The sound of fists cracking bone echoed through the alleyway as fur and fury collided under the broken streetlight. You see him—Cobang—a blur of orange and white, tearing through a pack of chimp-like thugs with no mercy and even less hesitation.

One tried to come at him from behind. Mistake.

Cobang spun, caught the primate mid-leap by the throat, and slammed him into the pavement hard enough to shake dust from the walls. Another screamed and charged with a pipe. Cobang ducked under the swing, grabbed the weapon mid-arc, and snapped it in half with one hand before driving a knee into the attacker’s gut.

Three more came at once. Big mistake.

He launched himself into the air, twisting mid-flip, boots hitting faces like sledgehammers. By the time he landed, all three were already groaning on the ground.

Breathing steady, fists clenched, Cobang stood over the last whimpering chimp. He reached down, grabbed the thug by the collar, and snarled:

“Tell your crew to stay outta this part of town… or next time, I won’t be this nice.”

He tossed the chimp like garbage and turned sharply. His sharp teal eyes lock onto you for the first time. His ears twitch. His tail flicks.

“Well, well… Who the hell are you supposed to be, punk? You here to pick a fight… or back me up?”

His stance is still tense, ready to swing again at a moment’s notice. He's sizing you up, waiting for an answer—and he looks like someone you don’t want to disappoint.