Linh swore as she dove to the side. Not out loud, of course, there were kids watching, but she thought several four-letter words as she rolled out of the path of the flying moped.

  “That was rude,” she muttered, popping to her feet.

  She flash-stepped, vanishing in a blur of motion and reappearing right behind the bruiser. One sleeve whipped low, looping around his ankle.

  “Gotcha.”

  She yanked.

  He stumbled, but didn’t fall. Just turned with a growl and grabbed the sleeve, yanking it with one hand and hauling Linh toward him like a kite in a cyclone.

  Linh clicked her tongue, and detached the sleeve.

  “Thank fuck I can do that,” she thought, twisting mid-air to avoid the other hand coming in hot, a fist the size of a cinder block. She planted her own fist in his jaw in return.

  And instantly regretted it.

  “Oww,” she wheezed, landing behind him and clutching her knuckles. “Goddamn concrete-ass face…”

  She had just enough time to hop over his sweeping leg, then flung herself back with both feet slamming into his face.

  It did absolutely nothing. But it bought her a few meters.

  “You know,” she said, panting slightly, “You can still surrender. I’d even let you keep one bag. Discount deal.”

  “Shut up, bitch,” he growled, and flung a bench at her with one arm.

  Linh blinked. “Who throws a bench? People need those to sit!”

  She started to dodge, but heard something behind her, a gasp. A whimper.

  Shit.

  She reacted instantly, sleeves snapping out. The bench slammed into the fabric midair with a shudder, and she used its own momentum to spin, redirecting it around her in a wide arc.

  As she turned, she spotted them, a small family crouched behind a car. Wide eyes. Frozen fear. That would’ve hit them.

  “Too close,” she hissed.

  She completed the spin and released. The bench whipped around like a discus and collided with the bruiser mid-charge.

  It hit hard, splintering on impact and exploding into a hail of steel and wood.

  He barely slowed down, but he closed his eyes for just a moment, recoiling from the splinters. Some reflexes were impossible to overcome.

  Linh was already moving, sweeping low with her sleeves. She managed to wrap them around both of his knees. She detached them before she could be yanked forward, and they formed a ring of hardened silk around his legs.

  He stumbled and fell. It wouldn't hold him long.

  Linh ripped a nearby street sign out of the ground and teleported. She appeared next to him, already spinning.

  “Careful,” she said, bringing the sign around to smash him in the face. ”This is…”

  She read the sign. “A loading zone? Damn it! Should have grabbed, like “Give Way” or something…”

  The sign bent, the steel wrapping around the bruiser’s head as he crashed to the ground.

  The back of one huge hand caught Linh, the big guy lashing out from the ground. She felt a rib crack as she was sent flying, thudding heavily into a parked car.

  “Not worth it…” she wheezed, trying to catch her breath. Ahead of her the bruiser ripped himself free of the binding, rising to his feet.

  “Seriously, where the HELL is Douche?”

  Kestrel gritted her teeth as the drone feed flickered. Linh stood, hunched and gasping, ribs cradled, as the bruiser charged again.

  She rolled, dodged, countered, each move fast, precise, desperate. Her strikes landed, but bounced off like rain on concrete.

  “Douche…” Kestrel growled. She could see him now, half a block out, not moving fast enough.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Sentinel had his perps. Skip too. That left Linh alone.

  Onscreen, the rookie vaulted off the guy’s head like a gymnast, swept his knees with a spin kick, then flash-stepped out of reach. Smart. She was targeting his mobility, trying to wear him down. It was a shame that she was struggling to bruise him.

  Kestrel gripped the control stick, white-knuckled.

  This was the worst part of the job. Watching, powerless. She couldn't even talk to Linh, offer advice or encouragement. The girl was on her own.

  “You’ve got this Rabbit,” she whispered, “Just a little longer.”

  Linh gasped for air, each breath coming with a free side of stabbing chest pain. She needed to avoid letting him hit her again, lest he turn that pain into a buy one get one free deal.

  That was easier said than done. He was fast, strong and clearly knew what he was doing. Linh only had mobility and unpredictability, but that edge was fading. He was learning how she moved, how she fought. Each miss was closer than the last. And she was getting tired.

  He was slowing too. She could see it in the set of his jaw and rise of his chest. She was hurting him. The trick was doing it without him hurting her.

  “You know,” she panted, ducking another punch, “This must be really embarrassing for you.”

  She had forgotten why she was taunting him. He was squarely focused on her now, there was no need. She should save her breath.

  But people were watching. She was a hero now, and that meant playing th e part. Besides, it made her feel a little better.

  She dove, rolled, kicked. Teleported to the side, flung a flower pot at his head. Slid between his legs on her back and kick upwards with both feet, planting them squarely into his groin. No such thing as playing dirty when fighting a guy six times your size.

  She hissed, feeling the pain in her ankles get worse, but he doubled over, clutching at his jewels. She gathered her feet under her and drove herself upwards, forcing her shoulder into his butt, sending him forward onto his face.

  Pain spiked, she saw white. She used her bad shoulder. She was tired, not thinking clearly. She backed off, catching her breath. It was working. She was stalling.

  “You bitch…” he growled, slowly straightening, still massaging his tender orbs.

  “Can't… can't you come up with something else to call me?” Linh panted, “Something that isn't a boring sexist fallback? Try wretch. Or cretin. Not enough people use cretin these days.”

  “I am going to rip your fucking head off and wipe my arse with those ears, you smug little cunt,” he replied.

