CHAPTER IV

Lights, Camera, Traction

Six months later...

Johnny Cage walked down the narrow platform, his white sneakers making absolutely no sound as he took step after cautious step. His sunglasses were off - he couldn't afford to have his vision obscured here. To either side of the walkway was a river of acid - not the type that normally rained in some cities back on Earth - no, this stuff was pure. He idly wondered just how much time it would take to eat through one's skin. Then he looked at the bleached-white skeletons floating around on the surface, and decided it was probably better not to know.

"How do I get myself into these messes, anyway?" he muttered aloud, moving his head slightly to the side in order to avoid a dangling hook attached to the ceiling with a chain. There were several of these about, and one of them held what looked to be a ribcage. He really didn't want to know why.

He was thirty, well-built, rich, famous, the idol of millions, and at the moment, scared utterly shitless. To have been separated from that hot Kitana babe and his buddy Liu was bad enough, but this just made it worse. He didn't mind solitude, but...not here. Although he was more than certain he could handle whatever obstacles came his way, he had never believed more than now that there was safety in numbers. The ribcage told him that.

He stopped. Ahead of him were two metal doors, eight feet high and three feet wide, each. They appeared to be sealed.

He was debating on whether not to think about how to open these monstrosities, or not to think about what could be large enough to require their size for passage, when they slowly grinded open.

And what stood behind the doors convinced him that he was going insane. It couldn't be that bad. Not possibly.

"You've got to be kidding me."

"RAAAARGH!" The nomadic mutant Baraka bared his teeth.

"Ah, god...no...just...no....CUT! Stop the cameras. I'm not doing this."

An alarm buzzed, and the studio lights went on.

"Cripes, Johnny! What is it NOW?!" The fat co-director wobbled over, talking into his megaphone, although there was no need. He wore tacky sandals, Bermuda shorts, and a T-shirt that was 2 sizes too small, unflattering at best. His hair was pulled back into a grey braid.

"Oh, come on. He looks NOTHING like Baraka! Who hired this guy?"

A thin man in a plaid shirt and thick-rimmed glasses sighed, and allowed his head to impact against a nearby steel girder prop. "But Mr. Cage, we made the suit to your exact specifications..."

"The SUIT?! You think his SUIT looks bad? Yes, the suit looks bad, but I'm not talking about that right now. I'm talking about HIM!"

"What's wrong with him?" The director looked genuinely puzzled.

"Yeah, what's wrong with me?" 'Baraka' said in a thick Brooklyn accent.

"I....(sigh)....Ok, look, when I fought Baraka, not only was he not 200 lbs. overweight, but his teeth didn't look like Lee press-on nails. They were silver, and very, very sharp."

As if to prove his point, one of the teeth fell out of the mask, and clattered onto the floor.

'Baraka' shrugged, mumbled something about extras, and ambled off towards the snack tray. Johnny sighed and hopped over the green muck towards the general direction of his dressing room. The co-director shuffled along beside him, and threw an arm over his shoulders. He smiled.

"OK, Johnny. You're the boss, after all. What should we do?"

Johnny stopped and considered. "Just...ok, first, let's work on making his teeth look real."

"Check."

"Second...hey, wardrobe guy!"

"...yes?" the man in plaid looked at them from down the corridor.

The suit has red trim, not blue. Got that?"

"Yes, sir. We can fix that up in a 'sec....quick dye job. Easy."

"Good." He turned back to the co-director. "Third..."

'Baraka' stuffed a donut into his mouth and belched. Johnny heard it.

"...get me someone more muscular, and fire him. Oh, and give the 'Taro 'bot a bit more gore on the fangs, kay'?"

The co-director looked up from his clipboard where he was scrawling something, and nodded. "Gotcha. But you gotta admit, Johnny...you could tell us these things sooner...and you really should have met with him beforehand..."

"I know, Gabe, I'm sorry about that. Remember, I'm going as I move. All I'm working on here is memory." They started walking again.

"All of this happened when...?"

"Bout 7 months ago. But that's not it. It's just that...well...writing the script and acting at the same time is no problem. I can handle that. I did that for the first, remember?"

Gabe chortled. "Do I remember?" 'Mortal Kombat' made me a very wealthy man, Johnny!"

Johnny smiled. "Of course. But, now that I'm doing that, and directing, too...it's all a wee bit too much."

Gabe nodded grimly. "Everyone's first directing job is tough. But you can do it. Think, we've only got a couple more scenes to do, and it's a wrap."

"Why don't you...?"

Gabe held his palms up defensively. "We've been over this, Johnny. I've done martial arts movies from here to hell and back. I've done some of the best - 'Bloodrain", "Killers of Time" - but what we have here is not just a martial arts movie. It's more like sci-fi. I'm unfamiliar with that stuff..."

Johnny opened his door, walked in, and sat down." I know, I know. To be honest, I don't know if Stevie himself could help me bring what I saw onto the screen. That's the only reason I agreed to direct...but it's still action at the heart of it all...you should be..."

"That's why I signed on as co-director. I'm here to help. This project is yours, not mine. You should be directing your own experiences - it's just common sense. All of Hollywood thinks you're ready for this."

Johnny poured himself a cup of coffee. "I don't know if I am."

Gabe patted him on the back. "You are. Re-shoot in fifty?"

"If the dye's dry by then, yeah."

"OK. Enjoy your cup. Later - and, try not to let it get you down, OK?"

"I won't, thanks."

Gabe walked out, shutting the door behind him.

How can I tell him? How can I tell anyone? The reason I'm stressed isn't because I'm directing. As if. Wish it were that easy.

He looked at himself in the mirror. Sighed.

We've left it open for another sequel...and I'm worried that that just may be one feature based on a true story that may not have a happy ending. This isn't over. We could all see that. Why couldn't Liu?

He exhaled loudly. Took another sip, and smiled.

Ah, well. Whatever happens, I'll be ready. I'll be prepared.

He put his sunglasses on, and did a little closed fisted boxing stance for the fun of it, biting his lower lip in an attempt to look seriously goofy. Smiled again.

And I'll look damn good while doing it, too.

Author : Bob J Dole

Creation date: 2005-1-9-6-1

Modification date: 2005-1-9-6-1