"

He thinks of a woman with a quicker trigger finger than his and a crooked smile. He thinks about running his hand through her hair, her hand in his. Her laugh that was loud and she thought was ugly and he thought was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.

"And one day," Tigra's voice cracks, "one day everything that can go wrong goes wrong at the same time. And you lose them too. And suddenly, that bubble of safety bursts, and your world crumbles in front of you."

And he thinks about her death.

"My condolences." Is all he can offer.

This time, her breath is easily audible.

"I just got my world back. I just got him back. And I'm not allowing no demon nor God to dare take my happiness away from me again."

He knows her eyes are trained on him now. He feels the way he's being sized up. Sento is warm in his hand.

"Even if it means being defensive. And even if it means that either you choose to be my ally, or I see you as my enemy."

It's a threat.

It's a plea.

He takes his hand away from Sento.

"You will not find an enemy in me."

He thinks of losing what he has now, and the idea of fretting over his fighting technique seems so silly compared to it.

The cat's tail flickers again, but her stance is no longer that of a feral animal prepared to strike. It's that of someone tired. Of someone desperate.

He wonders what emotion his own matches, and if it's far from hers at all.

"We have a hunt to continue."

She changes the subject, and he lets her, simply nodding as she leads the way once more towards the sounds her ears pick off easier than his own.

Chapter Text

He was splayed across the couch when his phone rang.

And no, he wasn't half asleep. That's what a hater would want you to think. He just jumped at the sound of the ringtone because he was too focused on looking at the notes he had taken.

Because yes, of course Sonya hadn't let him keep the actual files they had worked on. Something about confidentiality and not being tracked and that she didn't trust him to hide them somewhere people wouldn't find them and other silly stuff that was just business, he was sure. So he had taken notes on the first notebook he had found tucked away somewhere in his office, which appeared to be one he once wrote his schedule on judging by the two or three filled pages on the front. Two and a half. Take your pick.

And he had just been so focused on reviewing those. The nights of bad sleep and blinking away images of the tournament still clinging to his mind hadn't caught up to him, because that was simply not something that happened to Johnny Cage.

Right, the phone. That was still ringing. He flicked the notebook off his face to the coffee table and stole a quick look at the caller ID, letting out a breath he didn't realise he was holding.

Nick. So nobody had died. Just work. Everything was normal.

He cleared his throat to force off any not asleep, he hadn't slept, hints, then picked up the device and flicked to answer.

"Hellooooo."

"Hey. Busy?"

He glanced towards the notebook of illegal notes on things he shouldn't know about that he had spent at least thirty minutes scribbling in.

"Nope. What's up?"

"Clear your schedule for Friday. Jackson Entertainment Institute is setting up a party and you're the main attraction."

"What, we're advertising this early?" He peeled himself off the couch, wincing slightly at the way his back immediately proceeded to hurt in response. "We don't even have a proper set yet."

"Not advertising. Teasing, if you will, that some project is happening. Get heads turning."

"Movie's got a long way to go until it's actually done."

"Who cares? You're not there to be interviewed for it. Just show some face and rumours will get going."

"So..." He lingers over it a bit, giving his brain time to catch up. "It's not a party for our work. It's just a party so we can show off and remind people we exist."

It doesn't take too long for a response.

"Yeah. Duh."

Oh thank God. He had feared he'd actually need to get prepared for something, add more work on top of his already existing load, or, worse, this being something he should have already done and forgotten about.

Probably why he had started pacing around the area of the living room as he talked. For some reason, he just felt like he couldn't stand still.

"Whole cast is scheduled. Something about sponsors, something about being there to support upcoming releases- look, all that doesn't really matter. Just show up and do your thing. Hell, bring someone else too, you're allowed a plus one as a VIP guest. Make it a hangout."

"You're the best, Nick."

"I didn't plan it." Although he can't see the other man, he can imagine him shrugging. "Remember, Friday at 7. All this sound good to you?"

"No, genuinely, that sounds great!" He made a turn to continue his pacing, and his eyes caught a figure on his window.

A figure. On his window. On a floor no-one could possibly reach.

