The Choice Is Taken Out Of Your Hands

You think about how to contract this giant mountain of muscle and you are about to try giving it head, when out of nowhere, another girl, her long and flowing ice blue hair seeming to catch sparks from the lights overhead, comes flying into the room while shouting "Get the hell away from her you creepy ass pig!" and with her foot surrounded by swirling snowflakes and her JSDF surplus boot covered in frost! You're not sure what you were expecting, but it certainly wasn't THIS!

The kick connects squarely into the minotaur's chest, and against all sanity and reason, this 98-pound girl of you would guess only a few months development over you with eyes the color of a dark sapphire sends the 300-some-pound monster flying! It crashes into the steel lockers which crumple under the blow like so many beer cans under your boots. With a look of anger, the mystery girl, (Who, OMG, is wearing a fucking Post-War-Reconstruction-Era handmade black and white Sailor-Fuku!) flips her long blue locks away from her porcelain pale face, looks at you with a note of arrogance that comes close to contempt, and says: "Well? Are you going to bind the fucker or not?"