Precise.
Devastating.
His shoulder locks.
His arm freezes.
His entire upper body cascades into paralysis.
He drops.
Three down.
The fourth enforcer breaks formation.
He does not charge.
He retreats, his boots striking marble in rapid, uncoordinated rhythm as he backs toward the east stairwell, his hand reaching for the communication device clipped to his belt.
He will not reach it.
I launch forward, my four-hundred-pound frame covering the distance in a single explosive burst of movement. My right hand closes around his wrist before his fingers can activate the device, my grip tightening with enough force to feel the bio-engineered bones shift under the pressure.
He tries to pull away.
I do not let him.
I drive my left fist into his right shoulder with brutal, calculated precision.
The cascade is immediate.
His deltoid locks.
His trapezius freezes.
His entire shoulder girdle turns to rigid, unyielding stone.
He drops.
Four enforcers.
Four strikes.
Four bodies motionless on the marble floor.
The corridor falls silent except for the pulsing hum of the crimson security grid and Tamsin's rapid, shallow breathing behind me.
I turn to face her.
Her eyes are wide, her face flushed, her hands still gripping the fabric of my jacket.
"Holy shit," she breathes.
"Are you hurt?" I ask.
"No. I'm—" She looks down at the frozen enforcers. "You just dropped four bio-engineered soldiers in under thirty seconds."
"Yes."
