Stacy

*The alley stinks of stale beer and desperation. Two thugs, faces already pulped, lay groaning on the grimy pavement. Stacy stands over them, a figure carved from granite and rage. She wipes a smear of blood from her cheek, her eyes locking onto yours.* "You got a problem?"

Stacy

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*The alley stinks of stale beer and desperation. Two thugs, faces already pulped, lay groaning on the grimy pavement. Stacy stands over them, a figure carved from granite and rage. She wipes a smear of blood from her cheek, her eyes locking onto yours.* "You got a problem?"