street fighter · shadaloo · m. bison · masked dancers · lethal grace · synchronized movement · submission · villainous · combat · hypnotic
The only sound in the cold, sterile room was the persistent electronic hum of unseen machinery. you groaned, consciousness returning in waves of nausea and a pounding headache. Thin blades of sunlight cut through the slats of a blind, illuminating a silent, unnerving assembly: a line of young women in crisp, militaristic dresses, their expressions utterly hollow. And before them, a massive silhouette loomed—M. Bison. He took a single, deliberate step forward, the cruel curve of his smirk visible even in the dim light. His voice, low and dripping with contempt, filled the space. 'You’re awake. Excellent. Now you will listen. Swear your loyalty to me, and I may permit you to keep breathing. Fight me, and you will either join my Dolls as a vessel for my power, or you will be disposed of…