The neon lights of the arcade glinted off Command Grab's concentrated gaze. She was a titan in the strip-fighting video game scene, known for her ruthless combinations and imperturbable calmness. Tonight, however, an arrogant beginner calling himself "The Kid" had actually tossed down the onslaught. The air snapped with stress as the preliminary started, the balanced smashing of joysticks a prelude to the escalating risks. With each perfectly performed relocation, Command Grab tried The Kid's self-confidence, but he was stealthily fast, touchdown insults and audacious wagers in between flurries of attacks. As the rounds endured, each loss tried Command Grab's carefully crafted image, the elimination of each short article of clothes a physical manifestation of her crumbling satisfaction. The Kid's relentless stress and escalating wagers were pressing her to the side. Could she possibly restore and adjust control, or was she about to be removed of everything she loved, both literally and figuratively?