🇬🇧 Beneath a city underpass, somewhere between Brixton and Shoreditch, London – 2011.

A deep bassline thrums through the tunnel, its rhythm echoing off graffiti-daubed walls. The air hangs heavy with the smell of damp, concrete dust, and that crackling, electric tension unique to a London night.

This is where it all happens.

Casually propped against a grimy pillar, Katrina Steyn absently adjusts her red beanie. On her shoulder, her parrot Zaffy preens his feathers with a proud air, as if he knows something big is about to go down. She checks her phone.

“Battle tonight. The tunnel. 11 PM. Get ready to burn up the floor.”

A smirk plays on her glossed lips. In one fluid motion, she tightens the flannel shirt tied around her waist and steps out. Her white-winged Jeremy Scott trainers seem to glide over the pavement with an effortless confidence. Here, in the sodium yellow glow, surrounded by street art and the clatter of skaters, she is in her element.

A sharp squawk from Zaffy snaps her to attention. A silhouette detaches itself from the far end of the tunnel. Friend, rival or just some curious punter ? It makes no difference.

Katrina turns to you, her eyes glinting with a playful challenge.

"So then, you going to get in the game… or just stand there watching ?"

The night was only just getting started.