#tundric tunes

[fictionbyafangirl]

Tundric Heart

//Hi, all! After becoming absolutely *obsessed* with the new Mortal Kombat movie, as well as being a fan since the games began, and being a fan of JoTa since I saw The Raid: Redemption when it first came out and since then, I decided my flagship fic shall involve Bi-Han/Sub-Zero. This takes place prior to the film, having nine tournaments been fought. This is a POV-shifter and involves our favorite chilly boi with an original character. Naturally, I own no rights to the franchised character and only write out of my own fun.  I hope you enjoy!\\

Nothing phased him anymore. Bi-Han had lived many centuries, each reinforcing his growing lack of humanity toward the world, whether it be Earthrealm or Outworld. Due to his “gifts”, Bi-Han had become a favorite champion for Shang Tsung in the Mortal Kombat tournaments, successful in more than not and ultimately becoming an attack dog at the sorcerer's will. Despite Bi-Han wanting the Lin Keui to be free-agents once again, himself, primarily, he obliged, knowing he owed Shang Tsung his fealty for the many favors he performed for him in the past. The Lin Keui had been an elite group of assassins for those who could afford them. Either born into the organization or kidnapped as a youngling for the cause, its numbers were always plentiful. Bi-Han and his brother, Kuai Liang, had served the clan well, rising through the ranks. Bi-Han, though, had become the face of the group. The fierce fighter had gained notoriety for defeating the one and only Hanzo Hasashi, as well as the Shirai Ryu, a noble competitor clan in their world of crime. Over four hundred years had passed, yet a looming whisper of a threat still hung in the air from the very fatality that put Bi-Han on the map. Ever the paranoid ruler, Tsung tasked Bi-Han with finding the last remaining Hasashi blood heir and executing them. To the cryomancer, there was simply no point in doing so. He had ended the lineage himself many lifetimes ago. The Hasashi family fell to his hand, and he knew it, first-hand. Still, the soul-eater feared the prophecy of the uprising of Earthrealm defenders to thwart the imminent takeover, if the last tournament should be victoriously won by the mortals with an arcana gift. Nine circuits had been finished in the favor of Tsung, only needing two more to claim supremacy over the mortals. Begrudgingly, Bi-Han found himself in his home-realm on a reconnaissance mission to find out if the myth was true. One thing the warrior loathed was to be undermined, especially by Tsung. His employer had a knack for sending in the reinforcements if the smallest of setbacks occurred. Bi-Han was more than confident in his skill and ability to successfully fulfill his duties. To send in those that were inferior to him was simply a slap in the face. Not a day went by that the assassin didn’t think of a world where he no longer served Tsung.

The man was ageless as he sat across from a run-down diner, concealed in darkness. Darkness had always been his friend, even in the glory days of the Lin Kuei and the chaos they inflicted on their world. Darkness cloaked him in secrecy. Darkness gave him advantage against his opponents. Darkness felt almost as familiar and second nature to him as the cold. It had been a rainy evening, the spray of dingy gutter water spraying up from beneath the tires of those driving muddled the sidewalk. Bi-Han, looking not a single day older than he had when he terminated Hasashi, watched the neon sign that indicated that the diner was “open” flicker against the night. Dressed in black athletic jogger pants, a black zipped-up windbreaker jacket and a black hat with the bill curved and pulled down low to conceal his other-worldly eyes, the man watched from outside an abandoned building that sat adjacent to the diner. Arguably, the only physical trait that had changed about him was the hue of his eyes, shifting from a deep brown to a starkly bright  blue so pale that it nearly looked like ice had formed in his irises. These were the attributes of a cryomancer, and bastard Edenians, alike. Those of Edenian nature aged much slower than humans, living so long that tens of thousands of years was still considered to be in one’s youth. His hair remained raven in color though his skin did grow more pallid as though encrusted in frost, but not. The cryomancers had been banished from Edenia long before Bi-Han’s birth, but the genes that descended from the gods still carried on through himself and his brother, Kuai. Down the block, a group of young men were approaching the corner door of the diner, rowdy and raucous as they walked before ducking into the establishment. Taped hands rose from Bi-Han’s sides to bring the hood of his skim jacket up and over the top of his head, further obscuring his identity. He waited a few minutes to allow them to settle into their normal places to not rouse suspicion before crossing the slick city street. In all of the years of Bi-Han’s life, he had tuned his tracking abilities to be imperceptible.