He did a double take before realising that oh, of course he recognised those empty eyes patiently looking at him through the glass, and at one point they would be singlehandedly responsible for giving him a heart attack.

"I'll send you the full invite."

"Yeah, uh-" He raised a hand towards the demon, mouthing a one second- "-will I need to print it out or anything-?"

A snort came out from the other side of the line.

"Come on, man. They know who you are."

The shadow tilted her head probably more than a human being- or, well, a pretend human being- should be able to.

"Just making sure." He motioned with his free hand towards the phone, and that seemed to get her to understand.

"They'd be more surprised not to see you."

"Mhm."

Okay, now this conversation needed to end quickly. How to do that without sounding like a complete asshole-?

"Got any idea who you'll be bringing with you?"

Yeah. Sure. Good enough.

"I do." He confidently lied. "And I should in fact call her right now, so, talk to you later."

"Damn, you're excited. Talk later then."

He waited a second for the beep to confirm the call was over, then tossed the phone towards the direction of the couch as he hurried towards the window.

"You can't keep doing this." He huffed as he opened it up, struggling a little extra with the fact that he had never done so before. This window was for the view, damnit, not for opening. "Just knock on the door-"

"But you saw me faster!" Ashrah argued, climbing through the gap in a fashion that made him think of a haunted doll in a horror movie, and he held back a shiver.

"I have a doorbell camera, I could see you anyways-"

"I do not like your objects-"

"-You can't keep breaking into my house-"

"-I am not breaking in, I enter with your help-!"

"-you'd be entering with my help through the front door too-"

The window pane clicked back into place, thank God, and he finally caught up to the fact that oh, Ashrah was here. In his house.

"-wait, were you fighting demons outside my place again?"

To his somewhat surprise, definitely relief, she shook her head no.

"Making sure you are alive."

Aw. Sweet. And kind of threatening, but to be fair they had already long established the demons wanting him dead part, so he couldn't blame her for it whatsoever.

"I'm doing really well, actually." He went back to check if his phone had actually landed on the couch- it had not, but the carpet sufficed in making sure it survived the fall- then brushed off some dust off its screen with the edge of his sleeve. "All I've been doing is work stuff. No demons involved."

Well, maybe one demon involved, but he still couldn't prove that, so...

...wait.

"Wait, Ashrah."

The demon blinked in acknowledgement, waiting for him to go on.

"You can like- tell when someone's a demon, right?"

"I thought that was implied. You thought I just knew my sisters well last time?"

"Well-" He made an incoherent motion with his hands, the phone flailing around alongside them, "-maybe? Maybe you already knew. You had like seen them transform or something."

Ashrah let out a small chuckle, coming out as a sound closer to clicking than a laugh.
"No. Demons can recognise one another. We can..."

She brushed her hand over her chin, the movement slightly awkward; clearly mimicking something she had seen people do without quite understanding it.
"Sense? I think is the word. Sense eachother."

Fuck. Of course they could. It sounded very on brand for the Netherrealm. Also he supposed they had to recognise eachother on expeditions and stuff like that.

...Did demons do expeditions?

He filed that away on things to ask later. Now was time to plan.

Because if everyone in the movie cast was gonna be at the party, and he could bring another person to it...

"Are you a good actress?"

The demon tilted her head with a little frown.
"Ah, no, Johnny, I do not want to be in your movings-"

"No no no." He cut her off, waving his hands. "Not a movie, no. More like- a scheme."

"...what kind?"

"The figuring out if someone's a demon kind."

That caught her attention, making her perk up in newfound interest.

"All I need you to do is attend an event as my plus one and pretend you're a totally normal human."

"What's a plus one?"

"Uhhh..." He whistled for a second, trying to think of a good explanation. "Like. I have an invite, and I can bring one more person with me. So it's me and plus one."

"So like a friend hangout?"

"Yeah!" He put his hands out. His phone almost fell once more. "We go to a fancy event, get drinks, steal some shrimp or whatever, and figure out if the guy I've been looking into is a demon. That sound good?"

Ashrah's eyes narrowed, her pupils having lessened to mere slits.
"Do I get to have the shrimp."

"Yes."

"I accept."

"Perfect."