This girl is a pain in the ass

It’s unlike me to be nervous on a simple job like this, but given the circumstances, it’s hardly a surprise.

Once again traipsing the backstreets of the city, this time escorting an arms trafficker to the outside of the city. Guns may be impossible to get hold of here, but these Yakuza bastards still have the facilities to refine ammo.

The cargo last time was valuable, but this time it’s dangerous. Even without a gun to fire them from, live rounds aren’t exactly the safest items to transport. I can only hope that masked nutcase from before doesn’t show up again.

“I see you didn’t take my advice, Mr Ouroboros. How very disappointing.”

I’m a fucking jinx.

“Take a different route, I’ll keep the girl distracted.” I whisper to the gunrunner behind me. I don’t take my eyes off the masked vigilante for even a second, but the steadily quieting footsteps tell me he took my advice.

“So you know who I am. Mind telling me who you are?” this girl is a better fighter than me. If I can’t distract her with my fists, I might be able to keep her talking instead.
“I believe the criminals you work for call me ‘The Masked Judge,’ but just ‘Judge’ is fine.” Once again clad head to toe in black, the same mask and gloves as last time, Judge begins to slowly approach me. We’re once again face to face in a cramped street, devoid of all activity except our own. But this time, neither of us takes stance right away.
“Tell me, why would a boy with such skill waste it smuggling drugs and weapons for criminal scum? Don’t you think it’s a waste of your talents?”
“And vigilantism isn’t?”
“I stop criminal activity. You partake in it. Do not presume to compare me to yourself, Ouroboros.”

There she goes, talking like some chuunibyou anime protagonist again. How can a girl so learned in martial arts be so… childish?

“Well, I’m sorry, Miss Holier-than-thou, but I have a job to do, and I’d appreciate if you’d stop getting in my way.”
“I’m afraid that won’t happen, Ouroboros. As a legend of the criminal underworld, your defeat would be a large blow to the morale of those you work for. Which is why I’m afraid this has to happen.”

As soon as she finishes speaking, she takes a mighty step towards me and unleashes a left turning kick right towards my liver. A brutal attack. The liver is the most vulnerable organ in the body owing to it’s placement against the ribcage. Well, second most vulnerable if you’re a man.

Luckily my instincts are trained enough to dodge by muscle memory, but in such a narrow area my only choice is to dodge backwards, putting me completely on the backfoot.

She lands with her left foot forward and continue to press her advantage while I scramble to take up a stance. Her speed is insane, throwing punch after punch with barely a breath between each.

I continue dodging backwards, narrowly avoiding every jab she sends my way, but after she finds her range she makes a short dash forwards and brings her knee up, connecting with my gut. My continued movement backwards softens the blow, but if not for the adrenaline, that would hurt like a bitch.

The barrage doesn’t cease at first contact, however. She tries to seize the opportunity created by the knee to finish me with a straight right, but I see it coming and slip to my right. I won’t make the same mistake as last time.

Channelling my forward momentum through my bent knees, I throw a left handed uppercut towards her chin while she’s still off balance from her whiffed punch.

She leans backwards to dodge, but the tips of my knuckles just about make contact with her chin. While such a strike might not have the same impact as a direct hit, it jostles the brain around the skull. She's dazed, her coordination worsened.

My turn to push the attack.

As she stumbles backwards I throw two jabs with my right hand. She’s unable to dodge, but blocks with her gloves, minimising damage. Her vision impeded, she’s unable to see the left hook I send towards upper ribs. She doesn’t have time to move out of the way, but softens the blow by blocking with her elbow. It causes my hand considerable pain, but her arm is now likely numb from the impact.

Not relenting with my assault, I switch my stance with the forward step from the hook and slam my right knee into her gut. Well, that was the plan anyway. As my knee makes contact, she lowers her centre and moves just far enough back to negate most of the impact. I overcommitted to that strike, and now I’m a sitting duck.

Before I can retract the knee, she loops her right hand under it and places her left hand on my shin, just below the kneecap. Generating power from her bent knees, she lifts my knee higher and pushes towards to me, forcing me back. With by balance completely lost by my raised leg, I lose my footing and fall to the ground, the masked girl following me down.

Instead of locking one of my limbs or unleashing a flurry of strikes at my head, she uses the opportunity to reach her hand towards my face. Before I have a chance to grab her arms, she rips off my mask, revealing my face entirely.

Even under the dim light of the desolate backstreet, she can easily identify me now. The Judge has seen my face.

“You… no… it can’t be.”

And she seems more surprised about it than I do. Still straddling my body and pinning me to the ground, she stops moving entirely, staring fixedly at my face.

After a moment of silence that feels like a lifetime, she suddenly stands up and sprints the other way.

Does the judge… know who I am?