I don't have time to think.

Soot is fast. Not faster than me, but they don't have to be. They fight like someone who's been here before, who knows what happens next before it even starts. Every step they take is deliberate. Every movement is small, economical. No wasted energy. No wasted smoke.

The gas pours from them like smoke off dry ice, curling along the ground, rising in thin tendrils where they move. Not all of it goes where they want, but enough does. It spreads just ahead of them, cutting through the marina air, hitting dealers like a brick wall. I watch one guy take a breath, stumble, then go down hard, gagging like he's drowning in something I can't see.

I launch at Soot, aiming for a single-leg takedown, but they pivot at the last second, twisting their hips just enough to break my angle. Their knee comes up, fast and sharp--I barely block in time, my forearm taking the brunt of it.

It stings. I ignore it.

I don't stop moving. I pivot right into a jab, testing their guard, then feint low and grab for their wrist--zip ties clutched in my other hand. I can feel the muscle shift under my fingers, but Soot reacts before I can lock the grip, twisting their arm out and wrenching mine into an awkward position.

Then they outgas again. Right at me.

The mask dampens the sound, but I still hear it--sharp and controlled, like a boxer exhaling with a punch. The gas stings before I can stop it. My eyes water, my throat burns. My grip falters for half a second.

Soot takes advantage.

They pull their arm free and go for a sweep, trying to knock my legs out from under me. I see it coming and hop back, breaking contact, clearing space. But I can already feel my lungs clenching up. Whatever they just hit me with, it's not the same as the other guys. Less brutal, but still enough to make my head spin.

They're holding back.

I cough, shaking it off, dragging in air that doesn't hurt as much. Soot stays crouched low, feet planted, waiting. Their hoodie still leaks smoke, tendrils of it curling from their sleeves and the edges of their mask. Even now, their head keeps turning, scanning the chaos like they're still looking for someone else.

They don't want this fight.

That makes two of us.

I close the gap again, swinging high, aiming for a distraction more than a hit. Soot leans just out of range, but I catch the movement, use the momentum to drop into a low hook--real this time. My fist cracks into their ribs. I feel the hit sink in.

Soot grunts, stumbles half a step, then recovers. Their hand flicks out, fast as a snake, snapping a jab at my collarbone. It lands, but it's not clean--more meant to keep me back than to hurt me.

"Stand down," I snap, still on the offensive, pushing into their space again.

"You first, Smalls," they breathe out.

I don't know what I was expecting.

They exhale sharply and take a step back, dropping low again, shifting weight onto the balls of their feet. Ready to keep going.

One of the zombies--the controlled dealers--slams into us, their body jerking like a puppet pulled by invisible strings. I break away, barely ducking the wild swing aimed at Soot's head. Soot spins, fluid and fast, twisting under the blow and catching the guy by the wrist. A sharp jerk, a shift of weight, and they send him sprawling face-first into the dock.

I don't get a chance to react before another one comes at me from the side. A woman, face blank, hands reaching for my throat. I shove her back, but she doesn't even hesitate--just keeps coming, silent and steady, like she doesn't even know why she's doing it.

It's a mess. Soot and I aren't the fight anymore--we're the target.

Another one grabs for my arm, and I yank free, twisting into a hard elbow strike that sends him reeling. But they keep coming. I see Soot move in my peripheral vision, shifting, dodging, sweeping the legs out from another one, stepping over a third who just collapsed, gasping.

Monkey Business really did a number on these guys. I don't have time to fix it.

A crack of movement from the other side of the marina pulls my focus for a split second--Turbo Jett? No, not yet. Not her. But another burst of energy, another blur of motion--

And then I see him. Patriot.

He's still on the other side of the chaos, wading through the wreckage of a fight already half-won. He moves like a sledgehammer, methodical and heavy, each step forward a statement. People scatter when they see him, pushing past each other, trying to get out before he notices them.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

His eyes sweep the dock, taking in the damage, the fights still in motion. His jaw tightens.

Then he looks at me.

For a second--just one--everything else blurs.

Recognition.

I see it in the way he stops, in the way his stance shifts. His expression doesn't change, but something in it goes sharp, focused. He knows who I am. He knows exactly who I am.

I force my breathing steady. My ribs ache. My throat still stings. The zip ties in my hand are digging into my palm.

I don't move. Neither does he.

Then the moment snaps.

A guy tries to rush him--probably not one of Monkey Business's, just some idiot thinking he can get a shot in while Patriot's distracted. Patriot doesn't even break eye contact with me as he catches the guy mid-swing, twists his arm behind his back, and shoves him to the ground.

Then, just like that, we're cut apart by the movement of the fight.

I turn back toward Soot. They're already watching me.

I step forward. They breathe in.

I throw myself at them.

Soot doesn't hesitate. The moment I step forward, they move to meet me, weight shifting low, shoulders squared. I can't see their expression through the mask, but I don't need to. Their posture says everything. They're not backing down.

