She'd failed again. He'd gotten away, escaped her. Again.

Rage.

The cuts came, swift and sharp. Her disc, curved in her hand, thrumming. Slicing. Not too deep. Just enough to cause pain...

Inexcusable. She was better than that. Trained. She wanted nothing more than to see him, scattered, in a thousand pieces at her feet.

With the cuts came crystal-clear. With the cuts came clarity. Her hesitation, gone.

But something prevented her. Kept her from making the final blow. Pathetic. Is this what she had come to?

Yet she couldn't.

Wouldn't?

Couldn't.

And so the pain came.

She was weak.