Ingrid groggily drifts back into consciousness. Shooting pain signals throughout her body; she is sore from being tied up and gagged. Listening to muffled voices, Ingrid struggles to concentrate.

_It's okay, remember your training._

Pausing, she inhales through her nose, letting the air settle in her core and clearing the fogginess from her mind. With her eyes closed, Ingrid focuses her attention, letting her other senses take the lead.

Unable to arch her back on this old wooden chair, Ingrid's eyebrows lifted with the movement of her legs not being bound. Curling her toes to stretch, she tries to move her fingers, and a burning sensation ebbs as she shifts. The rope around her wrist to the chair is tight, but her ability to move those five stealthy appendages is all she needs.

A greasy dampness coats the air. Opening her eyes, Ingrid's gaze darts around the room. It's a decent-sized basement lit by a fractured light seeping through a tiny cracked window and a few faded lights along the ceiling. Crates are stacked everywhere.

A _supply room, maybe?_

In the centre, she can see three men playing cards around a table. Ingrid hears the sound of deep rumbles and provocative comments amongst the group.

_Perfect! _

No one is watching her. She is no threat; she is a fly in a trap. At least that's what she wants them to think.

_These greedy assholes will have something to swear about in a minute, _she thinks to herself.

When all other options have been exhausted, Ingrid is the one they send in. Her mind starts programming. Under the gag and tape, a wicked grin seeps at the sides of her mouth as she calculates every resource within her reach.

With a glint shining in her eyes, Ingrid groans loudly, grabbing her kidnapper's attention. A large man stalks over, like a peacock parading, one hand resting on his rounded belly while the other holds a hunting knife. The hilt swinging up and down in his chubby fingertips.

Grinning through a bushy moustache,” Ahh, Miss Ingrid, finally, I've been waiting patiently to have my fun”

Crouching down next to her, his grease-slick hands grab her jaw, his grip tight, and he squeezes.

“You know what I do to people who try to steal from me, I grind them up and serve them with a side of fries,” he smiles with a sinister look.

Ingrid forces herself to tense and intentionally creases her brow as she glares back at her captor. Fidgeting, she leans her face away, looking uncomfortable under his attention, to fake apprehension towards his approach.

_Draw him in, let him have his moment of smugness. _

The leader is a man Ingrid recognises as Daddy Big Mac. He is a mobster king drug lord who runs a drug ring through all the local burger joints. Now that Ingrid has infiltrated his main house, she obtains all the evidence she needs to shut this monster down.

Daddy Big Mac leans in towards Ingrid and rips the tape and gag from her mouth. Ingrid flinches, and pain radiates like needles pricking where the tape had been.

Almost nose to nose, Daddy Big Mac’s hot breath fills the space in front of her as he enjoys the view of her anguish. Quickly, not wasting any time, Ingrid throws her head back and then flings it forward with a force of thunder. A smile spreads across her face at the sound of the crack.

Big Mac screams “Fuck!” as he covers his nose and the blood gushing out with his free hand.

Pushing through the white searing ache, Ingrid uses the momentum of her attack to grab the hunting knife from Big Mac’s grasp.

“Of course you wouldn't know a woman's head and legs are her deadliest weapons?”

Standing with the chair still attached and wearing a soft, eerie smile, Ingrid spins and drives her leg forward in one swift move; Sparta kicking Daddy Big Mac in the chest. He goes down like a tree in the woods, his ego cut down with him.

“You think you're untouchable, let me educate you, Big Mac”.

Still in motion, Ingrid continues her rotation and side swipes the second younger-looking man as he attacks, winding him in the gut. At the same time, flipping the hunting knife in her hand, she uses the hilt and thrusts down, shattering his kneecap. The man screams as it splits into pieces.

Ingrid stands over him with a lethal calmness, “Stay down if you want to keep the other one”.

Flipping the blade back around, she saws through the ropes confining her to the chair.

“It's time to show you all how I like to have fun,” Ingrid says as she winks at the third goon.

As the tall, staunch man lunges at Ingird, she drops to one knee and pivots the knife up and outwards, slashing through his limbs. He is instantly disabled and falls, blood pooling around, crying out in agony.

Ingrid tosses the knife over her shoulder—a wicked grin returns. She’s been toying with them up until now.

Turning, she takes in the scene behind her.

The three men slowly gather themselves off the floor, faces paler than before and struggling to hold themselves up. More henchmen filter into the room, all armed with daggers and knives.

Daddy Big Mac wipes his grubby hand across his face, smearing the blood from his nose like painting war markings, declaring the battle is not yet over.

“Nobody makes me bleed in my own house”, he seethes, hand trembling with rage and a bead of sweat dripping past his temple.

“You're cornered, and you've thrown away your only weapon,” he grits out.

A sarcastic laugh slips from Ingrid.

Her stomach tingles, her energy electric, but to these men she tilts her head in boredom and raises an eyebrow, unimpressed by the challenge they’ve presented her.

The men awkwardly falter as they go to step forward.

Ingrid's eyes gleam. " The problem is... I am the weapon!”

Unleashing like a ghost assassin, Ingrid moves with stealth like an illusion they don't see coming.

_Daddy Big Mac and his men lay either dead or wounded on the ground, blood pouring out of their mangled bodies, and the smell of metal and iron fills the air. Ingrid glides throughout the sticky mess, whistling an upbeat tune as she exits her so-called kidnapper's lair. _