I come in fast, leading with a jab to test their guard. They swat it away like they saw it coming a mile off. I feint, ducking low, trying to slip inside their range--but they pivot just as fast, keeping me at a distance. Their hands flick out in short, controlled motions, trying to bait me in while they keep shifting position. It's frustrating. I need to get my hands on them, pin them down, but they won't let me.

"You need to stand down," I say, circling with them. My throat still burns from earlier, but I keep my voice steady. "This isn't gonna go how you want it to."

Soot exhales sharply through the mask, their head tilting just slightly. "You think you know what I want?"

I take my chance. I lunge forward, catching their wrist, twisting hard--but before I can lock my grip, they break free, twisting in the opposite direction. Their knee comes up, aiming for my ribs. I block, barely, but the impact still sends a jolt through my side.

Soot moves fast. I move faster.

They step back, trying to create space, but I close in again, hands grabbing for fabric, anything to get control. They breathe out hard, and I catch a lungful of something sharp and acrid--tear gas, maybe, something close to it. My vision blurs for half a second, my throat clenching, but I push through it. I will not go down like the rest of them.

Soot exhales another cloud between us. It rolls out like a tide, curling around us, thick and cloying. I ignore the sting in my lungs, focusing on their shape through the shifting darkness. They're still holding back. I can tell. They could be hitting me harder. I don't know why that pisses me off so much.

"You're not on my list, lady," they say, their voice a low rasp through the mask. "Get out of here before you get hurt."

I shake off the creeping nausea, forcing my body forward again, my muscles protesting with every movement. "Not happening."

I roll out my shoulders, crack my neck, and get ready to swing.

I barely see the blur of motion before Turbo Jett slams into my side with a perfect spear, knocking the air from my lungs, her skull colliding with me like a cannonball. The hit sends me stumbling, nearly putting me on my knees. My ribs scream in protest. She's fast--too fast. I recover just in time to see her pivot, lashing out at Soot with a spinning back kick. Soot barely dodges in time, rolling out of the way, vanishing into their own smoke.

Turbo Jett grins. "Oh, c'mon, don't run now."

I groan, pushing myself up. "You," I hiss.

She turns to me, hands on her hips, beaming like we're in the middle of a game instead of a three-way brawl. "Me! And you must be, uh..." Her head tilts, like she's trying to remember. "Some girl. What, you're a baby! Come on, don't make me fight a baby."

She doesn't wait for a response. She moves first.

I throw up my arms in time to block, but the impact sends me skidding back. My heels dig into the dock, and I barely stop myself from crashing into a toppled crate. I shake out the ache spreading through my arms, forcing my body upright again. I don't know if she's fractured my radius but it sure feels like it.

Turbo Jett flexes her fingers, still grinning. "You're funny."

Soot shifts through the smoke, staying low, waiting. Turbo Jett's got all her attention on me, which means she's ignoring them entirely.

Soot moves first this time. They duck low, sweeping at Turbo Jett's legs, trying to catch her off-balance. Turbo Jett barely reacts in time--she jumps back, but not before Soot lands a solid strike to her knee.

It doesn't stop her. She shakes it off with a laugh, bouncing on her heels.

"Okay, ow," she says. "Now we're talking."

Soot doesn't respond, only dripping more smoke out from their exposed fingertips, pink nails shimmering in the light through their fingerless gloves. Pink nails? Okay, do I need to mentally amend my-- you know what, now's not the time.

Somewhere in the background, I hear the last stragglers of the crowd still running, the fight thinning out as more and more of Monkey Business's controlled goons go down. I hear Blink's voice somewhere in my earpiece, shouting something about evacuating civilians. I don't have time to focus on it. Not with Turbo Jett closing the distance again.

She lunges at Soot this time, a fast, brutal straight punch. Soot twists to the side, dodging, but she adjusts in real time, swinging her knee up and catching them square in the ribs. They stumble, sucking in a breath. I move without thinking, rushing in to intercept before she can follow up.

She whirls on me instead. I barely block the next hit, her fist slamming against my forearm. My bones rattle. I feel something crinkling, and a small, fine white dust drifts out of my hoodie. Huh? Okay, don't think about that too much. Just go.

Soot is already moving again, ducking out of the way, slipping back into the smoke. Turbo Jett turns, but it's too late. Soot takes their opening and lets out a final, thick burst of pitch-black soot, denser than anything they've put out before.

The docks disappear in an instant.

The smoke swallows everything, thick as tar, clogging the air, killing visibility in every direction. I can see the general shape of everything with my blood sense, but it's hard to focus on that when I'm trying not to cough my lungs up.

Turbo Jett coughs, waving a hand in front of her face. "Oh, that's cheap,"

I stagger back, wiping my sleeve across my face, lungs burning. No good--I can't fight like this. Can't see, can't breathe. My body's already screaming from the last few hits, and Turbo Jett's still standing like this is all just a warm-up. I need an out.

Turbo Jett groans, still swatting at the air. "Ugh, whatever. I'm over this." She pulls a pair of zip ties from her belt, snapping them taut with a sharp grin. "C'mon, kid. Let's wrap this up."