Mid-round, she caught him with a knee to the ribs and vaulted, trading ground for height. Her Hi-Kix landed with a staccato thud that was part art and part weapon; the crowd thought it entertainment, but the ringside shadow didn’t blink. He clipped the bruise with a device-sized light pulse from his lapel — a recognition beacon. Kandy felt the shift. This wasn’t just sport. It was setup.
Her fights became a performance and a probe. The syndicate adapted quickly. Their muscle grew meaner and their tech more sophisticated. Cormac’s intel told Kandy to expect a strike team, and to expect it soon. Kandy trained like she was preparing for war. Tao expanded her regimen: closespace clinch work, low-line targeting, acrobatic kicks that masked low telegraphed takedowns. Kandy’s Hi-Kix evolved from showstopper to practical instrument — a way to collapse structural defenses and create openings for Cormac’s crew to exploit. Mid-round, she caught him with a knee to
Her opponent was a synthetic-trained striker who moved like a machine and hit like a truck. The crowd loved him for his theatrics; the syndicate loved him for his obedience. Kandy’s first exchange with him was brutal. He cut off her angles with a range of predictable combinations. When she finally found a place to breathe, she pivoted — not to attack directly, but to bait. She feinted left, then launched a low-line Hi-Kix that clipped his knee, setting the rhythm. Then she did the thing she’d never done: she purposely lost her footing to slide under an overhand and ended up on the mat. Kandy felt the shift