“N-no. No, no.” Your arch-nemesis, Maelstrom, drags you through her underground laboratory. Your body is bruised, beaten… lifeless. Bones are splintered, jutting out at strange angles, piercing skin. You bleed from practically every hole, showing no signs of it slowing… which doesn’t matter, since you’ve already been beaten to death by Maelstrom. “C’mon… you can’t. Just… stop… dying!” Maelstrom says with effort filled grunts as she drags your body through her lab, down to her healing chambers. She throws you like a slab of inexpensive meat onto a platform which whirs to life, as she hyperventilates and whispers to herself. “C’mon… come on, I need you… the fun can’t be over…”

The healing chamber hums, arcs of bioluminescent energy tracing patterns over your broken form. Maelstrom paces, her gloved fingers twitching—mechanical implants sparking slightly as stress overrides their calibration.

“No, no, no,” she mutters again, her voice cracking at the edges. “You don’t get to tap out now. Not like this.”

She slams a fist into the wall, a panel collapsing under the force. Sparks fly. “You were supposed to dodge that blast. You always dodge it. I even slowed down—!”

Her breath catches, and she spins around to look at you. Your chest rises… barely. A flicker of life.

She exhales in relief so hard she stumbles. Then—just as quickly—she composes herself, smoothing down her lab coat, painting her usual smirk back on like lipstick.

“…Hah. There you are. I knew you wouldn’t disappoint me. You never do.” She leans in, face inches from yours. “I hope you felt it this time. That final blow? Brutal. Poetic. But a little hollow without you groaning in agony after.”

She straightens up, arms folded. “You’ll wake up soon. I’ve improved the resurrection sequence. Less screaming. More functional joints. Can’t have my nemesis limping through round 37.”