Chapter 12 - The Dishwasher Fist
The first enforcer rushed them.
Mason raised the knife.
Ivy slapped it down.
"Don't stab him."
"You gave me the knife."
"For confidence."
The enforcer punched.
Thread Sight lit up.
Mason saw the strike's most likely path, the man's balance point, and a thin silver thread leading to a room-service tray behind him.
Mason ducked.
The punch missed.
He kicked the tray.
A metal lid rolled under the enforcer's heel.
The man slipped.
Mason hit him with the only motion his body knew by repetition: the two-handed shove he used to slam industrial dish racks into washers.
The enforcer crashed through a linen cart.
[SYSTEM OBSERVATION: USER HAS REPEATED DISH-RACK MOTION 38,104 TIMES.]
[QUALIFIES AS INSTINCTIVE TECHNIQUE.]
[SKILL CREATED: DISHWASHER FIST — COMMON.]
Mason stared.
"You named it that?"
[YES.]
Ivy kicked the second enforcer in the knee.
"Complain later."
Together they escaped through a staff staircase.
At the bottom, Mason's new technique upgraded.
[DISHWASHER FIST → RACK-SLAM PALM.]
[COMBAT EFFICIENCY: EMBARRASSING BUT FUNCTIONAL.]
Ivy actually laughed.
Then her expression changed.
A man waited beside the exit.
Blake Mercer.
He was holding Tasha's employee badge.
"You keep making this personal," Blake said.
Mason's smile disappeared.
"Where is she?"
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