  “See? Better! Still, mind the language.”

  He lurched towards her again. She moved sideways, placing a tree in its planter box between them, sliding out of his line of sight. She snatched a handful of dirt, then teleported, flinging it into his eyes.

  “Again with the fucking eyes!” He swore.

  “You'd think you’d see it coming by now,” Linh panted, dancing back out of range once more. She grabbed an A-frame blackboard, advertising egg and bacon rolls for $9, not bad, she’d have to come back, and tossed it at his face. He clubbed it aside, and she kicked him. Again, targeting that same knee. Surely it was working. He couldn't keep this up, could he? After all, she definitely couldn't. She was on her last legs.

  She hopped away again, barely avoiding an arm that he threw at her, landing on the side of the street. He charged, and she teleported, appearing above him. She kicked him in the back, sending him into the car parked on the kerb.

  He growled, lifting the car over his head and…

  There! A hitch in his step. It was working! His knee was threatening to buckle. One solid hit and he would…

  A scream. There was a fucking person in the car. Why the hell hadn't they run away earlier? Linh didn't have time to think. The bruiser hefted the car, ready to throw. She charged. She forced every remaining bit of power she had in her legs to propel her forwards. There was no space for subtlety, she simply barrelled into him. She crashed into his stomach, feeling something in her shoulder crack. He stumbled backwards, dropping the car, the vehicle landing on its wheels. Linh grit her teeth, braced her feet against it and pushed. It slid, smacking into a wall some distance away. Not a fun ride, but still better than being thrown. She could see the woman inside already climbing out of it.

  Then a massive hand wrapped around her ears.

  “Got you.”

  A huge fist crashed into her stomach. Linh coughed up blood as she was bent around it. He threw his other arm forward, swinging her by the ears, and let go. Linh flew, crashing into a building.

  Her vision went black for a moment. She couldn't breathe. She struggled onto her knees and felt a boot connect with her face.

  A hand yanked her up by the ears again.

  She blinked, dazed. Seeing stars.

  He held her up, looking her right in the eyes.

  “Any last words, bunny bitch?” he mocked.

  Linh’s chest heaved, shattered ribs spiking painfully, mouth filled with blood.

  “Y-yeah,” she coughed out, “Does that shirt come in men’s?”

  He pulled his fist back. Then the lightning started.

  Thunderdude was pissed. He had run across the entire god damn city, dodging traffic, listening to his team doing their best without him.

  And now? Now he rounds the corner, finally arriving just in time to see his rookie be dangled like a pair of used panties by some tank top wearing, fuckboy looking, half baked action hero wannabee fucking douchebag ten times her size?

  That was the last straw. Dude saw red. The rest of the world saw white.

  A blast of lightning smashed into the fucker who dared to attack Rabbit, sending him crunching into a pile of cafe furniture, smoking. Rabbit fell to the ground. Dude didn't bother checking on her. He saw that face, he heard the sass. She was fine. Besides, he could hear Kestrel approaching in the transport. Dude had better things to take care of.

  “You know,” Dude growled, striding forward, electricity crackling around him, “I have a policy about hitting women.”

  He arrived, as the guy stopped twitching from the lightning blast, reaching down to grab him by the collar.

  “But since you started it, let me teach you the difference between a woman and a punk ass bitch.”

  The guy took a swing, the second dumbest choice he made that day. Third if you counted going outside with that crew cut. Either way, it made Dude’s day.

  The half baked punch didn't connect. Dude’s punch did. A blast of lightning hurled the guy across the street, where he skidded into a lamppost.

  Dude strode after him, all the time in the world.

  “Go on, get back up. I bet you’re too stupid to stay down.”

  “Fuck you,” the dumbass said, rising to his knees.

  “Thought so.”

  The guy ripped the lamppost out of the ground, flinging it at Dude. Dude blurred forward, turning into a bolt of living lightning. Reforming just in time to plant his boot in the asshole’s face. He went down hard.

  “Care to try again?” Dude asked. The guy didn't respond, he just groaned.

  Dude scoffed. He reached down and slapped a pair of mag cuffs on the giant wrists.

  “Suspect secure,” he said.

  He turned to see the transport touching down, Kestrel leaping out before it had even landed to go play Mumma Bird for the rookie.

  Except Rabbit was standing up. Barely, but she was standing. Waving to the crowd, who were filming and cheering.

  Good kid. She’d go far.

  Dude reached down, hauling the guy up to sling him over his shoulder. He was fucking huge, and limbs almost touched the ground. He hefted the big lug and walked back over to the girls, where Rabbit seemed to be in the process of receiving one of Kestrel’s trademark lecture hugs.

  “Leave her be Kes,” he said, interrupting. Kestrel whirled on him.

  “Leave her be? Look at her! She’s half dead!”

  “Half being the word. If she’s standing, she’s fine. She’ll walk it off.”

  He approached, resting his free hand on her shoulder. “Let her have this, she did well.” He said quietly.

  “Thanks for softening him up, Bunny Babe,” Dude said, winking at Linh. The girl rolled her eyes at him. She was fine.

  The pounding of boots announced the arrival of the transport team. Fashionably late, as always. He turned to wave at them, a pack of tactical gear clad faceless goons.

  “Evening lads,” he greeted, tossing his limp but groaning captive onto the ground at their feet.

  “One asshole, tagged and bagged for your pleasure,” he turned to examine Rabbit, the girl unsteady and covered in blood. Her blood.

  “Don’t be gentle,” he added.