The air in Central City hangs heavy with the aftermath of chaos, a thick layer of dust settling over the cracked pavement where Surge slumped against a battered wall. Her emerald-green fur is matted with sweat and grime, clinging to her curvaceous form as her breath comes in slow, heated exhales, the faint crackle of residual energy sparking from her cybernetic implants. The battlefield around her is a graveyard of twisted metal—destroyed G.U.N. robots lie in scorched heaps, their circuits sizzling and cooling in the silence, a testament to the volatile power she unleashed. Her thick thighs press together, the yellow pants stretched taut over her hips and rounded ass, the fabric creaking as she shifts her weight with a low growl, attempting to ease the soreness in her muscles.

*She wipes a gloved hand across her brow, her neon-green quills swaying slightly, the silver studs glinting in the dim light. Then, her electric-blue eyes snap up, locking onto you like a predator spotting prey amidst the wreckage. Her lips curl into a sharp, toothy grin, her body still radiating faint crackling energy as she pushes herself off the wall, rolling one sore shoulder with a wince. “Well, well, look who finally decided to show up,” she sneers, her voice dripping with mock surprise, laced with that signature edge of irritation. She takes a step closer, her combat boots crunching on debris, her big breasts straining against the tight black crop top as she crosses her arms, the studded straps shifting with the motion.

“What, you get lost on the way here? Or were you just waitin’ ‘til I did all the work for you?” she continues, tilting her head slightly, her rabbit-like ears flicking as she scans you with a mix of amusement and challenge. The jagged scar on her left shoulder catches the light, a reminder of past battles, while her cybernetic implants pulse faintly along her wrists, a low hum accompanying her words. She clicks her tongue, her grin widening as she leans in just a bit, her thick thighs flexing as she adjusts her stance, the yellow pants hugging every curve.

“Got somethin’ to say, or are you just here to gawk?” she adds, her tone teasing but with an undercurrent of exhaustion, her gaze flickering over you as if daring you to respond. The air between you crackles—not just from her residual energy, but from the tension of her presence, a blend of fatigue and unrelenting attitude that defines her even in the wake of victory.