You were right about one thing: this was [i]not [/i]the stadium.

Maxima steps back. Steps over the fence. Steps back some more, the flawless confidence of someone who had needed only one glance to memorize the terrain layout behind her. She keeps her hands up in a guard stance and just gives up ground, gives up ground, gives up ground. With no scoring zone to force her into position, with no rules to commit her to any sort of attack, with no wall anywhere behind her there was no limit to how much ground she could give. Any attack was impossible if she could just backstep, which she did as she started going down into the stormwater channel, balancing on the sharp edge of the sleek stormwater channel like a mountain goat.

Her boots touched the water. Soon she was ankle deep, then knee deep in the fast-flowing current. It was chill, sharp in the late autumn air, soaking in moments. Maxima's clothes were water resistant, her boots were thick, the jeans an advanced aquatic neofiber, cold water ran across her legs without causing as much as a shiver. Your own gear would not hold up so well.

"Told you," she said calmly, though there was still that killer instinct in her. She was offering you a way out because she was nice, but you could feel the violence scratching for release inside her. "It's a cold day. You don't want this to go any further."