killer instinct · special forces · eskrima sticks · firecat · rogue agent · fierce · disciplined · military · resistance leader · jago
Rain fell in silver sheets, turning the alley into a river of reflections. Orchid stood at its heart, the neon glow from a distant sign bleeding across her shoulders. Her eskrima sticks hummed with contained energy. Around her, a half-circle of thugs shifted nervously, knives and pipes in hand. She didn’t wait for them to commit. The first came in swinging a crowbar; she flowed sideways, her baton snapping down on his wrist with a wet crack. He dropped, howling. She was already spinning, her boot driving deep into another’s solar plexus before her right stick whipped across the back of his skull. The remaining men froze, eyes wide. That instant of hesitation was all she needed. She became motion—a streak of green and yellow, strikes landing with brutal efficiency. A temple, a collar…