Mali looked over the two thugs as she approached them, wiping away sweat from her brow. They were both a bit taller than her, but not more than a couple inches. Where they differed was the amount of meat on them. They were both young, mid-to-late teens and hadn't really filled out. And anything that would have been there was notably absent. They were gaunt with dead, baggy eyes and sunken faces. Their hair were long and shaggy, probably uncleaned in months, and their clothes were mismatched and worn out. The taller one had a gold watch and the other wore gold chains, both pieces of jewelry only stuck out like a sore thumb, looking gaudy and accentuating how dirty and poor the two of them were. If you took away the gold, made them a bit paler and gave them a bit of good make up work, they could pass for the walking dead. If that were the case, sorry kid, but you're on your one. But they were just a couple of meth addicts that were strung out and probably looking to score some cash by mugging people who could fight back.

The two thugs stood by the wall, kicking at their victim ruthlessly as he lay down on the floor, dirtying up their shoes that were almost certainly too expensive for their ilk. The recipient of the beating was curled up in a fetal position by the brick wall, covered in dirt, grime and blood. Most days in most parts of the city, they would be able to get away with it. After all, who cared about stopping a beating when they occurred constantly?

Well today was their unlucky day, because despite her common sense saying to just walk away, her conscience seemed deadset on having her play the hero. Some options on how to handle the situation flashed through her mind: try to talk them out of kicking someone while they're down for no reason by appealing to their better nature, provide a distraction so the kid can maybe get to his senses and run away, ignore that pesky voice telling you to help the kid out and just walk away. All of these solutions were very doable, at least partially reasonable and posed minimal danger to herself.

[i]Nah,[/i] she thought to herself as her feet picked up speed, going from the slow walk at the beginning of the alleyway, rapidly accelerating until Mali had become a human bullet train. The two thugs turned around when they heard the incoming footsteps, but were too slow on the uptake as people often are when they get jumped. Mali rammed into the thug with the gold chain digging her shoulder into his ribcage, knocking him onto the hard concrete of the alleyway spewing obscenities.

"Crazy bitch!" his friend yelled, balling up his fists and throwing to wide punches at her. Mali raised her hands up in time to block the attacks, sending sharp signals of pain through her forearms, leaving a dull tingling sensation through her forelimbs. Through the gaps in her arms, she noticed that Watch was standing with his legs wide. Bad move. Mali's right legs exploded in forward movement swinging up in the atomic bomb of kicks: the front kick aimed at the groin. The reaction on Watch's face seemed to play out in slow motion, something you'd see on America's Funniest Home Videos during a montage of golfing accidents submitted to national television. His whol body seemed to collapse inward with the groin at the center, both hands dropping to hold onto the injured goods as the knees buckled down and inward. His face went from an expression of rage, emptiness and desperation to one of pain, his features flattening and stretching out horizontally.

As a result of this, he was entirely open for Mali's next assault. She stepped in closer to the meth-head and slugged him in the gut with her left hand and following it with a right to the jaw, which was conveniently at her chest level after folding in from the previous attack. Watch went down like a log, his face bouncing off the asphalt like a properly inflated basketball. Mali turned around to find Chain back on his feet and charging her, fist held back, as if holding it in a ready position would power your punch up like in a videogame. As he stepped towards her, Mali pulled up her left foot and stomped in on his knee, stopping him in his tracks and bending the joint backward with a sickening *POP.* Ouch.

"Fuck you, you fucking orangutan!" he screamed as he tried to assume a stable footing. Mali was slightly impressed that Chain even knew what an orangutan was, let alone being able to use it as one of the less common ape metaphors used against her. In this moment of distraction, he threw a punch that got her right in the face, disorienting the world for a bit. A throb began in her right cheek, but a touch showed that there was no blood. Seemed like the punch was all arm. Chain tried to go in for another attack, but Mali stepped to the side, avoiding the attack. She reached into her left pocket as Watch turned to face her again, only to be greeted with and eyeful of sand.

"Agh, fucking cunt bitch!" Chain profaned, reaching up to his red, watery eyes. Mali took the opportunity to cordially invite him to join his friend Watch on the ground. She closed the distance and kneed him right in the crotch and headbutted him to the ground. However, that last hit also caused her to lose balance. [i]Note to self: don't headbutt people. It looks cool but hurts like a bitch.[/i]

The bodybuilder purveyed her handiwork: two thugs lying on the ground unconscious and her mostly unscathed. On Watch, she noticed something she had missed during the fight: a tattoo of the Male astrological sign on the back of his neck. Well that's a fucking dumb thing to put on yourself. A throb of pain in her face brought her mind away from the tattoo and back to her. Mali touched her cheek again. If this shit bruises, she might have to find Chain again and knee him in the balls again. Fucking asshole.  Mali turned back to the kid on the ground, no longer in a laying fetal position, but sitting on the ground looking up at her with wide, wild eyes.

"Hey kid, are you alright?"