His intel told him that a group of men, one that bore the mark of the dragon, frequented the very location nightly, as though a ritual amongst the friends. Bi-Han’s head never lifted as the bell on the handle of the door jingled to alert a new customer, and luckily, neither did theirs. His gaze remained to the lower-half of the room to not allow his face to be seen. The fluorescent lights that lined the ceiling in panels glared harshly in contrast against the natural darkness of the night he had waited in. Slipping into a corner table, the plastic-covered stuffing of the seat gave out a subtle hissed as it depressed beneath his weight. The group of men continued their merry occasion, joking and talking with elevated volume. The more attention they brought to themselves and detracted from himself, the better. It didn't take long for the waitress on shift to approach them, seemingly having a report with them as she used their names, engaging in banter with them as they shamelessly flirted with her. Her kind and clever rebuffs and deflection to their order inquiries showed that this was an occasional thing they did. She clearly wasn’t in the business of seeing any of them casually, yet they pushed the envelope with hope. Their nonchalance toward her left little disgust in Bi-Han’s mouth, but still, he surveyed. The fighter spared a moment to take in the new environment. The faded color scheme and furniture showed that the restaurant had not updated in some time, clearly struggling financially to keep afloat to bother with aesthetics. The tables were uneven as they stood and the seating creaked under pressure. The artwork that laid scarcely among the walls were drab and unappealing. Virtually everything that had been a polished metal before now rusted with weak infrastructure. The location was dying out, most likely kept in business by the nightly patronage of the subjects he followed in. 

Bi-Han focused all of his senses on the men, discreetly, as to not be noticed. He eavesdropped on their conversations, watched as they removed their outer-layers for any sign of the marking. He even committed bits of things they said to memory in the off-chance that it would aid him in his mission. His focus was solely on the group and everything they did. His gaze, though hidden beneath the bill of a hat, was fixated without any breaks, that is, until the image of an apron filled with pens and order tablets slid into his view. Bi-Han held his breath as the tell-tale spiel was about to be given to him. 

“Hi, there! I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before. My name’s Jill and I’ll be your waitress on duty tonight. What can I get you?” No matter where you went, every restaurant had the same, generic greeting. 

Holding his breath for a moment to consider his response, Bi-Han decided to play it cool, not wanting to garner any awareness of his existence. The woman was polite enough for him to not care about the disruption. While she had been tending to the object of his assignment he had been able to get a good look over on her. She was attractive with cream-like skin and smoky hazel eyes and hair the color of maple that sat in delicate, loose curls that cascaded down the sides of her face. She dressed semi-comfortably in a baggy button-up flannel shirt that she tucked into the waistband of her tapered jeans that clung to her ankles and simple shoes with her apron and a name badge in place. She kept her makeup natural and modest, which was a pleasant thing to come across with women. With an errant hand, Bi-Han, without tipping his face at all, flipped the menu on the table over to quickly peruse the refreshments section. Quickly, his eyes settled on his selection before speaking it aloud to her, though in a low, hushed tone.

“Green tea. Iced.” His tone was short and cold, as per usual with him, and he offered no opportunity to continue the conversation. He was there for a reason, after all.

With a curt nod, Jill fished a dense book of ordering tickets from her apron and a pen to scribble down the table number and order to keep her tabs in-line. Bi-Han could hear the sound of the ball-point pen against the paper, attuning himself to his surrounding once more.

“Iced green tea, coming right up. What’s uh��� a name I can put on this order?” The waitress inquired with an arched brow as her teeth found the corner of her lips, nibbling gently in a nervous gesture. Bi-Han took another moment to contemplate his response. His true, given name was something that was well-known. Instead, he improvised.

“Brian.” He was blunt again, cutting to the chase without any inflection to invite casual conversation.

“Right. Iced green tea for Brian, coming right up.” Jill relayed before bouncing away from the table to fulfill his request. She caught on to his tone quickly and read it loud and clear.

Naturally his order was the first one to be completed. Jill returned with his drink in-hand, along with a wrapped straw and a saucer of potential add-ins for the beverage. Bi-Han offered a small nod to thank her, fixating his senses back on the group of men across the room. Absently, he unwrapped the straw and slipped it within the glass, taking absent sips through it to not reveal his face. The preparation in the States certainly didn’t do the authentic drink justice as it did in his native China, but still he managed to swallow it down as he kept his eyes on them. Although the drink had ice in it, it didn’t suit him. His hand reached around the cylinder, his fingers releasing their icy powers to chill it even further, finally making it satisfactory to his liking. Bi-Han sat with his back pressed against the glass window that separated himself from the outside world. The rain continued to fall, pelting against the window pane. He could just as easily end the waiting and watching. He could turn every plunging bead of water into a lethal bullet to litter all of the men in holes, taking care of every lead. Still, he blended into the foreground, motionless and silent.  He wasn’t sure how long the men would lounge in the diner but he would be observing for as long as they would be. Someone was bound to slip and reveal themselves, reveal their arcana… something. If Bi-Han was anything, he was patient.