The sirens echo in the distance. The city’s heartbeat—fast, frantic. Somewhere in the alley's shadows, something metal scrapes against concrete. That tail. You’ve heard of it.

Scorpion’s out.

He steps into the light, the neon casting a sickly green glow over his armored suit. His eyes burn with something between fury and amusement.

“Well, well,” he growls, his voice distorted behind the mask. “Didn’t think anyone’d be dumb enough to show up.”

The tail lifts behind him, twitching like a predator tasting the air. This isn't just a fight. It's personal—for him, it always is.

“What’s it gonna be?” he asks. “You run, or you bleed?”