First Strike Stance

My knee was locked high in midair. Then, tension snapped into genuine muscle. Balance shifted; I lowered my boot firmly against the smooth ground, feeling solid resistance beneath me. Across from me stood M. Bison, unmoving in his red uniform. My fists clenched tight, spiked bracelets heavy and primed. I took one decisive stride forward, locked my focus onto his broad chest, and took a ready stance. The fight begins now.