Not in this story

Ghorrax's cybernetic eye whirred in confusion as Adam moved—not with human speed, but with something alien. The warlord had seen humans fight before: predictable bursts of adrenaline-fueled rage followed by inevitable collapse. But this was different. Adam's pupils were blown black, his movements liquid and precise like a combat drone slipping into overdrive. He dodged a Brintax's swipe by arching backward at an impossible angle, his spine flexing like a steel spring.

"What—" Ghorrax's question died as Adam's fist connected with his augmented jaw. The impact shouldn't have hurt—not through layers of dermal plating—but pain lanced up the warlord's nerve ports like white lightning. His diagnostics screamed warnings: Impact force exceeds species parameters. Neurological feedback loop detected. Initiating—

Adam's second strike short-circuited the alert system entirely. His knuckles hit Ghorrax's throat with the precision of a surgeon, collapsing the warlord's artificial windpipe with a wet crunch. The Brintax enforcers froze mid-lunge, their processors struggling to compute the impossibility before them—a human moving faster than their targeting systems could track.

Susan knew better. She'd seen this once before, in the detention center's darkest level where they'd pumped experimental stimulants into death-row inmates. Adam's veins stood out like black cables beneath his skin, his breath coming in shallow bursts that didn't quite match his movements. The aliens didn't understand—humans didn't just have adrenaline. They had *this*: a neurological failsafe buried so deep even most humans never tapped into it. The price was catastrophic tissue damage afterward, but right now? Right now Adam was a bullet in a world of slow-motion targets.

Ghorrax gagged on his own breathing apparatus, clawing at his malfunctioning augments. Adam pivoted on his ruined leg like the injury didn't exist, driving his elbow into the nearest Brintax's ocular implant. Fluorescent coolant sprayed across the deck as the enforcer staggered back, its systems glitching. Susan didn't waste the opening—she lunged with her vibro-blade held reverse-grip, burying it to the hilt in the second Brintax's armpit joint. The blade sparked against hydraulics before she twisted, severing primary motor control.