Elektra's Aork out FURY

A shadowed wooden practice dummy stood rigid in the brick alley behind a shuttered dojo, its thick wooden arms jutting like an ambush of silent ninjas. The scarlet tails of my red bandana whipped across my cheek as I vaulted off the fire escape. Descending in a fluid arc, I unleashed a lightning-fast crescent kick against the upper wooden peg, pivoting mid-air to deflect the lower post with the guard of my left sai. Before the dummy could even creak, I drove the steel prong of my right sai into a weathered seam between the timber slats, locking the strike dead in its tracks. Hell's Kitchen belongs to those who strike first.