"This angle of attack, forty-seven degrees. The target was the carotid sinus." He muttered to himself, his voice echoing through the empty cave.
"This wasn't standard fighting technique. It was a surgical strike."
"It exploited physiological weak points to knock the target unconscious in a single blow. Precise, efficient, with almost no wasted movement."
He pulled up another clip.
Lynn used a stainless steel tray to block Grey Falcon's thrust.
Clang!
Sparks from the collision of metal burst across the screen, illuminating Lynn's perfectly still gold-rimmed glasses.
"He blocked it."
Bruce repeated the fact.
He recognized Grey Falcon's blade technique. It was a signature killing move from Bullseye's training system, combining an irregular asynchronous feint with a reverse-hand thrust, specifically designed to deal with skilled fighters.
An ordinary person would not even have time to react to that move.
But Lynn had not only blocked it. He had also used the force of his opponent retracting the blade to flip the tray upward, forcing Grey Falcon to lean back and creating a 0.3-second opening.
"Prediction." Bruce's fingers tapped across the keyboard, and a line of notes appeared beside the footage. "He didn't rely on reaction speed. He read his opponent's intentions in advance. This kind of tactical instinct... bears similarities to my evasive patterns when dealing with multiple enemies."
That made him uneasy.
His own fighting style was an instinct forged through thousands of life-and-death battles, built on a profound understanding of criminal psychology and the limits of human movement.
Where had Lynn, a twenty-two-year-old doctor, learned it?
What he found hardest to understand was the final strike.
Lynn's right fist slammed into Grey Falcon's elbow joint.
In the footage, a barely visible spiderweb crack appeared on the wall behind Grey Falcon.
The drone's high-sensitivity camera had captured it.
Bruce