The Hunger Games

[Shang Tsung]

In the darkness of the abandoned building, Shang was left to his thoughts. There was far too much activity outside for him to risk leaving until the light of day caused the cutthroats and would-be gangsters to disperse back to their own crumbling hideouts. With all the time in the world to himself, Shang fondly reflected upon his previous lives. While part of him would never accept the fact that Shao Kahn had been his overlord, it had been over a millennium since he’d last been able to do whatever he wanted whenever it pleased him.

For the moment, he was enjoying the status quo. He had to do more work here than when he had a Shokan prince and a private army to serve him, but much like the founders of the New World, he found some amusement in being a self-made man. The last time he got his hands this dirty was six hundred some years ago… before that damned monk had ruined everything. Maybe it would be time for Shang to ingratiate himself a little deeper into his current trappings. If life here was so miserable that even the dead had to defend the place, the sorcerer figured it wouldn’t be too hard to ease his way into a more comfortable position.

I’ll have to meet the mayor. Or maybe the captain of the guards… Another thought that crossed his mind was tracking down the source of the town’s undead presence. If anything, a necromancer would probably be far more tolerable than a bunch of provincial politicians. If he played his cards correctly, he could make his position in this realm far more comfortable.

And let us not forget the souls. A grin crept across hobo-Shang’s visage as he closed his eyes and tried to find some sleep.