[color=f7941d][h2]Douglas Song[/h2][/color][color=f7941d][h3]News 41 Broadcast Station - Alleyways[/h3][/color]
The ambusher had the advantage of surprise, materializing out of the veil of darkness that he had faded into, but Douglas Song was perhaps as much of a bewildering experience all his own too. This manifest as the moment the kick was launched, the blur of an attack in motion, the third man that had joined the earlier pair rolled backward, and from his supine position upon his back, staring up at the black clad attacker, he leapt to his feet and was standing already. The acrobatic display wasn't an exceptional feat, at least not superhuman despite being physically remarkable, though it were a fair indicator Song was no drunkard or streetperson.

There he stood idle for no longer than a breath, raising a brow, before breaking the clinch range with a push that sent them both sliding backward, shoes grinding against the ground as friction struggled against their unexpected movement. Following the space of a few feet being made, the outstretched arm and hand of the interloper, the so called "Golden Tiger" whose fingers were flexed in and thumb cocked back, dropped to his side and the other arm chambered at the hip fell to rest along with it. Strangely the motion hadn't much more a sensation than just being pushed despite the apparent force involved, that which was enough to send two grown men backward.

Either way, Song looked from the standing masked man, whose seeming "lack" of a face gave no obvious emotions, to the other limp on the ground. When he returned his attention to the conscious member he spoke plainly, fingers releasing their slight tension as he relaxed entirely.

"Your friend isn't well."

He expected no response, masked criminals either were tremendously vocal or not at all; it mattered little one way or another as it were.

[@Metronome]