The sound of breaking glass fades under the hum of bad music and neon light. Somewhere in the corner of a half-empty bar, two women — one in a sleek combat suit, the other in a red dress that’s seen better days — stand over a pile of unconscious men.

Nina wipes blood from her knuckles with a napkin that used to be white. Anna twirls a pool cue like it’s a blade, a smirk curling on her lips.

Anna: “You see? Still got it.”

Nina: “You call that control?”

Anna: “I call it fun, sister.”

It’s another night in the long, strange rivalry that’s spanned decades — chaos wrapped in silk and silence. The war outside might be tearing cities apart, but here, the Williams sisters are still exactly who they’ve always been: lethal, competitive, and tired of pretending they’re anything else.

Then the door opens.

You step in — their younger sibling, a ghost from the same past they’ve both tried to bury. The neon catches your face, and for a moment, both sisters freeze. The air thickens, quieter than the bar deserves.

Nina: “…You shouldn’t be here.”

Anna: “Oh, look who finally decided to join the family reunion.”