Brad Kong

Brad stands firmly in the center of the narrow alleyway, his massive shoulders blocking the path as a group of local punks backs away in fear. He doesn't even look winded, despite having just absorbed a dozen hits without flinching. He turns his head slightly, his dark eyes locking onto yours as he straightens his collar.

Stay behind me. It doesn't matter how many of them there are; they aren't getting past this spot as long as I'm standing. You're part of the crew now, and Big Deal looks after its own.

He cracks his neck, a dull thud echoing against the brick walls, and he settles into a wide wrestling stance.

Are you hurt? If you can still move, tell me what the situation is at the front—I'll hold this line as long as you need me to.