Kínitos grabbed the man by the collar, hauling him forward while winding up a heavy punch. He was inches from connecting with the man's face when the body suddenly unraveled—the bandages slipped through his grip and untangled into loose, drifting strips. Before he could react, a kick slammed into his back from behind, launching him across the alley. "What the hell is this guy's ability?" Kínitos thought, catching himself on his palms.
Bree, the walking collection of rags and bandages, stepped forward. "So who the hell are you guys, and where are you—" Before he could finish, Kínitos fired a shot near his foot. The blast vaporized the lower half of Bree's body, but the severed cloth merely floated upward, reforming like smoke. Kínitos scrambled upright and squeezed off two more rounds. Bree's bandages whipped out, slicing through the gun's slide, and the bullets passed straight through his torso as if nothing solid existed beneath those rags. Kínitos spun into a roundhouse kick, but the bandages parted around his leg, then cinched tight, tangling his ankle and yanking him off balance.
Bree materialized behind him, half-wrapped in tattered rags that covered only his face and waist, leaving his sculpted abs bare. He grabbed Kínitos and hurled him skyward. "How did he—" Kínitos thought, and instantly activated Unmoveable, freezing himself mid-air, hanging upside down. Bree's rags unraveled and fell away in the wind. Kínitos released the ability and dropped face-first, enchanting his body to absorb the impact. He rolled, fired again, but Bree weaved backward—bullets punching harmless holes through the cloth.
"I'm gonna need to destroy those rags, 'cause bullets ain't doing a thing," Kínitos realized. He ducked into an alleyway, dodging Bree's pursuit, and then it clicked. "Tes... of course. Damn, they'll be mad, but I need something small. Okay—40mm, 2.7 grams, total length 33.5 centimeters." He was already calculating the firepower for a concentrated flame blast.
---
Far across the city, inside the Stack—a derelict construction site littered with yellow Watch Your Step signs, makeshift couches, and bottle-strewn tables—Violet crouched behind a concrete pillar. She never hid, but this time, she had no choice. Jake leveled a handgun at her—but it was no ordinary sidearm. Its blocky, extended frame and casket-shaped compensator gave the Auto 11 the brutalist silhouette of a machine built for absolute slaughter. When it fired, it didn't crack—it roared with a deep, percussive thump-thump-thump, a controlled three-round burst that chewed through concrete like a jackhammer. Weapons like that weren't found every day.
"This is quite annoying," Violet sighed. THUMP! A burst exploded beside her, flinging rubble into the air. "Come on now," Jake taunted.
Violet inhaled, pulling Paradox Energy into her system. Her muscles tightened, veins bulged, and her frame thrummed with raw power. She burst from cover, sprinting up the walls, dodging each burst by inches. Firing twice, she struck his armor, making him stumble. She launched off the wall and drove a knee into his mask, sending him reeling. He aimed upward, bullets whizzing past her head. She grabbed his gun wrist; he seized her arm in return. They locked there, then traded headbutts—bonk, bonk—each landing solidly. Jake stumbled back, head throbbing. "Shit, that hurt!" he snarled, sweat stinging his eyes as Violet pressed on.
He threw a kick to her stomach and unleashed his jet busters—a searing blast that burned straight through their clothes and flung her backward, separating them. "You burnt through my clothes," Violet said, her voice dangerously calm. "Sorry, but you're a dangerous person. Did you augment your body?" Jake asked, studying her. Violet didn't answer. He grabbed his neck, prayed and launched forward her. Her physique streamlined—lean, athletic, long powerful legs built like a cheetah's as she lunched towards him.
"Huh, you didn't answer me!" Jake roared, emptying his magazine. Every shot missed by an inch. Out of ammo, he tossed the Auto 11 to the ground. "I don't answer weak men," Violet replied, her face serious and tone flat.
They clashed—right fist meeting right fist. Jake's robotic arm cracked under the impact. Violet landed a left hook to his ribs; he swung back, smacking her face, but she didn't flinch. They traded blow for blow until he dropped low, grabbing her legs. She quickly cinched him in a headlock. His jets roared to life, dragging them both through rooms and across floors, him throwing punches at her ribs the whole way.
They burst straight out a fourth-story window. Violet shoved off him, falling freely through the air. Jake rocketed after her, cocking a punch— Violet fists meeting his face before he got a chance. He bounced off the building's side and tried to catch her. Violet kicked off him, grabbed a metal pole, and a compact firearm extended from his suit's forearm. She spun, as his arm fires a shot, but the shots streaked past. She twisted midair and drove both heels into his chest, slamming him into the concrete below, then dropped with a double-knee strike that crunched against his armor.
Back in the alley, Kínitos stepped out into the open. The rags swarmed behind him, chasing like living serpents. He planted his feet, focused, and launched a small, ping-pong-sized fireball from his palms. It struck the bandages dead-center—the entire mass erupted in white-hot flames, burning the cloth to ash and finally ending Bree's relentless pursuit.
"You good Kínitos?" Asked Violet
"Yeah you good?" Question back
"Yeah" Violet answered with a smile.