How did he do it?

How did he do it?

That question floated around in Anarky's head for the past three days. Kabal was a pain in his ass. Why did he give that vigilante all the information he did? Maybe it really was his ego. He's been told to have that.

Finally, after what felt like hours, he got off the plane. Now, he was dressed in a very bright red suit. For the first time in a while, he had taken his mask completely off.

His short, nicely trimmed, blond hair waved in the wind. His blue eyes showed brightly. There wasn't a single imperfection on his face, aside from a hardly noticeable scar above his right eye.

He had a suitcase in hand as he made his way towards the exit of the airport. A slight smile appeared on his lips. It doesn't matter how Kabal did it. He failed to kill his target. He let his first major super villain get away. That ought to bring a few laughs.

He saw a limo in the front. Must be the one he called for. He opened up the back door and called out, "To the nearest hotel, my dear driver."

"I told you I'd be seeing you again."

Anarky nearly jumped in his seat. He turned to face Revolver sitting across from him, twirling his namesake. The whoosh of the gun twirling through the air was the only sound for a few seconds.

"How did you find me?" he asked uneasily. He made sure to use an alias that goes deep, made sure to let them know he'd pay in cash when the service was complete. How did he find him?

"You're not a hard man to find, Anarky," Revolver stated. He finally put the gun away in its holster. "In fact, you're hardly a man at all. What you did three days ago was… unsettling."

"I helped save a city," Anarky replied, his eyes narrowing.

"Please." Revolver crossed his arms. "I saw the broadcast. We've been monitoring you 24/7. I also witnessed that little outburst of yours after Kabal humiliated your stunt double. And before you ask how I knew, we have eyes and ears everywhere. Like I just said."

He rubbed his gloved hands. "Still. Hiring Mark Philips into your little gang must've been quite the blow to your budget."

"I managed."

"I bet you did. I know the problem with you, Anarky."

A raised eyebrow prompted Revolver to continue.

"You're an egotistical madman, the equivalent of a screaming child with a grenade. You had an entire city on its knees for two solid weeks, but the minute you became fixated on one man, your empire crumbled."

Anarky didn't move a muscle.

"Oh, don't get me wrong. You're smart. But that's not all you need in a battle. You need something more. Something you don't have. You need a plan past 'destroy-shit-and-let-chaos-reign.' That's your problem. You only wanted to cause chaos but you didn't have a method in the madness. Killing without inhibition, without groundings, just doesn't have any logic in it. None that I could see, anyway."

Revolver grabbed Anarky by the hair and pulled him closer so that they were inches apart. The hate they both shared for each other was radiating off the two. "You are not a leader. You are not a strategist. You are not the next big super villain. You. Are. Nothing."

He let go of Anarky's head and sunk back in his seat.

Anarky shook his head. "You tracked me down just to give me a speech on why I suck?"

"No. I said you're smart. I want to use that intelligence and point it in a better direction."

"A better direction?" Anarky parroted.

"I won't be doing it, of course, I don't have the time." Revolver shrugged. "You're barely worth this conversation in my eyes. But someone, God knows why, thinks so."

"Who?" Anarky asked.

The limo screeched to a halt. "That must be him," Revolver mentioned, moving to open the door.

A man climbed in. He was in his mid-fifties, his short hair was slicked back and his suit finely pressed. It was red, like his, but a much darker color. Almost blood red. It had gold trimmings along the edges. His hair was pitch black, almost sucking in light. And his cold eyes seemed to pierce Anarky's soul.

The man spoke in a cold, piercing voice. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Jackson."

Anarky's eyes went wide. "You know…?"

"Oh, yes. We know everything about you, Mr. Jackson," the man continued to speak. "We know your name, your bank account number, the location you are heading towards, even dear old mom's house. And if you don't do what we say, when we say it, we will destroy every single thing you hold most dear to you. And while I am giving the orders, I will have a smile on my face."

Anarky sat stock still, reeling from the revelation.

Revolver took out his namesake and began twirling it. "Told you, 'You are nothing.'"

"We know everything about you, Anarky," the man repeated. "Soon the entire world will know as well. Unless you accept my extension of friendship."

"Who are you?"

The old man smirked. "My name is Shang Tsung."