Asuma spat blood from a bitten tongue and went for them. The man got out of his way with surprising speed, moving with a burst of chakra that took him almost to the other side of the room. But the woman just laughed, high and unhinged, and spread her arms as Asuma hit her.

He drove her into the glass hard enough that it cracked, fissures spreading like a landmap of earthquake lines. Below them, the medical team scattered. Asuma crushed his forearm across Kaminari’s blue-veined throat; she bared her teeth at him, laughing rotten breath into his face.

“Try it,” she rasped.

There was chakra in her skin, running bright and hot, keeping her windpipe intact. He grabbed her hair and slammed her head against the glass again, sending a spray of blood into the cracks.

“I kill you, we end this right here,” he said, reaching for his chakra blades.

He wasn’t fast enough. Two orderlies crashed into his back, nearly smashing them all through the glass. He was hauled back and pried away from Kaminari, but not before he managed to get one more blow in that broke her fine-bladed nose. The orderlies pinned him to the floor, wrenching his hands far apart.

Kaminari reset her nose with a practiced hand-motion and a crunch of bone. The white-coated man tended to the wound at the back of her head. She looked down at Asuma thoughtfully. “I like this one,” she said finally. “Keep him alive for a little longer.”

Asuma wasn’t stupid enough to say you’ll regret it.

“Three days,” he promised, hoping his hunch was right. “Then you’re all dead.”

He didn’t see which one kicked him unconscious.